I really don’t think God cares what you look like, that is like…number zero on his list of priorities it doesn’t even make the list, God has absolutely no fucks to give for your muffin top or thigh gap unless you plan on using them to nurse the sick or clothe the needy
and that sounds really unsanitary I would not recommend it
Dude, you’ve seen one or two selfies (just my face) which I have carefully chosen out of the dozen pics I took (with my ipod, not my cell phone, because it has fewer pixels and so airbrushes out smaller defects) and then adjusted the saturation/midtones/contrast until I was satisfied with how I looked. It’s the only way I will willingly post pictures of myself.
But, you know, thanks for the whole “you’re not ugly enough to be so self-loathing” thing, that’s definitely helpful.
I tend not to lie to you guys, there’s no profit in it, so yes—I really believe that. However, I…haven’t really thought about it in relation to anyone but myself, before this point? (I haven’t even articulated it to anyone before this point, I’ve never known anyone I felt comfortable expressing that much self-loathing with.)
So, um….yes? But also I wouldn’t…accept it uncritically, if that makes sense.
there are some days that not being beautiful will feel like walking around with a knife sticking out of your ribcage that everyone politely ignores, and you want to scream because you’re bleeding can’t anyone help can’t they see—except every time you bring it up people just say no no you’re fine you’re great there’s nothing wrong with you you haven’t been stabbed and you hate them, you hate them so much, all those healthy people who get to decide whether you’ve been stabbed or not when there’s blood pooling in your sneakers.
and then there are other days, when you are going to be okay.
My 60 year old co-worker says to put a picture of what you want on the refrigerator, and look at it every morning. She raised three kids as a teenager, got her GED at 40, bachelor’s at 43, then masters as 50, and is matriarch of her whole family, so obviously it’s working for her.
I’m sorry, anon (and several other anons in my inbox asking about mental health issues) but I am just…really not equipped to answer these with any sort of realiability. The risk of me giving you advice that will hurt your further or miss something is too great, I won’t chance it.
okay, I’ve reconsidered this question, and I have some more thoughts about attractiveness as a person who is Not Attractive and never has been, and will not be, barring an act of god or the sudden discovery of a passion for exercise.
(the former being more likely than he latter)
Because a lot of people (advice columns, mothers, etc.) respond to the question of attractiveness with suggestions about changing your mode of presentation—dress in a way that gives you confidence! they say, That’s what’s really attractive! If you think you look good, you’ll feel better about yourself!
Very few of those people mention how much effort, time, thought, and money has to go into “looking good.” Fewer ask whether you care about wanting to look good, or talk about the fact that such advice just seems to swap out one societal standard for another.
And they especially don’t talk about how “looking good” is not an attainable thing for everyone. Because the truth of the matter is some people are just not attractive by the definition society gives. Yeah, we can talk about how unfair that standard is, how it seems like the be-all-end-all for women, how narrow and white that hole is—look, it’s a fucking stupid standard, but it’s there, and the weight of it is real. And the reality is that short of an invisibility cloak, nothing is going to hide the fact that I am a size 16. I can pack on the concealer and do my eyeliner divinely, but the truth is I have some spectacular acne scarring on my cheeks; long sleeves will hide my stretch marks but I can’t will them out of existence. I can’t “look good” I can only look passable, look like I’m trying. That’s the closest I get.
(in fact, when I dress up nicely, I tend to feel like the whole world becomes insincere—people tell me I look nice in the way that they tell a little girl wearing her mother’s lipstick she looks nice. bless her heart look at the fat girl trying to be a person isn’t she adorable)
So what you do instead, is you choose another standard. You say, I will never be beautiful, but I can be smart and kind and fierce and true, I can do good work, make and mend, I can be a friend and a sister, I can live my life the best way I know how and that is enough that is more than enough. That is a higher, harder, truer, finer calling than being beautiful.
It doesn’t quite drown out all the voices telling you that your worth is determined on a ten-point scale, but it helps.
this is not a question this is an episode description from a less-straight version of days of our lives
I don’t think it’s selfish at all—you’re grieving the loss of your childhood, you’re home, a place where your roots run deep. I’m sure the rest of your family feels much the same way, that you’re all being forced to give up something that is a part of you.
Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s anything to do except give it time. You have good memories, and while you might be uprooted from that place, you still have the family that put down those roots. This too shall pass.
Telling people to fuck off when they try to eat my fries seems to be working for me.
There are people on tumblr I was intimidated by, until I became friends with them and realized they were secretly huge goobers the whole time.
I mean, I would just…go ahead and ask them questions, reblog their stuff, hang out? Don’t go bursting into their inbox with “LET’S BE FRIENDS” I’ve had people do that and while that’s very flattering and sweet, it’s also…not a great way to build any sort of real friendship?
I do have a number of followers who have stuck around for a long time and message me freely with comments and questions; I always notice when they’ve liked/reblogged something of mine and love them dearly. That strikes me as a much better way to go about things.
Keep your toes warm, don’t let anything dictate your tastes except genuine enjoyment, think of yourself as a perennial bc they grow in ways that let them survive through the cold and dry to flower again come spring.
Oh man, I know this feeling. My solution was always to give myself one evening a week—I would tell my friends I couldn’t go out, turn off the notifications on my phone, order takeout (or get a nice bottle of wine) and just veg. I wasn’t allowed to feel guilty about it, I wasn’t allowed to think about how much homework I could get done in that time. That one evening was mine.
That way, no matter how stressful my week was, I at least knew that I had those six-ish hours to look forward to.