Wednesday, April 23, 2014

i’m really into the idea of humiliating and publicly shaming men who behave badly towards women. i would like to think that i’m out of the bitter, angry phase of becoming enlightened, but i’m totally not, and i feel like part of being femme for me is being a destroyer, being angry, being full of sharp teeth. like a frilly, lacy trap. come on, dickholes. tell me to smile. i’ll open you up and choke you with your intestines.


1. Your body is in flux for the rest of your life. Think of your body as fluid instead of static — it’s always going to change. So get comfortable with those changes.

2. No one will love you or not love you because of your body. You are lovable because you’re you, not because your body looks a certain way.

3. The most intensely personal relationship you’ll ever have is with your body. It’s a lifelong relationship that’s well worth investing in and nurturing the same way you would with loved ones.

4. You don’t owe your body to anyone. Not sexually, not aesthetically. Your body is yours. Period.

5. What someone else says about your body says more about them than it does about you. Look past the actual snark to the person who’s saying it, because it’s only a reflection of what they think of themselves. That’s when you’ll see how little power their words have.

6. Your body is not a reflection of your character. It’s a physical home for the complex and wondrous and unique being that is you.

7. Take up as much space as you want. You don’t have to be small, or quiet, or docile, regardless of your physical size.

8. Everything you need to accept your body is already inside you. There’s no book, or diet, or workout routine or external affirmation that you need to feel good about your body right now.

9. Your body is a priority. It’s always trying to tell you things. Taking the time to listen to is of the utmost importance.

10. Wear whatever you want. Your body shape does not dictate your personal style, and fashion rules that say otherwise are wrong. Dress yourself in a way that makes you feel happy and confident and beautiful, because guess what? You are.

Ami Angelowicz and Winona Dimeo-Ediger  (via fragolle)


(via conspicuous-ac)

(Source: blackfemalescientist)

Monday, April 21, 2014
important goodwill purchases / lace collars / sheer / random neon geometry 

important goodwill purchases / lace collars / sheer / random neon geometry 

today my anxiety feels like 300 pounds of concrete on the top of my sternum; no matter how hard i try to catch my breath, my lungs can only breathe so deep.

Saturday, April 19, 2014
A flower does not think of competing to the flower next to it. It just blooms. from Zen Shin Talks (via serymn)
Quite honestly, my objection to rape jokes is not even because I particularly find the jokes personally triggering anymore; I generally just find them pathetic and inexplicable. And while I’m bothered by the fact that the jokes normalize and effectively minimize the severity of rape and thus perpetuate the rape culture, I’m more bothered by the thought of a woman who’s recently been raped, who’s just experienced what may be the worst thing that will ever happen to her, and goes to the site of her favorite webcomic, or turns on the telly, or goes to the cinema, or a comedy club, to have a much-needed laugh—only to see that horrible, life-changing thing used as the butt of a joke. I don’t understand—and I don’t believe I ever will—why anyone wants to be the person who sends that shiver down her spine, who makes her eyes burn hot with tears at an unwanted memory while everyone else laughs and laughs.

This is the most spot on description of how I feel about rape jokes I’ve seen.

(via incurablycurious)


(via feminist-space)

(Source: tenderbearhugs)

Friday, April 18, 2014

Last night I got a foot reflexology treatment for my feet here in Seattle, and my masseuse bundled me up like a toasty warm fuzz burrito. She touched my feet with the bones of her knuckles, in the spaces where I am rarely touched. The sensation of release and attention to those tight, emotional spaces of my body bring tears, sometimes. Sometimes I get scared and I feel a lot of pain. Sometimes I find myself in really dark mental holes, thinking about worthlessness. These storage / release cycles of mine are just like the rest of my mind — intense if not properly managed.

I got massages frequently while traveling in Asia — my shoulders hurt all the time, my neck had an incurable crick, my feet felt like raw tension wrapped in thick plaster, both incredibly painful and hardened beyond access. These massages were momentary relief found in constant movement and pain.

Traveling alone and traveling extensively can often mean a drought of touch and intimacy. I kissed a few kind souls while I was abroad, held a few hands, but these experiences of companionship were cut short and small by my constant movement, or by the movement of the other. Always a train to catch, for one or the other. Anyway, I was more interested in the depth of intimacy I had waiting for me on the other side of the world at the end of my trip.

I spent long weeks in my own company, in twin beds, without more than a quick hug from momentary friends. My whole body held itself in a permanent clench. My massages were the most intimate form of touching I received in months. I would get these treatments and feel bodily relief but  not know what to do with the aftermath of fear, sadness, anxiety, and longing I felt — my very first massage in Australia left me so destitute that I cried on the train and slept the rest day in my dim hostel bunk.

I’ve since picked up on these patterns and learned how to manage them (better, certainly not perfectly), but today I am thinking about our bodies and how they hold so much. How tender I need to be with myself; how it’s okay to need care and love, and how it’s okay to ask for it from myself.

April is the cruelest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain.
T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land (via traumachu)

(Source: petrichour)

Thursday, April 17, 2014

dashboard views / yellowstone / 2013

i miss the south because being a southerner means nostalgia is in my blood.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

soooo much anxiety.


by Lena C. Emery


Parked for the night

home is where you park it. 


Parked for the night

home is where you park it. 

I want to get more comfortable being uncomfortable. I want to get more confident being uncertain. I don’t want to shrink back just because something isn’t easy. I want to push back, and make more room in the area between I can’t and I can. Kristin Armstrong (via n-eon-blonde)

(Source: psych-facts)

But why do I notice everything? She thought. Why must I think? She did not want to think. She would rather force her mind to become a blank and lie back, and accept quietly, tolerantly, whatever came. Virginia Woolf, from The Years (via ohfairies)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)