I completely screwed up this morning and told Molly as she was scooting out the door for camp that our babysitter would be picking her up today.

Rule number one when delivering change-of-pick-up news to kids: give them some warning. One would think I’ve learned this by now, given our experiences with epic preschool pickup meltdowns–Molly became utterly distraught at school more than once when she learned she was going home with me rather than our neighbor. You heard that right.

(Rule number two is always bring snacks to a pick-up. And I have failed at that as well.)

So to avoid further trauma as she was leaving today, I relented. I would pick her up at camp and I would cancel the work plans I had made. So smart.

This change left me with a bit of time this morning. Most of which I spent drinking coffee and on Twitter.

There is a great deal of discussion on social media right now about what to wear at the upcoming BlogHer conference. Appropriate dress is a big deal, and this is not welcome news to me. Should I have realized this earlier? Yes. Don’t I know that when fashion, women, and New York City come together, it’s a big deal? I guess I should have, but given that I wore a bathing suit cover-up as a dress yesterday, fashion and I often have missed connections.

I just checked my closet against all the cute outfits I’ve been seeing in posts about “what to bring to BlogHer.” Thank you, friends and fellow bloggers, for posting where you found these great and lovely items, because I am going to be dressed exactly like you now. That’s won’t be weird, will it?

I have a lot of clothes. And a very messy closet. But a lot of nice clothes. And shoes. And bags. The problem is that I have no idea how to put things together so that they look as cute on me as they did on the mannequin in the store when I bought them.

This is a historical problem for me. At the last moment, I think: I have nothing to wear. I am always, have always been, late for school, work, events because of wardrobe drama. I once left my office midday, went shopping, and returned to work in an entirely different outfit. Because I hated what I was wearing.

And as I desperately examine my wardrobe, I am stung with the realization that not only do I have no clue how to wear what I have, but I don’t know how to be in the clothing I have. How to be who I am. It’s rarely a woman’s outfit I admire as much as her confidence, her way. My frustration is not with clothes but with social situations. Always self-conscious, I rarely feel comfortable in my own skin, let alone my clothing.

And a huge conference is largely about being with people. And meeting them. And some may not like me. Or even talk to me.

Yes I should get therapy for this; I’ve written about this before. Because BlogHer is a couple of weeks away, though, let’s assume I won’t be making much progress. So if anyone can tell me what to wear with this top–that looked really cute on the tall plastic model at J.Crew but seems to match nothing I own–I will buy you a drink.

More than anything, I am grateful that my first BlogHer conference will be here in Manhattan. This is my city, my refuge, my comfort zone. And I can go home and change.