I’ve lost my sparkle. My husband sat me down at the table and said this to me the other night. At first, I just rolled my eyes, but he was dead serious. He folded his hands and looked at me with this concern I hadn’t seen since I had a mental breakdown 3 years ago. You don’t wear bright colors anymore, you barely wear makeup or jewelry, for the last year you’ve been severely depressed and-you’ve lost your sparkle.
I digested this for a few days. I think I still am. I did lose it. But when, how, and where? How long has it been gone? How do I get it back? I feel like I don’t have an identity anymore. Who am I? I am wife. Daughter. The girl who works in finance. I am friend. Blog writer. But who am I?
I used to be bold, colorful, unapologetic, boisterous. Somewhere along the line, societal constructs have told me that I have to be a certain way because I am older now. Because I do work in finance. Because, because, because. Well, you know what I say to all that? Fuck it.
I’m starting small, with a blue eyeliner one day. Red lips the next. A bright shoe. A patterned shirt. A big statement necklace. But I will not lose it forever. I don’t care what I am supposed to be anymore. I want the me back that was carefree, happy, joyful to be around. Not stuck constantly spiraling. I want to go out and meet people, to laugh and dance, and sing again. To be who I was-no, who I AM. My sparkle can’t be lost forever, and I am taking it back. Somehow, someway. This is my new anthem.
Sparkle bitches, for yourself. Because no one will do it for you, and no one can show you how. They don’t need to. It’s there inside you and it always has been.