•buy toys/dolls/crayons
•play with Legos
•play old videogames/dress up games
•weave friendship bracelets
•watch cartoons
•use stickers
•draw pics of your favorite characters
If it makes you feel nice, do it.
Don’t even worry about what other people think, because it doesn’t matter–if it brings you happiness, it’s not “ridiculous”, or “immature”.
You deserve to enjoy yourself.
Let me share with you what I consider to be the most important less I’ve learned in my adult life:
“Growing up doesn’t mean you can’t have Zebra Cakes. Growing up simply means that, if you want to have Zebra Cakes, you buy them for yourself.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Bear?” Well, let me explain. For those of you who live outside of the US, this is a Zebra Cake:
It’s a little pre-packaged snack cake that is horribly cheap and junky and really not that great, but it is like manna from heaven to me. I fucking love these things. When I was a little kid growing up, my mom bought Zebra Cakes but once in a blue moon. They were intended to be put in mine and my siblings’ school lunches, but my brother and I would eat them whenever we wanted, so Mom just didn’t see the point. (They also used to be kind of expensive, at least for our family’s budget.) Needless to say, the coveted Zebra Cakes were a luxury for me, and were one of the tastes of my childhood.
Fast forward to my college years. I was living in an apartment with three other people, doing my own shopping and cooking. I was in the grocery store, picking up some stuff, and I happened to walk past a display of snack cakes. Among them were several boxes of Zebra Cakes.
I paused at this, chuckling to myself. Oh man. Zebra Cakes. I haven’t had those in years. I loved those when I was a kid. I reminisced happily and thought about how much I missed the taste of Zebra Cakes, then started to walk away.
And then I stopped dead.
Because I had realized that there was literally nothing stopping me from buying a box of Zebra Cakes. There was nothing stopping me from buying ten boxes of Zebra Cakes. If I wanted Zebra Cakes, I could have goddamn Zebra Cakes, because it was my money and my decision to make.
I put two boxes in my cart (they were 2 for $5) and never looked back.
Here’s the secret I learned that day: The idea of something being “just for kids” is, by and large, bullshit. What you do on your own adult free time with your own adult money is, by its very nature, adult stuff. It’s like comedian Eddie Izzard (who frequently performed his routines in drag) once said when someone asked about him wearing ‘women’s clothes’: “They’re not women’s clothes. They’re my clothes. I bought them.”
I am 25 years old, and yesterday I bought myself a shark lunchbox. Look at it. Look at how awesome my lunchbox is.
Was this lunchbox intended to by bought for and used by a child? Yes. The tag said it was for ages 3 and up. But it was bought by and will be used by an adult, and anyone who thinks that’s wrong is probably just jealous that they don’t have the self-confidence to rock a shark lunchbox at 25.
So like. Being “mature” and “an adult” doesn’t mean you have to completely abandon the things that made you happy when you were younger. It just means that you may have to approach them in a different way.
Fun Vampire Fact; the reason that Vampires traditionally cannot see their reflections in a mirror is because mirrors used to be backed with a reflective layer of silver — which, as the metal of purity, would not ‘interact’ with Vampires, who are the Devil’s work.
However, modern mirrors have used aluminum as their reflective backing for many years now — and aluminum is not a ‘picky’ metal at all. So Vampires are able to see their reflections in modern mirrors.
All I can think about is a vampire used to not seeing their reflection in mirrors for centuries, and one day they are just walking along and unknowingly pass a mirror backed with aluminum and THEY NEARLY SHIT THEMSELVES.
They’re more comfortable, still form fitting, and best of all: THE POCKETS. THEY HAVE ACTUAL POCKETS.
don’t believe me? look:
these are boys pants, and they look just as good on me as any other skinny jeans I own
See that phone? I’m going to put it in the pocket. Must be so small right??
Ah yes, girl pants length. Probably can’t fit any further than that-
what? what’s this?
Good god. Oh good lord in heaven. This is blasphemous.
Look at how much room is still there. There’s chaos in the streets. Babies are crying. Fashion designers are screaming out of fear of the unknown.
Buy your pants in the boys section, girls. Live in the beautiful world you deserve where you can fit shit in your pocket.
Curvy ladies: Men’s dress pants have more room in the butt. I don’t know why, I only know that all my dress pants for work are off the rack in the men’s department in Target. Literally nobody has noticed, except a couple of my younger coworkers who’ve asked me–you guessed it–”oh my god, where did you find pants with pockets?”
