The walls of my cell of sunshine and flowers have fallen

That's right. My inner rebel has been released from prison. But not just any old prison. You see, I love my life. My prison was not steel bars and a concrete floor, in fact, it was a prison full of happiness. I love my children and I love my husband. I've been well provided for and really should have no complaints.

But I did.

The problem was, I didn't know what the problem was. Until today. And with this moment of clarity, it all came together. It all started with what my husband called my "Witch tights." As in the wicked witch of the west. I remember them fondly. They were thigh highs with purple, green, and black horizontal stripes. I had 4 inch, black, chunky heels that I wore with them. (They were from Paris. I wish I still had them.)

Now, you may be asking yourself where in the world does a good little Mormon girl wear witch tights with 4 inch heels? (did I mention with the heels on, I became 6'2" tall?) Well, I'll tell you. I wore them to church. Now, don't get the wrong idea. I did not pair them with a mini skirt and a halter top. Nope. I would wear a very tasteful, long black skirt with a modest sweater. You could only see about 3 inches of my witch tights around my ankles. But it was enough. With those tights on, I made a statement of non-conformity. And that is something that defines me.

However, my husband was not fond of the witch tights. In fact, they embarrassed him so badly that he didn't want to be seen with me. He was holding whispered conversations with his mother trying to figure out how to get rid of the horrid witch tights. No good little card carrying Mormon girl should be wearing those! Where are the eggshell pantyhose with the tasteful button up floral dress? Where are the understated beige pumps and the oversized sweater? WHAT DID HE MARRY? And that's when the walls were built.

In spite of my need for non-conformity, I loved my husband and I knew he was incredibly uncomfortable with my witch tights. So I threw them away. I eventually donated my beautiful black heels to Good Will. After all, they made me quite a bit taller than my 5'10" husband. And that might draw attention, and I didn't want to embarrass him.

Now, there was no malice and no bitterness in these decisions I was making. I truly felt that if he needed me to dress like a school marm in order to be happy and comfortable, then that was something that I could handle. After all, it's just clothes, and our love is much more important than that!

Over the years, however, I began to convince myself that this was me. I really believed that as a wife and mother I had to fit in a certain mold. I was mentally berating myself for what are failures to some people. My house does not stay clean, I don't cook balanced meals, and "craft" is a 4 letter word to me. But I felt like that was what was expected and the pressure started to build. For 6 years I've kept my inner rebel in prison without knowing why I wasn't fully happy.

Today I tried yet again to figure out what the problem was. I was trying to explain to my husband that I was happy and I love my life, but something was wrong. Somewhere along the way I lost part of myself and he said 5 little words that broke down the walls.

"It was the Witch tights."

After 6 years, my darling husband, the one that was so embarrassed by my need for non-conformity, was able to recognize that that was what was missing.

I feel so free! I feel like I can wear funky heels again! I can put a streak of an un-natural color in my hair, I can insist that crafts are NOT art, I can embrace my macaroni and cheese skills, I can shun all things jello and IT'S OKAY!

I think I'll start with a new pair of witch tights.