The Clothes We Hid In: Disassociation, Survival, and Style

There are outfits we don’t remember choosing.
Shirts we wore for weeks at a time.
Sweatpants we never took off.
Hoodies we lived in not because they were our style, but because they made us disappear.

If you’ve ever gone through a time in your life where you were trying to survive — not thrive, not shine, not be seen — then you probably know what it means to dress in a way that lets you blend in or disappear altogether. For some women, it looked like oversized clothes. For others, it was muted color palettes, layers on top of layers, or rotating the same two outfits over and over like armor. These weren’t fashion choices. They were survival strategies.

And most of the time, we didn’t even realize we were doing it.

This is what happens when clothing becomes less about choice and more about protection. When a woman has experienced trauma, control, or instability, the act of getting dressed can shift from self-expression to self-preservation. The clothes she wears aren’t about style — they’re about safety. She may not realize it at the time, but the oversized layers, muted colors, or repeated outfits serve a purpose: they help her move through the world without drawing attention, without inviting judgment, without being read too closely. And in environments where being noticed hasn’t always felt safe, that makes sense.

But at some point — often without warning — you outgrow that version of survival. And what comes next can feel confusing. Because stepping back into yourself, into visibility, into clothes that say here I am, isn’t always easy.

This is the story of disassociation, survival, and what it means to reclaim your relationship with clothing on the other side.

Dressing to Disappear

When life becomes unstable, or unsafe, or just too overwhelming to process, a lot of women begin to disconnect — not just emotionally, but physically. It can happen slowly: one day you stop wearing jewelry. Then you stop bothering to pick out outfits. Then you’re rotating through the same oversized hoodie or baggy jeans, not because they express anything about who you are — but because they help you stay small, unnoticed, invisible.

This is disassociation. And clothing plays a huge role in how it shows up.

Maybe you stopped dressing in things that made you feel beautiful because beauty started to feel dangerous.
Maybe you downplayed your shape to avoid attention you didn’t want. Maybe you made yourself forgettable because standing out never felt safe.

These aren’t shallow decisions. They’re survival instincts. For women who’ve experienced incarceration, trafficking, abuse, or housing insecurity, this disconnection from clothing is almost universal. You don’t just lose access to material things — you lose the right to your own image.

So you dress to be neutral. To get through the day. To avoid comments. To make sure no one looks too closely.

And after a while, you forget what it feels like to dress any other way.

What Happens When You're Finally Safe — But Still Disconnected

Safety doesn’t always come with an immediate sense of peace. For a lot of women, even after their circumstances change — even after they’re housed, out of danger, or technically “free” — their relationship with clothing doesn’t shift right away.

You can be safe and still feel disconnected from your body.
You can be stable and still feel like you’re hiding.
You can be growing and still reach for clothes that make you invisible — because that’s what you’ve taught yourself to do.

At some point, you start to realize that the clothes you wear are still speaking for a version of you that no longer exists. A version that needed to disappear. A version that learned how to blend in because blending in felt safer than standing out.

And when that moment comes, the work begins — not just of getting dressed, but of reconnecting with yourself enough to choose something new.

How to Recognize When You’re Still Hiding in Your Clothes

You might not even realize it’s happening. But here are a few signs that your wardrobe may still be holding onto patterns from a survival season:

• You wear things that are physically uncomfortable but emotionally familiar. You’re used to the heaviness, the sag, the too-long sleeves. It feels safe, even if it doesn’t feel good.

• You actively avoid mirrors. Not because you don’t care, but because looking at yourself makes you feel disconnected or overwhelmed.

• You dress to draw as little attention as possible. You choose the quietest colors. The loosest silhouettes. You avoid accessories or anything that might make someone notice you.

• You don’t recognize yourself in anything you wear. Your wardrobe feels like it belongs to someone going through the motions, not someone stepping into a future.

• You dread the idea of dressing for anything significant. Interviews, meetings, or events feel daunting — not just because of what they are, but because you don’t know how to dress like someone who belongs there.

If any of this resonates, know this: there’s nothing wrong with you.
This is the aftershock of surviving. And just like healing takes time, so does remembering how to get dressed like someone who’s allowed to be seen.

The Gentle Process of Reconnection

You don’t have to overhaul your entire wardrobe to start reconnecting with your style. In fact, doing too much too fast can sometimes cause more anxiety. The key is to go slowly. To give yourself permission to try, without pressure to get it “right.”

Here are a few ways to begin:

1. Start by wearing one item you actually like — even if it’s small.

It might be a pair of earrings. A scarf. A color you used to love but haven’t touched in years. Let that one piece be a signal to yourself that you’re reconnecting. Not performing. Not pretending. Just choosing with intention.

2. Try on clothes without needing to make a decision.

Set aside 20 minutes. Not to shop. Not to purge. Just to explore. Pull out things from your closet and try them on. Let yourself notice how they feel. What memories come up. What emotions surface. Then take them off. That’s it. You don’t need to fix anything. Just notice.

3. Create a “yes” pile based on how you want to feel — not how you look.

If you come across something that makes you feel calm, strong, curious, grounded, or hopeful — even a little bit — hold onto it. These are the clothes that will help rebuild your connection. They don’t need to be trendy. They just need to meet you where you are.

4. Avoid trying to jump straight to “polished.”

You don’t need to transform into some ideal version of yourself overnight. You’re not performing success. You’re reclaiming visibility. Let that be enough. If an outfit feels like a costume, it’s not the right one — no matter how “put together” it looks.

5. Keep one item that reminds you of how far you’ve come.

Even if it’s something you wore during a hard season, holding onto it as a symbol of what you survived can be powerful. It doesn’t have to stay in rotation. But keeping it — not to wear, but to honor your growth — can become part of the healing.

Letting Yourself Be Seen — Slowly, and With Care

Reversing the habit of disappearing doesn’t mean you have to dress loudly. It doesn’t mean wearing bold colors or drawing attention on purpose.

What it means is dressing in alignment with how you want to feel now — not how you had to feel then.

It means making choices because they reflect who you are today.
It means no longer hiding from your own presence.

And yes — some days that will feel uncomfortable. Visibility always does at first. But over time, it becomes lighter. Not because you force it, but because you stop fearing it.

You begin to trust yourself in your own skin.
You begin to choose with intention.
You begin to let the world see the woman you’ve been working so hard to return to.

There’s No Deadline for Feeling Like Yourself Again

Some women reconnect with their style quickly. Others take longer.
Some feel ready to try new things. Others stick with comfort for a while before branching out.
All of it is valid.

There’s no “right” pace for healing.
There’s just the process of learning to treat yourself like someone worth caring for.

So if all you do today is put on something that feels just one inch closer to you — that’s enough. If all you do is clear space in your closet for something new, or whisper to yourself, “I’m allowed to feel good in what I wear,” that’s a beginning.

Because hiding was never who you were.
It was just what you needed to do.

And now, you get to decide something different.