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danisnotofire · 3 years

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as someone who grew up online i think maybe younger teens should step back and really learn to develop their own opinions and thoughts and not blindly slurp things up from random people on websites like this. i mean that very kindly and genuinely. sure it can be funny to say “no thoughts head empty”, but after awhile you find yourself doing things like absorbing posts that blindly tell you you have bipolar disorder, or that letting your room get messy is an undiagnosed symptom of ADHD, and suddenly you find yourself believing things you shouldn’t necessarily accept without actual due process.

like, just because someone online says it’s cool and normal doesn’t mean it definitely is. I mean that with everything. girls on tiktok doing contour because they tell you they can’t leave the house without it or calling out skinny jeans. boys saying what’s good in bed and calling that a universal truth. “ladies, here’s what you’re missing in your skincare routine that you need to get RIGHT NOW if you wanna look 20 at 40.” and it’s some prescribed medication that that person got to deal with a specifically personal problem they’ve been handling. memes about red flags in men that are like “he doesn’t text you good morning every day”. like, it is up to you to define what is cool and what isn’t, what you need vs what is being sold to you for money or clout, and after a certain point those posts stop being educational and start being this weird type of brainwashing that you don’t even realize you’ve internalized until you don’t wanna wear that green cargo jacket for fear some fifteen year old on Instagram is gonna turn you into a meme because they want to also assert their opinion as fact when in reality it’s not. like. your opinion matters just as much as theirs, but what it means to you DOESNT mean that for everyone, and it’s essential to take the time to develop it. learn yourself and your needs. obviously I don’t mean that contouring or whatever is bad, but maybe there is a reason why you feel you can’t leave the house without it. like maybe we should stop blindly accepting relationship advice or fashion advice and whatnot from people whose last names we don’t even know. we are so inundated with opinions we aren’t asking for and they’re being thrown at us as truth. anyone can go online and say “my therapist says this” but that doesn’t mean it applies to you. you don’t even know the context it was given or why the person needed to hear it in the first place. nor do we need to know, because it’s not for us. you are what you don’t need to tell other people. that’s where you really grow because you define those spaces for yourself and only you. it’s impossible for me to even say this without acknowledging you blindly listening is part of the problem. growing up would have been so much easier if I didn’t have to make that conscious decision to Not Subconsciously Accept everything i consumed. idk if this makes sense I’m just speaking out loud but it makes me sad seeing how much I believed strangers over myself on even the smallest things, and how those small things eventually began to add up.

#and before anyone comes for me you know EXACTLY what I’m saying and what I’m not #there is a difference between normalizing sexuality and neurodivergence #and then there’s this whole other line #I’ve been thinking about this a lot idk #especially as I go through my own therapy and relearning myself #and being on medication that has helped #that I was afraid to take because people would always make jokes about how it didn’t do shit #like these small jokes have consequences #and they sneak up on you

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imanativeofswlondondahling · 3 years

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Being A Star (4)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Count: 2071

Warnings: Language as Steve would say

Author’s Note: Here’s the next chapter! Let me know what you think or if you want to be added to the tag for future chapters!

Becoming A Stark || Chapter One Being A Stark|| Masterlist

Life finally feels normal again. At least as much as it can for missing five years in the middle of your life, having a new sister, and living in a new house. But your dad is home which is the biggest thing. Dr. Cho is talking about having to send him to a specialist to deal with the after effects on his arm, but for now she’s let him come home with the sling holding the dead weight of his arm. The marks freak Morgan out so Tony has been wearing a lot of flannels over his arm so she doesn’t have to see it. You’re not supposed to know, but you overheard your parents talking about how Dr. Cho thinks most of your dad’s arm will probably need to be cut off. She hadn’t done it in hopes of saving it, but her messages about your dad’s case with the specialist said there is little hope that the arm can be saved. Especially since it’s causing your dad pain, which you didn’t know. You try to imagine your dad without his arm, but it just doesn’t seem right.

A knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. “Shouldn’t you be asleep kiddo? You’ve got the second first day of ninth grade tomorrow?”