Tall ladies: men’s pants are easier to find in longer lengths than women’s pants are.
Trans ladies: Wanna get on this gravy train, but afraid people will misgender you for wearing clothes off the men’s racks? Step one: tell me who these people are and I will punch them in the face. Step two: if it doesn’t make you dysphoric, please don’t feel obligated to wear pants off the women’s racks if pants off the men’s racks are more comfy/useful to you. I’m a cis woman who’s been wearing pants from the boys’ section and, later, the men’s section, ever since I hit puberty and in thirteen years maybe, maybe half a dozen people have noticed. And it’s always women asking the oh-my-god-pockets question. You’re all good. ❤
Fat ladies: you will pay the same for a pair of 42×32 jeans as for a pair of 34×32 jeans, instead of having to pay some kind of Fat Penance Tax by way of being in the “plus size” section. Also, did I mention more room in the butt?
Ladies concerned about modesty: For obvious reasons, there is more crotch space in men’s pants. Embrace it and enjoy a life free from cameltoe worries and spontaneous labia-wedgies when you squat down.
All ladies: I swear to god the waists in women’s pants these days are made specifically to fit exactly nobody so that no matter what you do, your underwear will show. Men’s pants do not do this. The waists sit where they’re supposed to and will actually lay flat against the small of your back instead of flopping open to show your unmentionables to the world. If you want hiphugger jeans, buy one leg-length too small and one waist-size too large and let them hang, and they still won’t accidentally show your undies. Men’s pants will last longer. They cost less, in a lot of cases. Embrace the men’s jeans. Buy the men’s jeans. Stop buying shitty flimsy women’s jeans that wear out in six months.
AND FINALLY: to determine your size in men’s pants, take a tape measure around your waist at its smallest point. This is your waist size and will be the first number in a pair of men’s pants. Next, take the tape measure from about an inch below your no-no squares parts, and run it to your ankle. (You may need a friend or parent to help with this.) This is your inseam length, and will be the second number on a pair of men’s pants. Men’s and boys’ pants are tailored the same way, so if you have trouble finding your waist size in men’s, hop over to the boys’ section. Feel no shame. If they’d give us decent fucking pants we wouldn’t have to steal theirs, right?
Listen you guys, I am SO MAD ABOUT THIS. I’ve seen this first post before, and recently my mom said, “Hey, did you see that post on Tumblr about shopping for jeans in the men’s department?”
And I said yeah, I’d seen it, I’ve been through the Trying To Fit Clothes On My Stupid Body wars, and this post really only applied to skinny jeans because they’re so stretchy. It couldn’t possibly work for regular jeans! I have TRIED SO MANY TIMES. I’ve always shopped in the men’s department because women’s clothes are like 90% bullshit and 10% fake pockets.
But I hadn’t seen the second addition, which gave me more hope, and I decided to just try on a few pairs when I was at Old Navy the other day. They have some “classic” jeans with no give to them at all, which is what I was trying on years ago that convinced me it just wasn’t possible. (Jeans in my price range didn’t really come with any form of stretch back then, as I recall. Textile technology is bad-ass.) But these days they mostly have “flex” jeans that have some give to them. (Women’s jeans are usually labeled “stretch” but apparently men’s have to be “flex” like they need stretchy garments so their HUGE MUSCLES don’t just TEAR THEIR CLOTHES!)
This was totally an impulse decision so I couldn’t measure myself, but I grabbed a few sizes based on what I vaguely thought my measurements probably were and decided it couldn’t possibly be worse than the endless cycle of regret, dissatisfaction, and recrimination that is trying on women’s clothing.
The first pair I tried on fit like a DREAM. I’ve been gaining weight lately which is a whole separate nightmare (mainly centered around “but I don’t WANT to buy new bras, this is bullshit!”) and the reason I need to buy new jeans because nothing freaking fits me, and I was sure these wouldn’t either, but DAMN. They’re the best pair of jeans I own. Twice as thick, pockets twice as big, legs nice and loose (they don’t even sell women’s jeans with a cut remotely similar to this), and contrary to my super dumb opinion from before this experience, they’ve got my plenty of room for all my womanly curvey bits. AND because they’re actually a relaxed fit instead of trying to cling to every inch of me, they don’t show my weight nearly as much as my women’s jeans do, they’re easier to move in, they’re not constantly inching down my hips with every move I make, and overall they just make me feel GOOD about how I look which is a strange new sensation I could definitely get used to.
