The Choice.

I had the worst of dreams the other night.

Not gruesome, not violent, not terrifying, simply put: panic inducing.

I, Elan, was pregnant.

Now I know there is no way in heck I am pregnant (pretty sure you need a man as far as baby making goes), but it nonetheless shook me to my core.

Not that I don’t ever want to be pregnant, because I do. Oh certainly!

But now?

Ehhhhhhh the timing just isn’t right.

Still rattled from my all too realistic dream, I went ahead and did some research as to what pregnant dreams signify. Into Google I typed “pregnant in my dream” and within seconds, thousands of answers birthed themselves before my eyes.

Get it? Birthed?

Turns out, according to the web, being pregnant in your dream often entails that “an aspect of yourself or some aspect of your personal life is growing and developing, one that you may not be ready to take public yet.”

Well ain’t that the truth.

It’s not just some aspect of myself that’s growing though, it’s the whole kit and caboodle and there are some parts of that growth that yes, I am not quite ready to take public yet.

I’ve recently taken a new role in my work-life, I began the laborious but incredibly thrilling search for a home and I’m working on some personal insecurities of mine that are currently inhibiting me from pursuing my dreams.

I wouldn’t be so cliché as to call myself being stuck in a “rut”, but I’ve definitely come to the point in my life where I’ve lost inertia in regards to making things happen.

I have a lot of ideas, passionate ones that I’ve been cultivating and growing for a long time and I’m to the point in which I’m ready to move forward with them, but I’m not ready.

All of these concepts stay stagnant as ideas because I don’t have the thing to make them happen.

So what’s the thing I’m missing?

For a while, I couldn’t figure out what it was. I blamed it on lack of money, lack of qualified individuals and connections, and lack of belief from others, but the other night, after a rather brutal heart to heart with someone who knows me better than I sometimes know myself, I got the answer I’ve been looking for.

Belief.

I’m missing belief, and not from other people, but from myself.

It’s a rough realization, especially devastating because I’ve spent all this time perseverating over fabricated threats when all along, the problem lied within.

A bit of a bump in the road, but now that I’m aware of this lack of belief in myself, I can start working on fixing that mindset.

I’m at a pivotal moment in my life where I either choose to stay stationary and forever regret not taking a chance and believing in myself, or I can choose to bust a move and make those ideas tangible and real.

It’s time, because the longer I wait and put it off, the more painful it becomes to be reminded of my indecision. And I know I can’t just forget about it because it’s something that lives and breathes within me and if that idea dies, I die with it.

It’s showtime for me. I came back here for a reason and it’s about high time I make some effort on making these insecurities about believing in myself distant memories. 

Because right now, they’re the only thing standing in my way. 

Secret.

I received a small package in the mail the other day.

Like a little schoolgirl, I raced upstairs with my box and flung through the wrapping to get to what was beneath all the plastic packaging.

The item itself wasn’t very big.

It was black.

Sheer.

The type of garment to be worn underneath clothing, but more importantly: it was for my eyes only.

I slipped into it, one leg here, the other leg there, clasping the back, adjusting some things, and when I turned around to face the mirror, a big smile broke across my face as I ran my eyes over my new delight.

What followed next was a show only I had the pleasure of witnessing. Feeling confident and beyond sexy in my new little ensemble, I posed and danced like I was backstage at a Victoria’s Secret fashion show.

I looooooove lingerie, always have.

When I was younger, people often asked me what my favorite type of clothes to wear were and my response was always: men’s clothes and lingerie

Being single my entire life and not really present in the dating scene never really stopped me from buying scandalous undergarments. I grew up practicing acts of self-love and part of that involved treating myself and wearing things that made me feel pretty and self-assured.

It’s funny because lingerie has a long history of being designed for a man’s pleasure. Victoria’s Secret was actually founded because the creator (a man) felt uncomfortable in most lingerie departments and thought that the terry cloth hideous printed undergarments of the time weren’t appealing.

So lingerie is often associated with wanting to please not the intended wearer,  the female, but for the man.

I have no issue with women wanting to please men, I just have an issue with the idea that lingerie should be worn specifically for a man’s desire; and nowadays, it seems to be marketed specifically for sex, not for boosted self-esteem or because women want to feel good about themselves.

I stand from the unique perspective of having rarely (and I mean rarely) worn lingerie for another man. I’ve had infrequent occasions to warrant such frivolity so I have only known what it feels like to wear these undergarments for myself.

Wearing sexy lingerie, to me, is an act of self-love. I wear it because it makes me feel provacative and beautiful without needing a man’s validation. I wear it because I relish the feeling of walking in public wearing such items with me being the only one who knows this secret.

On top of all that though? Wearing lingerie is a form of self-expression. Like the music you listen to, and the movies you watch, what you put on your body, despite it being seen or not, is an expression of who you are. Whether you’re a lacy red gal, or a black granny panty type of woman, how you express yourself stylistically starts with undergarments, which can be both practical and alluring to look at.

When we take the time to adorn our body, our homes, in garments that make us look and feel beautiful, our self-esteem rises and that to me is more attractive than the actual look of the lingerie itself.

As confident as I am in my new divine lingerie set, I won’t attach photos, because it’s my secret until I decide to share otherwise.

But I want you to remember this: lingerie should be intended to make women feel empowered and sexy about who they are and not interpreted as something to be worn sorely for someone else. Your confidence in what you’re wearing (or not wearing, come to think of it) is far more attractive than that dainty underwear and bra set you have on..