“In which I will be the only one starting the year since everyone else started last week.” You say with a roll of your eyes as Tony walks over to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Even so, you’re not one to stay up late on a school night unless you have homework and seeing as I know you already finished it…” He trails off. “Wanna talk about it?” You slide towards the left side of your bed to make room and Tony moves to sit next to you. His good arm wraps around your shoulder and you lean into the smell of him, cinnamon from his cologne and mint from his aftershave. The only scent missing was the smell of him being in the lab, but until he was cleared to work on things like his cars and other science projects, he was restricted from going into the garage.

“I, uh, heard you and Mom talking the other night.” You say softly. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you were going back to your room after using the bathroom and had heard them from the top of the stairs.

“Heard us? Talking about?” Tony asks, not following what you’re talking about.

“Your arm. How they might cut it off.”

“Ah.”

“How you’re in pain.” You mutter the words.

“I wasn’t keeping that from you, if you’re up late feeling bad about overhearing it.” You look up at him. “Your mom and I were going to talk to you about it after meeting with the specialist. We didn’t want you to be worrying if you didn’t need to be.”

“I’m not up because I felt bad.” Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you pull at some of the skin there. “I don’t like that you’re in pain.”

“I feel the same way when you hurt kiddo. But that’s what this appointment is about. They think the stones did something to the tissue and nerves. They think it’s basically corrosive. So by taking the arm away, it would hopefully stop the pain.” Your eyebrows fall together as you think about this.

“But how would that affect everything else?”

“Well, I will have to use a prosthetic. And I’ll have to relearn how to do some stuff. But if it gets rid of the pain it will be worth it. Maybe Bucky will teach me all about having a detachable arm.”

“That guy who was bad but now isn’t, that’s a friend of Steve’s?” You ask, having heard the name but never having met the guy.

“That’s the one. He was brainwashed for a little bit into being a bad guy. But he’s all better now. I wouldn’t risk myself being around him if he wasn’t. And he did help us fight Thanos.” He smiles at you. “I think that makes him a good guy.”

“Fuck Thanos.” You mutter.

“Summed up my feelings entirely.” Tony says as his hand rubs your shoulder slightly.

“How do you just jump back into life after being gone for five years?” You ask the other question that has been simmering in your mind for the past few days. “Like my life just stopped? How do I get that back?”

“You seem to be doing a good job at getting it back so far. Hanging out with Mom and Morgan and your favorite old man.” He teases.

“Dad, I’m serious.” You lean into him as you let the words leave your lips. “The past couple weeks have… they felt like they are a part of my new life. But by going back to school, I’m having to be old me all over again? How do I just slip back into that?”

“New life?”

“My old life didn’t include a little sister or waiting for my dad to come home from being injured. It was a whole different thing. I’m in a new house, I haven’t had to do anything that seems like things I would have done before I just poofed.” You didn’t want to admit it, but you had been avoiding Peter partially for that reason. Peter was pre Blip. Morgan was post Blip. How do you make them go together?

“What things are you nervous about having to deal with?”

“I…. I’m scared it will all go away again.” You admit. Every day when you wake up, you feel like crying that you’re still there.

“Being scared is a normal reaction. We all get scared sometimes.”

“You’re Iron Man. You’re saying you get scared? You literally save the world.”

“I lost you. I lost half the universe. I wake up at night and think that you’re still gone. I’m scared I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream. There’s stuff from before the Blip that still causes me to have panic attacks. I get scared easily kiddo. I’m far from perfect at dealing with things.”

“And how do you deal with all of it?”

“I lean on Pepper. I hug you and Morgan as close as humanly possible. I tried therapy once, but should find a different doctor. I tinker. I focus on the things I can control.”

“So I should just keep going even if I’m scared?” Tony nods slowly.

“Is this fear why I haven’t seen a certain Spider-boy around?” You bite the inside of your cheek and don’t answer. “I may not like the idea of you dating people for selfish reasons, but I know he makes you happy. So maybe lean on him instead of pushing him away? Just a suggestion.”

“I…” You trail off, not knowing if you should voice the other thought going through your mind.

“You…?”