It’s like a miracle. I want to cry both out of joy and because of all the shitty jeans now filling my closet when I could have been buying comfortable, relaxed, pocket-having men’s jeans all these years. Many blessings to the posters above, may your crops grow and your cows give milk and your jeans hold all the gadgets you desire.
Also: men’s pants have constant sizes that are based off of actual measurements instead of the women’s whatever-the-company-wants-to-make-the-size sizes. They’re far more reliable and your size will translate to other brands.
@get-dunkd-on help me remember this for our next Goodwill run lmao
I HAVE to try some men’s jeans. Sick of these super skinny show everything always having to be hitched up no pocket crap jeans!
Honestly signal boost. Because imagine this actually starts some kind of ludicrous pants revolution that ends up causing women’s pants fashion company’s sales to tank, absolutely forcing them to realize men’s pants have always had the right idea and start doing that instead of this bullshit. Like just imagine. And don’t just signal boost this. Tell every woman you know. Tell every trans friend and every curvy friend out there. You see a lady down the street, stop her and tell her you’ve discovered a new gospel and it’s purchasing men’s pants. With the way women spread information when we’re excited, the mentioned scenario could actually be hella achievable
PRAISE THE UNIVERSE I FOUND THIS POST AGAIN
Guys. Gals. Non binary pals. As a trans ftm person who just recently started shopping in the men’s department and has gigantic hips full of dysphoria let me tell you a thing.
Athletic cut jeans have more room in the butt. I repeat. Athletic cut jeans have more room in the butt. You don’t need to go to the dress pants to fit your lovely curvy self in there. Go to the regular section or big and tall if you’re a bit taller and/or wider, and there’ll be a little section of athletic style jeans. They’ve still got the giant blessed pockets and the room in the crotch and if you’re really curvy with a large bone structure like I am you can get yourself some quality pants.
This has been an addition by your local nb trans dude. Thank you for your time.
someone who lived in my apartment before me wrote a quote under the lampshade above the bed and it says “Today I bent the truth to be kind, and I have no regret, for I am far surer of what is kind than I am of what is true.” and it makes me emotional every time i read it because it’s me as hell
let your character fuck up. please. let them fuck up on a scale so massive that this particular thing cannot be salvaged. let their fuck up have permanent consequences. and stoooooooooooooooop having them being the smartest person in the room who always has a sharp comeback to put their enemies down, and who always handles their enemies with grace or at least an air of superiority that s justified because they’re so cool and smart and clever™
let them bleed for their mistakes, let them MAKE those mistakes, and let that bleeding be ugly and disgraceful. let them suffer for their own mistakes, and let them suffer in knowing that they cannot fix. and let other people hate them for the shit they’ve done, and for once let the haters not be ‘petty bad people’.
how terrifying, to be aging and girl. at 18 i was told by men that i was “the perfect age,” and i still thought it was a compliment. is it because at 20 i figured out how sharp those words were. i felt old at 21, felt like if grey hairs came and my spine cracked i was done for. how scary. i am reminded constantly by “realistic” ideas in fantasy novels that i should have five kids.
my life feels short. like it is squeezed into my twenties. like at 30 i become ghost, just another mother or hard worker or both, just another background character. like if i am not settled and making a difference by 27 i should just give up already. is this something men feel? like a clock is painted on their back, one hand warning: your beauty is something you are valued for and it is something you cannot get back.
and why was i only beautiful, i wonder, at 18 on a riverbank. i’m told often my childish face is a blessing. that i shouldn’t want to look older. one told me i was a trap falling: “you look young but you’re not” he said to me, “it kind of led me on”. am i not young?
maybe i am wrong. maybe it’s just how we all feel, getting old, like time is slipping from us. maybe men do worry that they will be alone forever if they don’t settle by thirty, maybe it’s even because they think they’ll turn ugly. maybe we all squish our lives into that incredibly young decade. what do i know. i’m still learning.
I’m almost 25 and I’ve been feeling this a lot lately.
As a 48 year old lesbian, I offer my perspective on aging, and you all can take it or leave it.
Our understanding of our own aging is very much conditioned by the priorities of straight men, who in the aggregate understand beauty and femininity, indeed women in general, in literally superficial terms. Most of the ads you see for anti-aging products, for instance, focus on its *visible* symptoms: graying hair, wrinkling skin or discolored skin, sagging breasts, changes in body shape, etc. These are the symptoms of female aging that men perceive, and they are the ones that the cosmetics and the larger anti-aging industry therefore target. (Men do have their own anxieties about visibly aging, mostly related to hair loss and body shape; but they are not, for instance, generally terrified by the appearance of wrinkles, unless they work in the entertainment industry.)
