The Beatles owe soooooo much to teenage girls for their success like i’m pretty sure it was teenage girls who were screaming and fainting at shows and buying all those records and not old ponytailed dudes or moody teen boys with bad hair? and somehow everyone forgets that when they’re yelling about “real music” and putting down teen girls for the performers they get excited about. like whatever. I see you.
you picked me up off of the ground and you called me your sun and your moon, even though clearly i was just a fallen star. and you told me you could never love me, but i couldn’t hear you 'cause you were looking at me too loud.
“the fact that “love your body” rhetoric shifts the responsibility for body acceptance over to the individual, and away from communities, institutions, and power, is also problematic. individuals who do not love their bodies, who find their bodies difficult to love, are seen as being part of the problem. the underlying assumption is that if we all loved our bodies just as they are, our fat-shaming, beauty-policing culture would be different. if we don’t love our bodies, we are, in effect, perpetuating normative (read: impossible) beauty standards. if we don’t love our individual bodies, we are at fault for collectively continuing the oppressive and misogynistic culture. if you don’t love your body, you’re not trying hard enough to love it. in this framework, your body is still the paramount focus, and one way or another, you’re failing. it’s too close to the usual body-shaming, self-policing crap, albeit with a few quasi-feminist twists, for comfort.”—Look at the Medusa Straight On.: “On ‘Loving Your Body’” (x)
“I was lying in my bed this morning and all of a sudden I got this really sharp pain right by my heart. I felt like I was getting stabbed in the heart. It lasted for about 15 seconds. My thoughts were racing and I was trying to breathe heavy to get it to go away and I thought I was going to die. This is the part where it applies to every single one of you. I’ve tried to take my life before, I’ve wanted to die so many times in my life, but when I felt like something was going to kill me without my control, all of those thoughts stopped. In my mind I was begging I would be okay. No matter how much you hate the world, no matter how much you hate yourself, there are answers that are better than death. Believe me. There are people that love you. I love you, for crying out loud. There are people who would be a wreck if you were gone. There is a reason we are all on this Earth, I promise you, even if you don’t see it now. If you’re feeling alone, know that the world can be a lonely place but it would be lonelier without you in it.”—Hayley Williams (via t0ngue—ti3d)
If you’ve ever doubted yourself, walk deep into any forest. Notice how the trees still stand even though they are given no recognition. Walk along any stream. The water still flows, though no one stops to praise it. Watch the stars late at night; they shine without acknowledgment. Humans are just the same. We are made out of the same elements as these beautiful wonders. Always remember your beauty and self worth.
“The trouble is that, for women, being “nice” often translates into putting up with things we should never put up with. How many times has some creep sat uncomfortably close to me on the bus and stared me down, yet I’m too afraid to just get up and move, lest I offend him?
We smile when we’re harassed on the street or hit on by jerks. We laugh at sexist jokes. We learn that when we have strong opinions, we’ll be called bitches and that if we get angry, we’ll be called hysterical. When we say what we want, we’re called pushy or aggressive.
“I’m not the silly romantic you think. I don’t want the heavens or the shooting stars. I don’t want gemstones or gold. I have those things already. I want…a steady hand. A kind soul. I want to fall asleep, and wake, knowing my heart is safe. I want to love, and be loved.”—Shana Abé (via thatkindofwoman)
Excuse me while I throw this down, I’m old and cranky and tired of hearing the idiocy repeated by people who ought to know better.
Real women do not have curves. Real women do not look like just one thing.
Real women have curves, and not. They are tall, and not. They are brown-skinned, and olive-skinned, and not. They have small breasts, and big ones, and no breasts whatsoever.
Real women start their lives as baby girls. And as baby boys. And as babies of indeterminate biological sex whose bodies terrify their doctors and families into making all kinds of very sudden decisions.
Real women have big hands and small hands and long elegant fingers and short stubby fingers and manicures and broken nails with dirt under them.
Real women have armpit hair and leg hair and pubic hair and facial hair and chest hair and sexy moustaches and full, luxuriant beards. Real women have none of these things, spontaneously or as the result of intentional change. Real women are bald as eggs, by chance and by choice and by chemo. Real women have hair so long they can sit on it. Real women wear wigs and weaves and extensions and kufi and do-rags and hairnets and hijab and headscarves and hats and yarmulkes and textured rubber swim caps with the plastic flowers on the sides.
Real women wear high heels and skirts. Or not.
Real women are feminine and smell good and they are masculine and smell good and they are androgynous and smell good, except when they don’t smell so good, but that can be changed if desired because real women change stuff when they want to.
Real women have ovaries. Unless they don’t, and sometimes they don’t because they were born that way and sometimes they don’t because they had to have their ovaries removed. Real women have uteruses, unless they don’t, see above. Real women have vaginas and clitorises and XX sex chromosomes and high estrogen levels, they ovulate and menstruate and can get pregnant and have babies. Except sometimes not, for a rather spectacular array of reasons both spontaneous and induced.
Real women are fat. And thin. And both, and neither, and otherwise. Doesn’t make them any less real.
There is a phrase I wish I could engrave upon the hearts of every single person, everywhere in the world, and it is this sentence which comes from the genius lips of the grand and eloquent Mr. Glenn Marla: There is no wrong way to have a body.
I’m going to say it again because it’s important: There is no wrong way to have a body.
And if your moral compass points in any way, shape, or form to equality, you need to get this through your thick skull and stop with the “real women are like such-and-so” crap.
You are not the authority on what “real” human beings are, and who qualifies as “real” and on what basis. All human beings are real.
Yes, I know you’re tired of feeling disenfranchised. It is a tiresome and loathsome thing to be and to feel. But the tit-for-tat disenfranchisement of others is not going to solve that problem. Solidarity has to start somewhere and it might as well be with you and me.
today marks 6 months of sobriety for me. It feels crazy and natural at the time. A lot has changed and a lot has stayed the same but I am proud of how far I’ve come. A year ago I didn’t think I could even stop drinking for one week and now here I am. Some days it’s really hard to stay sober and sometimes it feels like the best thing that has ever happened to me but strangely, right now it feels very normal. one day at a time i guess, as they say.