“Have you ever thought about how the world would look without you in it?”

“Sure, in a dark moment. Why do you ask?” Tony’s concerned but wants to see where you’re going with this.

“I left, and you guys just moved on. So what’s the point of slipping back into what I did pre Blip if everyone was fine without me?” You ask, not looking at your dad. You find you can’t meet his eyes after saying it.

“We continued living. But we didn’t move on.” Tony wishes he had two working arms so he could pull you into a tight hug and not let go.

“You had a whole other kid while I was gone. How is that not moving on?”

“Morgan was on her way before you Blipped.” You look up at your dad with all the confusion you’re feeling painted across your features. “If the Blip had happened seven weeks later, you would have Blipped knowing that you had a sibling on the way. The last thing we wanted to do after losing you, was try to replace you. And Morgan could never replace you.” He pulls you in closer with his good arm. “I came back from being lost in space with Nebula, thinking I was going to have to tell you I lost your boyfriend. Then I took my first step off the ship and my eyes were searching for you and Pep- hoping I didn’t lose my family. But the moment I saw Pepper’s eyes, I knew it. She didn’t even have to say it. And when I knew you were gone, my whole world fell apart. It felt like my heart had been ripped out. I was sure my lungs were being crushed. I couldn’t breathe. I had a panic attack in front of the remaining Avengers because we lost, but more importantly I lost you, my kid. It took a week before I could even talk to anyone besides Pep. Nearly a month before I could manage to talk about anything Avenger related. It hurt too much. I broke the one promise I swore I wouldn’t. I swore I would keep you safe and I hadn’t done that. I was across the galaxy as you faded into dust. So I promise you Y/N, we never moved on. We just did what we could to make losing you not hurt so much. We were far from fine without you.”

“I didn’t know.” You whisper, not knowing how much pain your dad had gone through. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should apologize, it should be me for not stopping the Blip from happening.”

“That’s not your fault though. You may be an Avenger, but the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders.” You pause before saying. “If I’m not allowed to apologize, then neither are you.”

“You’re making demands now?”

“Mmmhmm. You perfected time travel to bring me back. And you brought my boyfriend back, willingly nonetheless. So I say there’s nothing to apologize for. No apologizing.”

“Ok, no apologizing.” Tony leans against your head. Tony decides to bring up a more positive subject. “Morgan loves that you tell her actual bedtime stories.”

“Actual bedtime stories? What have you been telling her?”

“Once upon a time there was a Morguna who went to bed, the end.”

“That’s the worst story I’ve ever heard. No wonder she likes my stories better.” You shrug. “They’re not that special. Just stories I would have made up when I was her age.”

“Vivid imagination?” You nod.

“Still have one. It’s why I love reading. Imagining far off places and new things to see. It’s amazing.” You lean into your dad’s shoulder as you explain.

“Ever thought about writing your own?”

“Story?”

“Book.”

“I’ve… contemplated it before. But never actually given it a try. What if I have nothing to say?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“Wow, it’s cuddle time and I wasn’t invited?” Pepper stands barefoot in your doorway.

“There’s still room.” You pat the bed on the other side of you. Pepper smiles and comes to sit down next to you.

“What are we contemplating instead of sleeping?”

“Dad’s trying to convince me I should try to write a book.”

“You could write a book that is solely Morgan’s bedtime stories and I know you would have at least one reader.” Pepper agrees.

“That’s just made up… shit.” You shrug off your parents’ suggestions. “It’s not a real story.”

“It’s a real story to Morgan. The person who decides the story is worth it is the person who wants to read it. But if you want to do something completely different, that’s ok too. You have plenty of time to figure out what to do in life.” Pepper says. “But, it is getting late and you do have to get up early to drive into the city.”

“You were the ones that chose to move out of NYC proper. So really it’s your fault.” You joke.

“True, but either way, you need to get some sleep so you don’t fall asleep in class.” Tony kisses your cheek. Pepper stands up, but then leans over to give you one more hug and a kiss. “Get some sleep kiddo. Tomorrow is going to be fine.”