But aging is not just something that happens to everyone else’s perception of you; it is something that happens in your own body, at levels deeper than anyone else (especially anyone male) is ever likely to perceive. From my POV the really important thing about aging is how you feel. Your body is where you live; it is for you. Aging is inevitable, but it can to some extent be intentional, in that you can (to some extent; all this is limited by the amount of time and money available to you and the healthfulness of the environments you have lived in and how you did in the DNA lottery) choose to do things that will help preserve the things about your body that make YOU happy to be living there–things like flexibility, strength, and the smooth functioning of your major organs. Generally, if you’re healthy, you don’t think about any of this stuff at 18 or 25; but when you are 40, you will start to take more of an interest as you come to understand how important all of this is to your own ability to enjoy life.
So that sucks, as does menopause, which is the unacknowledged referent of a lot of cultural anxieties about female aging. But the point I want to make is: one of the worst things that the phenomenon described so evocatively by the OP does to girls and young women is to make them so anxious about their own bodies that they are unable to enjoy and appreciate their youth while they have it. And that is theft. It really is. I miss youth, but even more do I regret the fact that when I was young I was so fucked up by cultural obsessions about female beauty that I was unable to fully enjoy the body that I had then. I did not appreciate its many excellent qualities, and it was a long time before I allowed myself to accept and act on its desires. At a time when I was beautiful, I thought I was fat and ugly, and that because no man would ever find me attractive, I was doomed to loneliness and isolation. After I met Mrs. Plaidder, her conviction of my beauty eventually passed into me. As a result, I enjoyed my life in general a lot more in my 30s than I did in my teens. I’ve enjoyed my 40s more too, apart from the cancer and the current catastrophe. Age does actually bring experience and knowledge and, to those able to profit from it, wisdom. You do gain, even as you lose.
Catullus, yelling in Latin verse at his lover Lesbia, asks her venomously, “cui videberis bella?” By whom will you be seen to be beautiful? It’s a question that still poisons our sense of self and our understanding of our own possibilities. By myself, asshole, she should have replied; and so may we all, at any age.
Long post, but – my three cents. At 67 I don’t feel old and/or ugly. In fact, I really enjoy myself. I’m happy with how I look – because I got over the brainwashed way we see ourselves. As plaidadder said: “even more do I regret the fact that when I was young I was so fucked up by cultural obsessions about female beauty that I was unable to fully enjoy the body that I had then.” BTW, plaidadder – you are STILL beautiful, trust me. The American cult of youth and they way of evaluating women’s beauty as inevitably liked to age is fucking TOXIC. I now live in South America; was complemented ( in a non-creepy way) by two guys less than half my age last week, grey hair & all. Love it here.
You will never feel as old as you do in your late 20s to late 30s. Seriously. Western culture makes the passing of youth into a tragic death and that’s – so fucking sad. Once it has passed and you can no longer reasonably think of yourself as young, no matter how desperately you try to hang on to it – you find yourself in a whole other country, you realize that you’ve lived on one side of a mountain all your life and told there’s nothing beyond it only to discover that there is, in fact, an entire world on the other side. Don’t believe the lie.
I’m just going to reblog all these responses because they’re so solid and right on.
I wish more people got this because some ‘low-empathy’ people are the most compassionate and sympathetic in the universe, and I hate it when that’s taken to mean ‘unfeeling and probably hostile’ when nothing could be further from the truth
Or, as my dad put it,
Sympathy: I know how you feel Empathy: I feel how you feel Compassion: is there anything I can do to help?
Posting this because I see these words used interchangeably in RP writing a lot, and they are – in fact – not the same. Know the differences and impress your writer friends! It really is noticeable when someone has a strong grasp of vocabulary, and thus is a stronger writer.
Also, empathy is not always compassionate or sympathetic! It very often goes with those two, but empathy itself is not a requirement for feeling sympathy or compassion at all. Empathy works like a sponge, and can happen whether you care about the people around you or not. It works with negative emotions such as anger, and can make you question which of the emotions you currently feel are your own.
See, the problem with people who aren’t in wheelchairs writing about and/or drawing people who are in (manual) wheelchairs is that the people who aren’t in wheelchairs tend to think that there’s only like four movements that you do in a wheelchair. You can either push forward, push backwards, turn left, or turn right. And the characters do it all while sitting up straight or bending forward so that their noses touch their knees.
