Nothing sums up my early childhood more than the dress-up box we kept under my sister's bed. It was overflowing with polyester organza and bright pink tulle, its contents always changing, like a magical land nestled in the clouds atop Enid Blyton's Faraway Tree. The dress-ups were defined more by my imagination than any intended functionality; scarves became wrap-around skirts and elbow-length gloves made for cute tube tops.
On any given day I could be a mermaid or princess or ballerina or a chaotic amalgamation of the three. Bulky clip-on earrings, like my grandma wore, were a favourite. Saturday mornings were spent clink-clunking down the hallway in Mum's worn-out high heels, clashing prints and a broad-rimmed sunhat, soaking up all the 'ooh's and 'aah's my parents could muster as they went about their weekend chores.
For me, it was the happiest kind of havoc.
While mornings were for dressing up, evenings were spent researching my looks. Formative fashion inspirations included Truly Scrumptious from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and the Portabello hoedown dancers from Bedknobs and Broomsticks. The Sound of Music was a big one, too, particularly the mesmerising movement in Liesl's dress as she pranced around that gazebo with 17-going-on-18-year-old Rolf. I wanted to be like these women: pretty and fabulous and joyful - and I was doing a pretty good job of it.
Samuel as a child. Source: Supplied
But then I started kindergarten.
Anyone who has been bullied in a sustained way understands the feeling of wanting to disappear. I was bullied from my first day of school right through to the start of high school. The physical intimidation and abuse paled in comparison to the emotional abuse, the being pointed and laughed at, the humiliation. It didn't take long for me to work out which parts of myself were seen as indicators of weakness; the differentiators. They were the loudest, brightest, happiest parts; the colours and the flares and the giggles. Happiness and expression were no longer priorities - for the first time in my life I had to think about safety. I needed to blend in. I cut my long hair short and replaced my pinks, blues, yellows and oranges with browns and greys and blacks and khakis. Jewellery was kept to a minimum. High heels were a home-only affair.
Hiding who you are, especially at an age when your brain is in the full swing of development, is bound to have a lasting impact on your mental health - and it has done for me. My need to blend in followed me throughout primary school, into high school, and well into adulthood. I never wore colour - a black tee was my 'adult life' uniform. Where once I was recognised for the vibrancy of the way I dressed, I became known for wearing black, so much so that in February of this year I wore black to my own wedding.
However, shortly after I married my beautiful husband, I went through some pretty transformational changes. I was diagnosed with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), which results from repeated trauma over months or years. I found a great psychologist - one I actually connected with and felt comfortable committing to beyond the 10 (now 20) sessions of a mental healthcare plan.
And I stopped drinking.
I stopped drinking because I needed to give myself a chance to make progress. I realised that pouring my heart out in therapy and then pouring myself four vodkas to forget it wasn't sustainable - it was a recipe for repetition, for remaining stuck. I started sharing my experience of sobriety and CPTSD treatment on social media, as a way of holding myself accountable, but also to connect with others going through something similar.
I also made a decision to start dressing the way I did before I started school, before the bullying all but destroyed my sense of self. One upside of not drinking every day was that I suddenly had some extra money. For the first time in a long time I could afford nice colourful clothes - clothes that struck a chord deep down in my trauma-ridden soul. I started buying beautiful loud bucket hats and big dangly earrings from independent Australian designers . Bright prints from the collaboration became an everyday staple. Jewellery (especially pearl earrings and beaded necklaces!) from small brands including and made me feel strong and powerful in a way that I hadn't felt since my living room runway shows as a kid.
Dressing up again, I slowly began feeling reconnected to the child I used to be. The joy, the spark, the giggling, it started coming back.
A big part of treating CPTSD is slowly wading back into your childhood; untangling the messy balls of thread that make you the person you are today; shining a light into the darkest corners and identifying your triggers and letting yourself feel the searing pain of it all.
I've got a long way to go, but sobriety and fashion have given me a fighting chance.
Samuel Leighton-Dore is a visual artist and writer living on the Gold Coast. He's currently developing an animated series. You can follow him on Instagram .