“Whatever you say Dad.” Tony pulls your quilt around you and tucks it in tight. “Love you.”

“Love you too sweetheart.”

“Love you kiddo.”

...A Stark Tag list: @persephonehemingway @iamaunicorn4704 @furiouspockettoad @daughter-of-stark @eternalharry @huntective-kyeo @riiis-stuff @sunnyoongles @cosmicqueenieb @sovereignparker @bbarnestan @teenwishes08 @iamthescarlettwitch @skyfallstilinski @cutie1365 @a-mnd @youarethereasonimsmiling @thefemalestorywriter @krazykendraisnotinsane @cathy8taffy @letssee2468 @babyreads @riyanna @theatregeek @bubblebunbun @curls-freckles-books

Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick

strike wont let me tag

#peter parker #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x reader #peter parker fan fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fan fiction #tony stark #tony stark daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark can't be dead if you just don't let yourself believe it #tony stark is a good dad #pepper potts #pepper potts is the worlds best mom #morgan stark #peter parker imagine #imanativeofswlondondahling #being a stark #becoming a stark

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saundraswriting · 4 years

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Interior Designer Chapter 5: Dinner

SUMMARY:You join the Avengers for dinner, part because you want to and partly because Tony wouldn't take no for an answer. You meet the others who expected to stay at the compound. Steve and Bucky talk. Your work habits make an appearance.

WARNINGS: Bucky and Steve both deal with intense emotions. Also I allude a bit to the reader's backstory. You have been shunned of sorts from a very wealthy family, you were forced to develop skills to better yourself to be of more value to your parents. so there are some references to a sense of familial detachment, I am not writing it as abuse because the reader is well cared for but her parents are hard to please and distant.

NOTES: This is an everyone lives/no one dies, Living in the compound, Non Civil War compliant, No Sokovian Accords AU.

Previous / Next

"No we haven't. My name is F/N :L/N. I just accepted an offer from Ms. Potts to be an Interior decorator for the compound. I'll work with each one of you to decorate and settle your rooms how you like. Then I'll also be in charge of the other living areas of the compound. My official title is Quartermaster of the Avengers." You spoke to everyone, looking at those who you see.

"I am called Vision. This is Wanda Maximoff and her brother Pietro Maximoff." Vison pointed to the two in front of you.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Vision, Ms. Maximoff and Mr. Maximoff." You smiled at the three of them.

"We are roughly the same age, surely you can use our first names." Wanda told you. You nodded in agreement.

"You can just call me anytime, baby." Sam winked at you from his position to your right. His charming smile shrunk ever so slightly at you lack of response. "Huh? You playing hard to get?" His smile gained strength.

"Nope, just got standards, bird-boy." You teased with a wiggle of your eyebrows. Laughter rang around the table, the hardest coming from your left. Steve and Bucky were laughing outright, making pride grow in your chest. You made the team laugh and smile.

"Oh, how you wound me!" Sam clapped a hand to his chest in mock horror.

"She is good. Keep that sense of humor, making fun of Sam is a sure fired way to get on the good side of some people." Steve said.

"Not that I am conceited or anything but I don't need an introduction." Tony said. He was on Sam's right across from Natasha. You shook your head.

"I think not. I have already met you, Captain Rogers, Sargent Barnes, and Mr. Wilson. I also knew Dr. Banner from university. I went to a science classes for color and light theory things. He is a well-rounded source with his 7 Ph.Ds." You smiled fondly at the man at the head of the table. "I know of Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanov. I was very impressed with your abilities during the Battle of New York. I will admit I didn't follow the news avidly after that until D.C and even then very infrequently."

"Call me Clint please." He told you. You smiled and shook your head. 'Maybe one day, you deserve the respect I can give you. But you can call me Y/N.' You signed to him fluently. His eyes widened in surprise and a twinkle lit up his eyes.

"I know half dozen languages fluently. and several less so; French, Spanish, German, Italian, Japanese, Russian, Chinese, Portuguese, Hindu, Greek, ASL." You told everyone, you wanted full transparency on your part. They were the Avengers, least you could do was help them relax around you, let them drop their guard.

