Embracing Umbridge and how it helped me heal

I vividly remember the review where Stephen King hailed one character in Harry Potter as "the greatest villain to come along since Hannibal Lecter." The man who brought us oozens of horror novels was not describing Voldemort, Snape, or any other terrifying figures. Instead, he is thinking of a short, rotund woman with a penchant for pink Alice bows. I won't say she's not that bad, but she has had a positive impact on me. Let me tell you the story.

"The Really Scary Teacher"

When I was a young child, I had a favorite picture book called Miss Nelson is Missing! Written by Harry Allard and illustrated by James Marshall, this was the story of a winsome schoolteacher whose class would not shape up. They threw paper airplanes and pulled faces and made what Maurice Sendak would call a "wild rumpus." Until the day that Miss Nelson called in sick and a substitute teacher named Miss Viola Swamp took her pace. Glowering from under bristling black hair the same shade as her dress, she restored order through fear and made the kids resolve to treat their teacher with respect. The book ended with Miss Nelson enjoying a quiet night at home, the dress and shoes of Miss Viola Swamp visible in her closet.

A few years ago, a friend asked me to come to her Hogwarts-themed wedding in costume. I laid out my pink Mary Janes and frilly pink skirt and was hunting for my pink hair bow when something occurred to me: Dolores Umbridge was my Miss Viola Swamp.

The costume started out as a work joke. My team decided to have a Harry Potter themed office for the Halloween contest. We decorated one desk as Platform 9 3/4, baked goods for Honeydukes, had a Potions classroom. I then mentioned that I was thinking of dressing all in pink and coming as Professor Umbridge. We won second place that year. I had been given a friend's pink velvet skirt and owned a pink lacy camisole that went wonderfully with my vibrant pink suit jacket and the cat pin that a friend had found for $1 at Walmart. My greatest investment was $11 for a custom headband.

After getting laughter and screams from coworkers and trick-or-treating kids, I let a friend take a picture of me at dinner. There I was, with curls intact, my expression altered into a smirk, looking positively toad-like in a local Denny's.

What kept me coming back to that pink skirt was more than my ability to frighten fans of the books. It wasn't even that J.K. Rowling, seeing it on her feed, retweeted that picture to all of her followers and I gained temporary notoriety. I was a grown woman who was coping badly with feeling like Dudley Dursley.

I've been dealing with depression for decades now and it partially manifests itself in turning to food as a coping mechanism. I am in my 40s can no longer remember the last time I felt comfortable being the center of attention because of the comments about how I waddled or the names I got called for the size I wore. I was the perfect person to dress up as a toad-like menace because, according to someone I've known most of my life, I wasn't pleasant to look at.

But not when I put on that suit coat. A few years ago now, I was given a press pass for a statewide comic convention so I could write about the experience for a site I contributed to. Everywhere I went, my experiences were the same. Children in Hogwarts robes would run up to me and scream "AVADA KEDAVRA!" before running away. And the adults would ask to take pictures with me. I would trade those pictures for the chance to ask a couple of questions about the convention. I loved having Glinda from Wicked fix my hair or getting chummy with Captain America.

I was asked to come in costume to a birthday party first, a wedding later. I once delivered an academic paper in costume because it discussed the idea that heroes flourish after their mentors have died. I dressed down to a sporty version and ran a Harry Potter 5K all in pink. I became proud to change myself into someone people felt comfortable feeling things around. It didn't bother me that those feelings were often negative except the time that I fell down the stairs at Harry Potter and the Cursed Child and audience members laughed in enjoyment at my bruised ego and sore ankle. I set it out tonight because I will be proud to wear it tomorrow as I see a friend play Voldemort in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.

I wear the costume differently now. With help from friends and a good counselor, I'm working on having a different relationship with my body. I've added Slytherin's locket and an old-fashioned hat that I found in an antique shop. But my "MIss Viola Swamp" still brings me joy every time I shrug into that suit coat and straighten my frilly skirt.

I love myself when everyone has reason to hate the person I play and that is a gift all its own.