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Entry tags:
huh
If anyone else talked to me the way I talk to myself in my head, I'd leave. I'd call them a bully and a mean person and I'd have nothing further to do with them.
So why do I do it?
I internalized too much of the criticism over the years. I internalized too much of the media focus on "you must be slender and beautiful or else all your other accomplishments mean nothing". It's way easier to think bad things than try to change the script.
Fuck that noise. I can do this. I don't have to be limited by brain chemistry or past failure. I can do this. I can stop the "I'm fat and ugly and it's no wonder I'm sad all the time because I don't have talent or ambition or perseverance or any of the things that make successful people successful".
Yes, my BMI is overweight. Yes, I'm squishy around the middle. Yes, I feel uncomfortable in belly-baring tops. So. Fucking. What. I have amazing legs, a great rack (especially when I wear a bra that fits well), and elegant arms and shoulders. Yes, I need to get more exercise to help my mood and to let me dance more and outrun zombies. When I wear clothes that fit and make an effort, I'm pretty.
I'm pretty fucking talented, too. I'm smart and can book-learn things quickly. I've taught myself things like sewing, crochet, mini painting (with input from Downwood), and lately I've started learning how to henna. I can do these things because I want to.
I can dance. Even if I feel like an ungraceful spastic squirrel, that's no need for me to give up. Fuck that. So I'm not slender and bendy enough or practice enough to be a rotation dancer. So. Fucking. What. That's not the only measure of success for dancing. When Ox is handed a length of glitter dot material, he demands that I tie it 'round his waist. Then he dances and shimmies like a maniac. That right there is success. Emi loves to dance. That right there is success. Both of them love to drum. Downwood loves to drum. We have family drumming time. That right there is success.
I'm a good mom. I work a lot, but when I'm home, I try to be there for my kids. They can be total pills, but Emi's idea that our family resolution should be More Hugs is a good thing. Ox is a snuggle bug. Emi is a snuggle bug. I don't yell and I don't hit or spank. When they do something wrong I remove them from the situation and explain. Emi takes it really hard. Ox isn't sure yet, but he's 2 and he'll get there. They're good kids, inquisitive kids, and I love them to pieces. I help them explore the things that they're curious about and try to plan things for us to do together. I'm a good mom and I'm not hurting them by being around.
Fuck all that hating crap that's constantly on repeat in my head. I don't need it. I don't need any of it. I'm tired, I'm physically hurting, and I'm hungry. And I don't need anything else trying to drag me down.
I'm a human being. I have value. I will see another sunrise. I will give and receive more hugs.
This is going to take work. And time. And being gentle with myself.
So be it.
So why do I do it?
I internalized too much of the criticism over the years. I internalized too much of the media focus on "you must be slender and beautiful or else all your other accomplishments mean nothing". It's way easier to think bad things than try to change the script.
Fuck that noise. I can do this. I don't have to be limited by brain chemistry or past failure. I can do this. I can stop the "I'm fat and ugly and it's no wonder I'm sad all the time because I don't have talent or ambition or perseverance or any of the things that make successful people successful".
Yes, my BMI is overweight. Yes, I'm squishy around the middle. Yes, I feel uncomfortable in belly-baring tops. So. Fucking. What. I have amazing legs, a great rack (especially when I wear a bra that fits well), and elegant arms and shoulders. Yes, I need to get more exercise to help my mood and to let me dance more and outrun zombies. When I wear clothes that fit and make an effort, I'm pretty.
I'm pretty fucking talented, too. I'm smart and can book-learn things quickly. I've taught myself things like sewing, crochet, mini painting (with input from Downwood), and lately I've started learning how to henna. I can do these things because I want to.
I can dance. Even if I feel like an ungraceful spastic squirrel, that's no need for me to give up. Fuck that. So I'm not slender and bendy enough or practice enough to be a rotation dancer. So. Fucking. What. That's not the only measure of success for dancing. When Ox is handed a length of glitter dot material, he demands that I tie it 'round his waist. Then he dances and shimmies like a maniac. That right there is success. Emi loves to dance. That right there is success. Both of them love to drum. Downwood loves to drum. We have family drumming time. That right there is success.
I'm a good mom. I work a lot, but when I'm home, I try to be there for my kids. They can be total pills, but Emi's idea that our family resolution should be More Hugs is a good thing. Ox is a snuggle bug. Emi is a snuggle bug. I don't yell and I don't hit or spank. When they do something wrong I remove them from the situation and explain. Emi takes it really hard. Ox isn't sure yet, but he's 2 and he'll get there. They're good kids, inquisitive kids, and I love them to pieces. I help them explore the things that they're curious about and try to plan things for us to do together. I'm a good mom and I'm not hurting them by being around.
Fuck all that hating crap that's constantly on repeat in my head. I don't need it. I don't need any of it. I'm tired, I'm physically hurting, and I'm hungry. And I don't need anything else trying to drag me down.
I'm a human being. I have value. I will see another sunrise. I will give and receive more hugs.
This is going to take work. And time. And being gentle with myself.
So be it.