"Well, aren't you just full of surprises." Natasha murmured, leaning her head on her hand. She was peering at you closely, examining you. Your honesty only increased her suspicion.

You shrugged, debating on talking about it on night number one. 'full transparency, be honest.' you thought to yourself. "Many are not by my own doing. I was a member a very haughty family. I was forced to use every opportunity to earn something that could be used to better market myself to the highest bidder. I used everything I was forced to learn to get myself out before I was married off." You spoke to the middle distance, trying to push down the memories of your home life. The emotionlessness of your parents, the words used to make you feel like a burden, the endless hours of schooling, the punishments for being wrong or vocal. You spoke with no emotion, trying not to let through more than what you wanted at the moment. Some things were not meant for dinnertime conversation.

You visibly shook yourself, shifting away from the maudlin thoughts. "I don't mean to be depressing during dinner. I promise, Ms. Romanov, I mean you or your family any harm. I understand your suspicion, it has kept you alive until now." You smiled warmly at the redhead, not bothered by the behavior. She at least had the manners to look sheepishly at you.

Seeing everyone was just about done, there was leftovers. Which was strange to you, you figured they would eat everything. "Why don't you all do your movie thing-team bonding or whatever? I will clean up and make my way to my room. I still have some work I want to work on." You stood up clearing you place setting. Most of the others got up and moved to the living room to discuss options for the nights. You went back to the table, fully intending to clean up but Bucky and Steve both were shaking their heads at you.

"Not happening. Our ma's would be rolling in their graves." Steve said.

"No guest of ours is cleaning up from a meal let alone a dame like you. We got this." Bucky said. They used their immense bulk to block the table from you. Bucky even guiding you past him by the small of your back with his right hand.

You stared at them with narrowed eyes, unsure. "Fine. This is the only time I will tolerate this. I am now an employee, specifically Tony's but by associate yours. I will not accept this forced chivalry laying down. You can't make me." You walked past the table to join the others.

Bucky looked at you with an innocent look on his face, his tired eyes almost ruining it, but you could see his hair was clean and his scruff looked a little better. "Wouldn't dream of it. Now shoo." Bucky nudged you with his flesh hand.

"Good job Bucky. That was well done. Now let's hurry so we can go sit. You handled a full conversation with her exquisitely. Also you initiated touch. That is a lot of progress not just for today but in general." Steve said as they pitched empty cartons.

"I know, I am actually kind of worried. She is able to just make me forget. Like it is just so easy with her to be human. Don't get me wrong, I am tired. She might make it easy but I still have the consequences to deal with. Just since I met her, my thoughts have been racing. I reach out to touch her and forget I killed so many people.. I could hurt her or anyone if I forget a the wrong time." Bucky admitted.

"Yeah, you are human Buck. You need to accept and learn to move on. That is what the therapy is for. You hurt and killed people, yes, but that wasn't you. You aren't the only one here that could hurt her, I could, Sam could, Thor could, especially if we had to work through what you have to. I hate to tell you Bucky, there is no 'I am fixed' moment. You work at it every day all day. Everything takes time. And we all will be here to help you." Steve rested a hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing when he wasn't shrugged off.

The two men finished cleaning up, packing up the leftovers and labeling them. They cleaned the table and put the dishes in the restaurant grade dishwasher. Once done, Steve stood by the living room Buck looking between the couches and the doorway to his room.

"If you want to duck out, no one will judge." Steve said.

"I think I might. I am tired. It has been a long day. I don't want to push it too far." Bucky was apologetic.

"That is perfectly okay. Knowing your limits is important too." Steve said.

"Then yes, I am turning in. I want to end on a high note, not taint my good day by having a bad night. I haven't had human-to-human contact for days and Y/N's comment about not needed to protect you got me twisted up. I need some time to just be." Bucky rubbed the back of his head, not looking at Steve. He was hesitating. Steve waited patiently.

