05/02/2026
Work in progress.
The first piece in a new series: "The Monsters We Wear"
There’s a version of us that learned how to get dressed for the world.
Pulled together. Intentional. Readable from across the room.
And then there’s everything underneath it.
This piece started with the suit. That sense of being composed enough to be perceived the “right” way. Something we build over time, piece by piece, until it feels natural to wear.
But it doesn’t take much for the contrast to show itself.
The red isn’t random. It’s what we’ve taken in and what we’re capable of returning. Pain doesn’t just disappear when we carry it well. It waits. It builds pressure. And sometimes it finds its way to the surface whether we planned for it or not.
The neck feels… off. Not dramatically. Just enough to register that something isn’t right. Too still. Too rigid. Like something stopped moving a while ago and learned how to hold shape anyway.
That’s the tension I keep coming back to.
This is the beginning of a new series. Sitting with the idea that the things we’ve never healed don’t stay tucked away somewhere neat. They layer into us. Over us. Through us. They shape how we show up, how we’re seen, and how we see everything else.
Not hidden. Not separate.
Worn.
And if there’s anything hopeful in that, it’s this: once you actually see what you’re wearing, you finally get a say in whether it stays.
