I wanna be cute. How does one become cute? Because I am a potato. A glasses wearing potato with boring hair and a double chin. Not cute.
First of all, potatoes are adorable. Please observe:
Second of all, cute isn’t a look, it’s a behavior. When you giggle because a joke caught you off guard, you’re cute. When you yawn and you stretch and you’re nodding off while curled up in blankets with mussed up hair and your glasses slipping down your nose, you’re cute. When you blush because someone complimented you, you’re cute. When you smile at the person you love, you’re freaking adorable. (I have seen it. I know.)
Cute is not your size, or your haircut, or your clothes. Cute is your soul bursting out of you at the seams because you’re unabashedly, unapologetically, unselfconsciously you.
no offence but let yourself be ugly!! you don’t have to fix your hair if you’re not going anywhere you don’t have to cover up ur spots or change out of your lounge pants to go buy milk like damn we really gotta let ourselves be comfortable without constantly apologising for just looking normal and it’s hard but i think we need to practice looking in the mirror and saying i look ugly af today and that’s okay!! tru self care is letting urself be ugly tbh
I love this version of self-love because it’s much more feasible for people who are self-conscious. Like it takes years of powerful reconditioning to convince yourself that your flaws, like stretch marks or acne or cellulitis, are attractive. It’s basically impossible for most people.
But learning to say “so what, I’m ugly, there’s more to life” not only overwrites this narrative that we have to feel attractive in some way (which is bs) but also reroutes your actual attention to just, living, instead of examining, evaluating, and judging your appearance
Been working on this a lot lately, especially now that it’s summer and I’m trying to be more comfortable with the acne on my shoulders 🙂
we’re watching the new season of queer eye and my dad is actually crying over the ep with the trans dude, like he’s talking about his top surgery and my dad is in tears going “when you sculpt marble the sculpture is already inside, you’re just getting rid of what isn’t part of it! he’s just getting rid of what isn’t part of him!”
so from my oldass 70 year old dad to all my trans followers, y’all are marble sculptures and you’re perfect
Trauma often messes with one’s ability to say “no”.
You either consciously or subconsciously think, “I don’t want to hurt this person’s feelings” or “If I say no, then they’ll hurt me” or “It won’t really be that bad” or “I can handle this” or “I need to do this to prove myself” or “I deserve this”, or you forget that “no” is even an option.
It’s still not your fault if you didn’t say “no”, even if you think maybe you could have. It’s still not your fault. You didn’t deserve what happened to you and you didn’t bring it upon yourself. It was never your fault.
“Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale” with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.””
1. Become aware of how and when you tearing yourself down.
2. Now that you can catch yourself doing it. Offer counters to the negative self talk. A really useful thing I read was to talk to yourself almost the way you would child. Gentle and patient. Even when they fuck up.
3. Take time to celebrate your small accomplishments. You’ve been attacking yourself for every little mistake. Apply that same fervor to the positive things in your life. Did the dishes even though you didn’t want to? Fuck yeah! Got up and took shower? YES!!! You are taking positive steps to feeling better. Celebrate it.
4. Make lists of things you’re good at/ like about yourself. The first time I did this the only two things in my list we’re that I liked my hair and I had good friends. It was start.
5. Don’t beat yourself up if you screw up steps 1-4. It’s counter productive. When I catch myself calling my self stupid for some mistake or other my response now is,“We don’t talk to ourselves like that anymore. What’s something constructive that could actually help solve the problem.”
Most of the time that seems to work. Not always. But more and more Everytime.
Gay Ryan 