"I don't resent you. I don't resent you because you got bigger. I don't resent you for me falling or moving on. I resent the assholes that made me into their puppet. I resent them from taking 70 years from me to use me like a plaything. I resent them for taking away the things about me that I knew." Bucky's hands were trembling ever so slightly. Steve felt his heart break all over again. "I know mentally-I understand-that you don't need me mother-henning you till the cows come home, I get that. That doesn't mean that I don't miss it. I also know that you are a dumbass punk who has only survived by being lucky. I am trying to relearn a lot of things. Shuri, Wanda and everyone have been more than helpful in re-wiring my brain. The hardest part sometimes is seeing Stevie and Steve at the same time, seeing you then and you now. I was your family then and you went and built one. I don't resent you or hate you, I am a little jealous sure. Of them. Of you." Bucky's eyes were wet again, breath shuddering in his chest. Steve felt his eyes grow wet, vision swimming from tears. He took a deep, shaky breath. He needed Bucky to hear this, to know this.

"James Buchanan Barnes, no matter what. No. Matter. What. You belong next to me. You are my family. They are my family. And if you want, they are your family. We found each other and built this family with our own hands. It won't happen right away. It will take time. Gods, I needed like five years before I got even slightly used to everything. You aren't alone. You'll never be alone again." Steve pulled Bucky into a tight breath-squeezing hug.

Bucky tucked his head into Steve's shoulder and squeezed back. He and Steve muttering soothing words into each other's ear, trying to not cry to hard. "Thank you Steve. For everything." Bucky pulled away after the lengthy hug. "I am definitely going to bed now. Night, punk." Bucky made his way to the entry way of his hallway calling out good nights to the others. They answered in kind-abet distractedly.

"Good night, Sargent Barnes. Sleep well." Your voice was firm and focused. You wanted him to know you meant it.

Steve came into the living room once Bucky left, you stood up right away.

"Y/N." Steve called. You went over. Steve grabbed your hand. "Thank you. Bucky and I had a heart-to-heart, a really nice one. We haven't really talked about anything of importance because I don't want to upset him and he doesn't wasn't to upset me. You helped him through a lot of things today, without even trying. He had been struggling with some of it for while now. You probably know that recovery isn't a straight line." You could see he had been crying, eyes were red and puffy, voice thick.

"I am glad to help. I don't know much about what happened, I felt you were in the right. I do feel bad though because I overstepped boundaries. Even if it helped him in the end. I also certainly didn't mean to trigger him." You help up a hand to stop Steve from speaking. "Captain Rogers, I very much did trigger him in the kitchen this afternoon. He was frozen and distant and crying. Subconsciously, my comment triggered an issue that had been hounding him for a while. It brought a lot to the conscious mind and he needed time to deal with it.

"I won't argue with you. I will tell you for the first time ever, my best friend gave me a hug. I have been waiting 70 plus years for that. He talked to me, about what he has been feeling. I want to thank you. I got parts of him I thought I would never see again. I know-because of you today-Bucky will be just fine." Steve squeezed your hand.

"Just in the span of today? I knew Sargent Barnes would be fine. With a family like yours, there was no doubt." You squeezed back, grinning. "Now, the kitchen is cleaned and I can go back to work." You pulled away but were stopped by Steve lightly yanking your arm.

"Um, No. It is movie time. Not working time." Clint said.

"I am an official SI employee. With a very important job to do. I have to get a head start on it." You tried to get away again. Steve stopped you once more.

"Nope, you didn't sign anything today. You are just a guess for now. So sit down and watch the movie and then if you want you can work again." Steve pulled you down to sit next to him, closer than socially acceptable. Steve knew that you were now one of his. He would protect you and care for you like the family he sees you as. "I hope you know that you are now unofficially a member of my family and I don't take that lightly." Steve whispered into your hair.

You huffed a laugh and relaxed. You and the others watched the movie and it was far from quietly, everyone making comments and jokes. Once it was over the others scattered, you headed back to the table to get some work done. You usually worked late and got up early, so this was not too far from usually. You had some trends that you wanted to research. A favorite designer of yours was releasing a new line of furniture. Time passed, you were switching from laptop, tablet, and notebook. You were focused but could feel yourself fading.

You were debating on pushing harder or trying to find your room when Sargent Barnes came into the kitchen.

