**The Space Between Stories**

9:02 AM—The dress is still there. The jeans too. The sweats are balled up somewhere near my laundry basket (let’s be real—on the laundry basket, not in it). But today? I’m wearing none of them.

Today, it’s a slip dress I thrifted two years ago and forgot about. No reason, no statement—just reached in, pulled it out, and thought, "Huh. This’ll do."

Because here’s the thing about evolution: it’s not always a before-and-after. Sometimes, it’s just the space in between.

1. I’m obsessed with the absence of meaning. That phase where every outfit had to say something? Exhausting. The backlash where I forced myself into not caring? Also exhausting. But this? This is just… wearing clothes. No agenda. No subtext. Just a slip dress and bare legs because why not.

2. My creativity is learning to breathe without my permission. That cartoon of Ethan? Still framed. Still terrible. But yesterday, a girl with blue bangs pointed at it and said, "I love this. It’s so… unapologetic." And for the first time, I didn’t deflect. I just said, "Thanks," and meant it. Not every piece of me needs to be polished. Some can just exist, jagged edges and all.

3. I’m falling in love with the silence of being understood. Liam texted last night: "You’re wearing the slip dress tomorrow." Not a question. Not even an observation, really—just a fact, like he already knew. And instead of asking how or why, I just sent back: "Yeah." No emoji. No follow-up. Just… yes.

Ethan handed me my coffee this morning—black, splash of oat—and glanced at the dress. "Old one?" I nodded. "Old one." He sipped his own drink. "Looks good."

No fanfare. No analysis. Just… recognition.

And maybe that’s all growth is—not a grand reveal, but the quiet moments where you realize you don’t need one.

xx Mandy

(P.S. That dress? Still thrifted. Still mine. Still just… a dress.)