But the amount of motions that I go through on a daily basis are actually amazing. And the body language…you could write an entire book on the body language of someone in a wheelchair.
Like right now, I’m more relaxed, so I’m slouching slightly. I’ve got my right foot on its footrest and the left foot on the ground. Every so often, as I stop to think of something to say, I’ll push with my left foot to rock the chair slightly.
But usually, I sit mostly upright with my upper-half slightly leaned forward. When I’m wheeling across the campus, especially if I have somewhere that I need to be, I’ll lean and shift my weight in whichever direction it is that I’m going. It helps make the wheelchair glide that much more smoothly. How far/dramatically I lean depends on how fast I’m going, the terrain, if there’s a turn, etc.
Plus people who don’t use wheelchairs don’t understand the relationship between grabbing the wheels, pushing, and the chair moving. Like I’ve seen things written or have seen people try to use a chair where the character/that person grabs the wheel every single second and never lets go to save their lives. Which isn’t right. The key is to do long, strong, pushes that allow you to move several feet before repeating. I can usually get about ten feet in before I have to push again. It’s kind of like riding a scooter. You don’t always need to push. You push, then ride, then push, then ride, etc.
And because of this, despite what many people think, people in wheelchairs can actually multitask. I’ve carried Starbucks drinks across the campus without spilling a single drop. Because it’s possible to wheel one-handed (despite what most people think), especially when you shift your weight. And if I need to alternate between pushing both wheels, I’ll just swap hands during the ‘glide’ time.
I’ve also noticed that people who don’t use wheelchairs, for some reason, have no idea how to turn a wheelchair. It’s the funniest thing. Like I see it written or, again, have seen people ‘try’ a wheelchair where they’re reaching across their bodies to try to grab one wheel and push or they try to push both wheels at the same time and don’t understand. (For the record, you pull back a wheel and push a wheel. The direction that you’re going is the side that you pull back.)
Back to body language. Again, no idea why most people think that we always sit upright and nothing else. Maybe when I’m in meetings or other formal settings, but most of the time, I do slightly slouch/lean. As for the hands…A lot of writers put the wheelchair user’s hands on the armrests but the truth is, most armrests sit too far back to actually put your hands on. There are times when I’ll put my elbows on the edges of the armrests and will put my hands between my legs. Note: Not on my lap. That’s another thing that writers do but putting your hands in your lap is actually not a natural thing to do when you’re in a wheelchair, due to the angle that you’re sitting and the armrests. Most of the time, I’ll just sort of let my arms loosely fall on either side of the chair, so that my hands are next to my wheels but not grabbing them. That’s another form of body language. I’ve talked to a few people who have done it and I do it myself. If I’m ever anxious or in a situation where I want to leave for one reason or another, I will usually grip my handrims – one hand near the front , one hand near the back. And if I’m really nervous, you’ll find me leaning further and further into the chair, running my hands along the handrims.
Also, on a related subject – a character’s legs should usually be at 90 degree angles, the cushion should come to about their knees, and the armrests should come to about their elbows. You can always tell that an actor is not a wheelchair user when their wheelchair isn’t designed to their dimensions. (Their knees are usually inches away from the seats and are up at an angle, the armrests are too high, etc.) Plus they don’t know how to drive the chair.
Let’s see, what else? Only certain bags can go on the back of the chair without scraping against the wheels, so, no, your teenagers in wheelchairs can’t put their big, stylish, purses on the back. We don’t always use gloves since most gloves actually aren’t that helpful (as stated above, wheeling is a very fluid motion and gloves tend to constrict movements). Height differences are always a thing to remember. If you’re going for the “oh no, my wheelchair is broken” trope, nobody really has ‘flat’ tires anymore thanks to the new material for the wheels but it is possible to have things break off. We use the environment a lot. I always push off of walls or grab onto corners or kick off of the floor etc. Wheelchair parkour should really become a thing.
This is all of the physical things to think about. I could write a thesis on the emotional treatment of your characters with disabilities. But for now, I think that I’ll stop here. For my followers in wheelchairs, is there anything that I left out?
Also why isn’t wheelchair parkour a thing? Somebody make wheelchair parkour a thing.
This is all REALLY GOOD and I wish something like this would be in more art guidebooks and classes.
