Last summer, I procrastinated for months on going wedding dress shopping.

I was scared.

I felt nervous.

My body looked different— curvier, older. I had gained a few pounds over the last few years and felt insecure about it. I was also finding it impossible not to think back to the first time I had been married 13 years prior, just out of college.

What style of dress should I go for? What would look good on me? How much money should I spend? What do I really want?

I could feel myself overthinking it, but didn’t know how to quiet my thoughts.

My Inner Critic kept popping in:

"You shouldn't have gained that weight."

"This is going to be hard."

"What if the dress doesn't look good?"

"You might not be able to find anything you like."

I was worrying about the future, a typical pattern for me.

When I did finally show up for my appointment at the vintage dress shop, the energy shifted. I arrived to find a little chalkboard sign out front: “Welcome, Rachel!” it said. The store owner was thoughtful, friendly, upbeat. I could tell immediately that this was her passion. She glowed as she talked about her process for creating this space and bringing all of the dresses to her shop.

She showed me around, inviting me to start looking through the racks of dresses. Already I knew this experience was going to be fun, and after months of worrying about this day, I was finally able to let my guard down and start to enjoy it.

The laid-back ambiance of the store helped. I loved the little decorations she had everywhere, and the comforting scent of a candle filling the air. Relaxing music played in the background.

My mother-in-law and sister-in-law arrived too, giving me hugs and congratulating me on this exciting day.

“Okay, let’s do this,” I said, gently combing through the racks.

I gathered a few dresses to try on, holding them up off the floor as I walked back to the changing area.

One after the other, I tried on the dresses. Some were an immediate “no,” either because of style or size. Some of them were too small to even zip up, but I didn't let the whispers of my Inner Critic get me down. "Just keep trying," I told myself, smiling as the store owner brought back a few more to try.

With each dress that felt like it had potential, I’d walk out into the main area of the store to take a look in the big mirror and show everyone.

I liked a few of them, but they weren’t quite right. Either the fit was too small that I couldn’t move, or too big to feel comfortable (and did I really want to go through having to do a major alteration?). Others were too fancy for the kind of wedding we wanted to have.

I tried on a fun flapper-style dress, beaded and sparkling, but felt it cinching at my waist. “This one is fun,” I said, “but too small. I can’t even breathe if I sit down.”

“That’s okay,” the dress shop owner said. “I have a few more I picked out for you.”

We walked back to the changing room.

"Try this one," she said, placing another dress on the hook, a big smile on her face. “It’s from the 1960s.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m so glad I have your help with this.” A feeling of relief washed over me, thinking about how she was the expert at this. “I’ll try that one next.”

I pulled the dressing room curtains closed and gently slid the dress off its hanger. I pulled the satiny material on, sliding my arms into the dress. The lace details and off-white color had a vintage elegance that I liked right away.

I saw my reflection in the small dressing room mirror and let out a tiny gasp. Was this the one?

I walked out into the main area of the shop, glancing up to see my reflection in the large, curved mirror. Immediately, I began to cry.

I had goosebumps all over my body. For a moment, it felt like time stood still.

All I could see was my slightly blurry reflection in the mirror as a feeling of warmth surrounded me.

I felt my grandmother's presence with me, as though she was smiling, standing over my shoulder and looking in the mirror, too.

My mother-in-law and sister-in-law were grinning from ear to ear.

“Ooooh,” they said. “Oh, wow.” They nodded and said how they loved it.

The dress shop owner chimed in too. “I love that dress on you!” she said.

I smiled, thinking of my mom and sister, planning out the text message I would write them.

"I think this is it," I said, wiping tears from my eyes. "I just can't stop crying." I chuckled, turning to see what the back of the dress looked like in the mirror.

“It’s okay to cry,” the dress shop owner said, beaming at me. “That’s a really good sign. That’s usually the indicator that you’ve found the one.”

The dress fit perfectly, the boat neckline framing my shoulders, and the small train adding a graceful touch as I moved. After trying on so many dresses that didn’t fit, this was so exciting.

The dress shop manager helped me hook the series of buttons on the back of the dress. She was grinning ear to ear while I continued to cry softly.

“I don’t think you’ll even need any alterations with this one,” she said. “I love it on you.”

“I do, too!” I said.

Wow.

For a moment I felt all the years of my adult life catching up to me, like I could sense all of the growth and transformation I’d been experiencing over the last fourteen years, between the first wedding dress I’d worn and now.

I remembered back to that day when I’d tried them on with my best friend, shuffling through white after white dress at David’s Bridal. How the air in that place had felt stuffy, the saleswoman had been a bit pushy.

This felt different.

More special.

Way more grounded.

I loved that this dress was so unique— and that it held the energy of the decades before, a vintage charm. I thought briefly about how elegant and beautiful my grandmothers and own mother had looked on their wedding days, how excited they must have felt.

I thought about the naive excitement I’d felt at my first wedding, how young I had been, just twenty-one.

But even for as distant as that memory felt, as heavy as it had once been, it now felt light. Thinking back to getting married once already didn’t hold the shame or heaviness I’d first experienced when I was going through the divorce, the weight on my shoulders of feeling like I had failed.

I was happy then, and I’m happier now, I thought. This felt deeper, more real, more me. I could somehow in this single moment in time feel what a strong and powerful woman I’d become.

Over a decade after being married and divorced in my twenties, standing in this quirky vintage shop, I had found a new dress, a dress that felt more like me, with its smooth silhouette, its keyhole-shaped back, the delicate lace lining the trim at the bottom.

Here I was.

I had been through so many highs and lows in this last decade.

This felt like a powerful moment. A moment that stunned even my Inner Critic; she was speechless standing alongside my Inner Champion, Inner Child, and my higher self. We stared into that mirror together, taking in how the dress felt as I wore it.

We were celebrating together, not only this moment, but all the versions of myself.

I twirled around one more time, glancing in the mirror.

This was it.

“This is the one,” I said. “I’ll take it.”

My body buzzed as I realized how beautiful I felt. Whole. Free.

The day I found my dress, with my sister-in-law and mother-in-law at lover’s bridal in salt lake city, utah.

Note: this short essay is inspired by my memoir, Alive in the Fire, as well as some inner work I’ve been doing lately around accepting my Inner Critic and integrating this part of me.

If you want to dive deeper into working with your own inner critic, I encourage you to check out ISSUE NO. 1 of MOVE, WRITE, HEAL, the monthly self-care newsletter I write.

Also…

I have a free online workshop coming up called 🔥 Overcoming Imposter Syndrome & Working with Your Inner Critic where you can explore getting to know your own inner critic. Click here to register on Zoom.