Hadley gave me a cobalt blue dress for Christmas several years ago. It’s a tank dress that poofs out a bit at the waist, and stops just above the knee. It’s not something I would’ve picked out for myself, but when she gave it to me she told me, “Mama, I know. You like to dress up.” She didn’t say it like it was a bad thing, rather, it was more of an acceptance, an appreciation, an offering. “I know you,” my then 7-year-old seemed to say holding the dress toward me.
My two most vivid memories of wearing the dress are once on a January evening and another on a warm spring day. One day I’d planned to wear the dress, but on the other day, I’d put it on last minute in the hopes I would feel something I was not feeling at the time.
I wore the dress in January for a banquet I was speaking at for the school I was teaching in. Dinner was first, and I didn’t eat much. I frequently pushed my chair back to excuse myself to go to out in the hallway to walk around. A friend who’s known me since we were 20 leaned toward me at one point and said, “You nervous?”
“No,” I told him, and I wasn’t lying. I was excited. I couldn’t wait to get up there and begin.
I am 110% myself when I am telling stories. I felt great that night, and Hadley’s dress was simply accentuating what was already there. I put the dress on to show off how I was feeling, and what I knew I was capable of.
The other memory that I hold on to is a bit more gloomy. It was my first year of teaching after almost a decade break, and while I was having a great year (I’d found out that teaching middle school was like stepping into a favorite pair of jeans you didn’t think would fit anymore), each morning, when I dropped Hadley and Harper off at school, was difficult. I missed them, and seeing them go felt like letting go of a part of myself that I wasn’t ready to send out into the world.
I put the blue dress on to send myself off. Because sometimes taking a chance on yourself feels exhilarating and right, and sometimes it feels sorrowful and awkward. I like to dress up for both. I make no claims about fashion sense. I wear what will help me walk around in the story I’m living.
And so on that day, feeling sad and unsure, I drove to work in the blue dress. I lugged my bags from the car and made my way toward the front of the school.
My 8th graders (who are Seniors now!!!!) were on a break from classes, and hanging out in the hallway, and as I climbed the stairs I heard, “Mrs. Feyen! Mrs. Feyen! Hi! Mrs. Feyen, hi!” There were smiles and questions about homework and excuses about homework, and it’s not that I forgot about the parts of myself that were let go (as though I had a choice – letting go is the whole point), each step I took towards my students made me realize that letting go of myself also means giving myself a chance. It means learning what else I can do.
“What are we gonna do in class today? Will it be fun?”
These questions came from a kid who greeted me at the classroom door almost every day with the same prompt. He was joking, challenging, and serious just like most middle school students, and like most of his peers, unsure of which mood was more important so it all came out in a mixture as he spoke.
“Show up to find out,” I said, and opened the classroom door.
Later, maybe it was that afternoon, maybe it was a few weeks after, I was sitting in a faculty meeting, bored, and checking my email. Laura Barkat had sent a message wondering if I’d like to write a book. “I’d like to take a chance on you,” she wrote.
And so she did, but what I learned in this wonderful and scary ordeal of writing books is anyone can want to take a chance on someone, but it means nothing if that person won’t take a chance on herself.
I had to let go of a few things to see what else was there.
I had to show up to find out.
It’s important to have the right dress for this kind of work that is heartbreaking and life-giving all at once. I’m thankful Hadley knew exactly what to dress me up in: myself.
Callie Feyen has such a knack for telling personal stories that transcend her own life. In my years in publishing, I’ve seen how hard that is—but she makes it seem effortless, and her book Twirl is such a pleasure. It’s funny, it’s warm, it’s enlightening. Callie writes about two of the most important things in life—books and clothes—in utterly delightful and truly moving ways. I’m impressed by how non-gimmicky and fresh her writing is. I love this book.
—Sarah Smith, Executive Editor Prevention magazine; former Executive Editor Redbook magazine
Twirl gives language to the fierce concerns of an ordinary woman. It tracks small but defining moments, attesting to the joys of design and the pleasure of color we feel as we choose and joke and work and play in jeans, sandals, a coat, T-shirts. Start reading and you will be hooked.
—Jeanne Murray Walker, author of The Geography of Memory
On Twirl‘s debut, here are some things you could do to both celebrate and support her launch:
- buy the book
- ask your library to buy the book
- take a picture of yourself holding the book and post it on social media with the hashtag #dressedupfortwirl
- share the book’s release on social media
- write a review on Amazon
Thank you to my friends and family for all your support and encouragement through the making of Twirl. I hope you love reading the book as much as I loved writing it.
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