"Y/N, you're still up?" He asked grabbing a bottle of water. His hair was in a very messy bun and clothes were rumpled.

You opened you mouth to answer him but were cut off by your own yawn. "Oh, that's how it is." he chuckled. "Come on, lets get you to bed. I am cutting you off for the night." He very carefully shut your laptop with his metal hand. The low lights glinting attractively off the black and gold vibranium.

"My w'rk." You slurred. Bucky looked up and shook his head.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y saved it. She told me that Tony also moved your room next to mine." Bucky placed his flesh hand on your back guiding you down the hallway and to your room. The door opened upon arrival, you stepped in.

"Cheers, Sargent Banres." You stumbled into you room the door cutting off the sight of you. Bucky shook his head again.

"Good night, doll." Bucky walked next door, getting back into bed with a smile on his face.

Previous / Next

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Okay, last update for a while. My vacation ends soon and I am out of pre-witten stuff. Let me know what you are thinking okay?

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #protective Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fluff #recovered bucky barnes #bucky barnes in recovery #avengers family #domestic avengers #avengers fanfiction #saundraswriting #saundrasays

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heat-riser · 3 years

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Some weird analysis of when you knew me.

I’ve thought about doing this for a while. One part screaming into the void, one part for anyone who was on tumblr in it’s heyday and watched me be strange and into- frankly- the worst characters and really terrible ships. I’m 26 now and understand a bit more about myself after finally finding a good therapist who specialized in sexual trauma and delving into the deepest darkest parts. Maybe it’s part insight for people who were friends with my at the time- and by ‘at that time’, I guess I mean any point in my life up until a couple years ago. From around 5 years on- I was in a constant state of incredibly deep sadness and anxiety but was too numb to even really consciously feel it. I learned some of the worst things about people and became acquainted with some of the worst things a person can feel at 5, and then again multiple times around 9 due to rape by two different boys. The first, my family and people around me knew about pretty immediately. The second was completely unknown to people until recently. It’s not an easy thing telling your parents another neighbor boy who was a ‘friend’ raped you too. I can’t really explain properly how deeply this effects a person and how people don’t really understand it. Things as little as not being able to be outside my house without a jacket and full pants to cover my whole body because I internalized that showing your body is vulnerability opened up the possibility of sexualization and therefore- attack. All the way to now with everything being resurfaced and having nearly no sex drive and being unable to feel arousal without more anxiety coming in and overpowering the arousal feeling. It was recently recommended to me by my therapist to not play horror games because the feelings of arousal and fear are so tightly linked. I’ve been with the therapist for three years and anticipate at very least another 3-5 and she has clients who have been seeing her 10+ years for having experienced childhood sexual abuse. I can’t remember if I’ve talked publicly here about any of that but most of my friends are aware of the first one (it’s not really something I want to throw out there randomly and conversations in covid time are strange). I was only aware of the first one up until a couple years back. When talking about buried memories, how they come up, how to tell if they’re legit, I halfway thought “what if there was more” and felt sick to my stomach. One of the sure signs of a memory being true is an emotional response. I’m in the process of reclaiming the memories of the events involving the second neighbor boy. But point being- I learned the world was awful very early on and it became the background for all future development (sexual, social, self, etc. etc.). I began to numb myself after the first event and went through half of elementary school and middle school angry, sad, and hateful- I especially hated men, but also just the world at large. By high school, I had learned to shove all of that down. I can’t really recall feeling much of anything in high school. So the people that knew me at the time really only knew a weird ghost of a person. Then there’s this thing called trauma reenactment- where victims are drawn to things relating to the trauma situation. So this is what takes me to explaining the characters I was interested in. 1- Adachi. I now see as little more than a sad incel but it does say a lot about where I was at the time to be so fascinated with him. He shared my resentment towards the world, the idea that anyone who wasn’t depressed simply didn’t understand, and saw more of a problem with the world than his current state of being. Of course that was relatable. I very clearly remember in middle school believing people that weren’t depressed simply had no idea what was going on around