One thing I’d add is that some of the posture stuff here is specific to wheelchair users who have the right chair; a lot of people (hi, past me) have to use chairs that aren’t at all the correct size, and that’s going to change posture, ease of use, etc. That’s such a broad variable that it’s probably useless to try and cover here, but it’s something to be aware of and research if it seems relevant to a character.
one of the best tips for Real Life that I’ve ever picked up is to always highball your estimate whenever someone asks you “when can you get this done by” by about 25% (if you can get away with it). that way, if it ends up being harder than you thought, you’ve got extra time to figure things out and if you were right about how much time it takes then you get to look like an absolute genius instead of just a simply competent person.
what you may not have realized is that I learned this crucial piece of life advice from an episode of Star Trek where Scotty is telling Geordi that whenever he told Kirk something on the Enterprise was at full capacity, it was always only ever a notch or so below full capacity so that Scotty looked like the god of all engineers when he was able to magically hack the warp drive to run a little beyond what he’d told everyone else was “full capacity” and honestly that one throwaway gag from Star Trek has changed my life.
im serious about that “stop saving things for special occasions” bit tho like. even if u aren’t in your 20s. thats for everyone. its one of the most useful things ive learned lately
stop! just stop. eat the special snack. drink the expensive hippie tea. use the incense or the bath bomb or whatever you paid way too much for because you were feeling really bad and retail therapy makes u feel alive
when we save things for special occasions/rainy days it contributes to us feeling like A.) our day to day existence is lackluster and B.) you have to be feeling a certain level of Bad, or have to reach a certain level of Socially Accepted Achievement, to enjoy things
just give yourself stuff. there are definitely sometimes reasons to withhold things from yourself – as motivation, if it’s something you consciously want to use sparingly, etc – but at least for me half the time it just turns into self-flagellation and also cool things and cool experiences and nice treats just collect dust while i wait for some fabled day when i convince myself i finally Deserve it
just fuckin give yourself stuff dude. life’s so mindblowingly short
my grandmother died having only used her china like twice in her life. during the year or so before her death, she was starting to package up and give things of hers to her kids, and gave mom the china while sighing “oh i wish i had used the china more!” and mom tried so hard to convince her to just keep it, then, and eat corny dogs off it if she wanted. she insisted she couldn’t possibly, you need a special reason to use the fine china.
when nana died, we used her fine china as our everyday dishes for years. i was 18 when she died, and never really stopped having that in the back of my head.
now, when i hear myself say “i wish i had a reason to wear/do/eat/use X!” i hear nana regretting never really using her china. and let me tell you a thing:
spaghettios taste great when eaten from fine china.
I’ve seen this post making the rounds. Just wanted to add something to it that my sister-in-law once told me:
“A ‘special thing’ can make any occasion special.”
She told me this when I objected to her opening a really expensive bottle of champagne just to watch a movie. And you know, she was right. The champagne was amazing and while we always sit around and watch movies, that bottle made that night a really special occasion that I will always remember.
So, cut yourself a little slack and remember that an ordinary day can become special.
My mother has always had a habit of buying what she calls “love gifts”. Essentially she would buy me my favorite snack or take me to get iced coffee or buy me fuzzy socks something like that
Her reason for that was simply because she thought of us at work and wanted to get something as a way of saying “I was thinking about you and I love you”
Now as a kid I just took the presents but when I got older I felt a little bad
She didn’t always buy something small, sometimes it was some new makeup or video games or something else that was more than just a few bucks
When I told her “hey mom it’s sweet that you do this, but you don’t have to go do this all the time. You can just wait until a special day or a special occasion”
She just looked at me and said “but Samantha, this is a love gift, and I love you every day not just the special ones”
And ever since she said that I haven’t objected again
This is so important!!! I’ve done this my whole life but have been trying to break the HABIT.
By holding back these desirable things from yourself for a time that you feel worthy, you are adding to the intrusive thoughts that you are not good enough, that someone is more deserving than you.
Wear your favorite shirt to the grocery store too, not just on your birthday or the first date with a guy who you’ve met once before. Wear your favorite shirt ESPECIALLY when you don’t “feel worthy”.
If a dog has a favorite toy it’s not going to ignore it and play with a different one simply to appeal to this notion that we have to earn happiness and enjoyment.
Yes there are “special days” but ultimately there are just “days” and you only have so many.
Tl; dr: Wear the clothes, eat the food, life’s short.
@jhaernyl when I send you things they’re love gifts!
just moving along like everyone else 