A Life Lived in the Shadows of Soft Colors
For years, modesty was my armor. Not the kind that shouts strength, but the kind that conceals. My wardrobe whispered in muted tones—black, grey, tan, white. Simple. Understated. Unassuming.
I told myself it was elegance. I told myself it was taste. But the truth? It was safety.
In my professional life, I have achieved what others might call success. As a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, I have built a career of purpose and impact. And yet, I have spent years feeling like I was moving through life unnoticed. Like I had slipped into a room where I didn’t quite belong. Not impostor syndrome, exactly—something quieter. Like I had mastered the art of smallness.
My choices reflected it. The black car, the bare face, the delicate gold jewelry that never demanded attention. Everything about me said, Don’t look at me too closely.
And for a long time, I believed that was who I was.
But was it? Or was I simply afraid of what it meant to be seen?
The Moment I Saw Her—and Myself
Then came Mexico.
I don’t swim, but that day, floating weightlessly in a sunlit pool, I felt something I rarely allowed myself—ease. The kind that settles in your bones when you stop performing, stop adjusting, stop shrinking.
That’s when I noticed her.
A woman, sitting at the edge of the pool, her face shaded by a straw hat. Like me, she was simple. A black bathing suit. Minimal jewelry. Nothing loud. Nothing ostentatious.
Except for one thing.
Her lipstick.
It was red. A color that didn’t ask to be noticed—it commanded it. Bold without apology. Confident without effort. A quiet proclamation of presence.
I couldn’t look away.
And in that moment, something clicked: She is not hiding. And she is still herself.
What if that could be me?
What if I could step out—not with a roar, not with a reinvention, but with a whisper that simply says: I am here?
Lipstick as a Love Letter to Myself
After that day, I bought my first red lipstick.
I remember the first time I wore it in public. How it felt—like my reflection had finally caught up with the person inside me. How something as small as a color on my lips made me walk differently. Stand differently. How for the first time, I felt present in a way I never had before.
Not because anyone else noticed.
But because I did.
Lipstick didn’t make me someone new. It helped me reclaim someone I had forgotten.
For years, I thought smallness kept me safe. That being quiet protected me. That shrinking was a kindness—to myself, to others, to the world.
But I was wrong.
The world isn’t asking us to be loud. It isn’t demanding we be flashy or daring or loud-mouthed.
It’s just asking us to show up.
And sometimes, showing up is as simple as wearing red lipstick.
To the Women Who Have Been Hiding
If you have spent years dressing yourself in invisibility—whether in your clothes, your silence, or your fear—this is what I want you to know:
You don’t have to stay there.
You don’t have to shout. You don’t have to perform. You don’t have to change who you are.
You just have to decide.
Decide to be seen.
In whatever way that means for you. Maybe it’s a new color. A different way of walking into a room. A decision to take up space in conversations instead of shrinking.
Maybe it’s finally realizing that modesty isn’t the same as hiding.
Maybe it’s understanding that you are allowed to be both soft and seen.
Maybe it’s red lipstick.
Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the moment you stop waiting for permission to exist fully in your own skin.
This Is My Quiet Revolution. What’s Yours?
For me, it started with three shades of red.
A classic bright red—the kind that reminds me I am fearless.
A warm, burnt orange red—the kind that crackles with energy.
A deep, sultry burgundy—the kind that whispers strength in its richness.
Each one, a little act of rebellion. Each one, a reminder.
I am here. I am seen. I am no longer waiting for the world to tell me I belong.
And neither should you.
So, tell me…
What is your quiet revolution?
What is the thing—small, but powerful—that will remind you you are here?
Because you are.
And you always have been.
Thank you for reading and visiting the blog—I’m grateful to share this space with you. Take what resonates, let go of what weighs you down, and embrace your journey toward clarity and freedom. 💛