Tabatha Wharton



a year+ in the life of my evolving, offbeat aesthetic as i navigate being
a mid-30s-femme-grown-up-emo-punk-single-mom-graduate-student-non-profit-employee-fashionista.


A coworker told me I was on the national evening news last night.

A shot of me at the vigil downtown was the lede for some report about the shooting in the Oregon.

It feels heavy in a way I don’t know how to articulate — probably because I’m trying to navigate the unexpected and rapid decline of the health of one of my cats.

Grief seems to be the thing that permeates every part of existence … on to the next trauma, the next tragedy, the next hard thing we have no way out but through.

At the vigil, one of my favorite songs — Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah, was played by a friend on stage. I sang along, the refrains too familiar in the passing years.

Love is not a victory march/it’s a cold and it’s a broken/hallelujah

And so, we wait. On phone calls, explaining findings and next steps. On reasons, explanations for the inexplicable. On healing, grace through the losses that you can’t escape, the unbearable companion to opening your heart to love and connection. We shoulder the things we didn’t ask for, the roles we didn’t want to play, and we hope for the day when it feels less to bear.

It's not a cry that you hear at night/It's not someone who's seen the light/It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Black sleeveless sheer star overlay blouse: Modcloth
Black high-waisted jeans: Gap
Silver “T” locket & silver glitter stud earrings: Kate Spade
Floral print & checkerboard Vans: DSW