them. Of course I thought that and still struggle with that mentality. All I had really known was deep despair and numbing myself from the world. I didn’t understand how other people didn’t realize that but now know what the emotional world I was living in was not typical of children. So here was someone that knew how bad everything around was and how bad the world felt and I clung onto him the same way I did my own idealizations. With what I’ve been processing more recently, the dude needed therapy and to unlearn that depression was cool and correct but had shown multiple times he was unwilling to challenge any of his issues and just started killing people. There were a lot of favorite characters through this but one that sticks out as another really fucked up example of where I was was Damon Gant. I look back at liking him as the ultimate symbol of trauma reenactment. He’s older, he had power, he was creepy, intimidating, unsettling, and controlling. Everything my predators had been to me at the time. So- all of those things were in a way intertwined with my own sexuality as they’re what I first learned with anything ‘sexual’. Some of my favorite ships are due to the same reasoning. Gant and Lana- again, kind of inherently controlling, imbalance of power, and ends horribly and tragically. I always found something intriguing and beautiful about the most horrific and sad feelings. And I’ll touch on it just for the record. Cyrus is big fucked up- but I think he is, though maybe incorrect, well intentioned with his main goal being what he believes will actually be better for everyone cause of his projection of the awful things he feels on everyone. He doesn’t go out of his way to hurt anyone and certainly doesn’t enjoy other people’s pain but rather wants to eliminate what he sees as the reason for people hurting others with and end justifies the means mindset. His numbing/attempts to numb, hatred of emotion, and hatred of people inflicting pain on others is all incredibly familiar and I’m certain a part of me in middle school knew that when picking him as a fave. As I progress, I’m more interested his potential to relearn people and start opening up to feeling. (Pokemon Master’s definitely more than hinted at him changing and I’m hoping that means they’ll go that route with remakes.) I should note that during my most ‘numb’ parts would sneak out and I would be very- and increasingly over time starting with 6th grade- suicidal and became addicted to cutting and self harm (which I realize now are both just further numbing techniques). I described the feeling at the time as a parasite controlling your brain and a part of yourself knowing you had to fight against it. There was a period I was certain of how I would die, it was just when I would finally snap. I should also say how much people are able to numb themselves. I can remember getting so anxious that my heart would race and the world felt fast- I would get to the point of gagging but can’t remember ‘feeling’ any ounce of anxiety consciously. When first becoming sexually active, I had extended, horrific anxiety that would have hospitalized me for a couple weeks if not for my mom being able to stay home with me (also out of work for a couple months and left addicted to xanax for a bit). And still didn’t quite believe her all the way when she suggested it was anxiety. And I sure as hell didn’t make any connections to any possible mental issues around sex. So I’ve ranted enough but saved this bit for the end cause it hits kinda hard. People tend to feel the same things they felt in locations. Curiosity got the best of me and I drove around parts of my childhood I spend a lot of time at and specific routes I would take. (It’s called state dependent memory if anyone’s interested). I’m learning just how much I was numb to everything and wondering just what it was I was covering up my whole life. This isn’t easy to really type out cause of how fucked it is with the realization that I didn’t really experience childhood to a degree. During my drive, past my high school, up near my friends houses, the route I would take coming back from college- I was deeply, and very profoundly sad in my core. Nothing near what a person should have felt through their childhood. I missed so much. And I’m sorry to my friends at the time who only got to know a strange, numb, trauma reenacting, ghost of myself. I’m not going to be able to relive those times in a better light but I can at very least do some work to prevent a future spent numb and profoundly sad. But my brain is finally allowing me to remember some things because it’s deemed that I can handle it, I’m learning more about myself and my past, learning how to listen to what my brain and body are telling me and why, and getting better at expressing grief and real, raw, sadness and a touch of deep-seated anger so I think I might be starting to turn this around.

#TW: rape #TW: self harm #TW: suicidal ideation #some explanation of why I liked the characters I liked #This was meant to be focused on the character thing but went all over the place

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fairycosmos · 4 years

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TRIGGER WARNING : I know you're not a psychiatrist tbh I just need to vent and I really like you so yea, I've come to the conclusion that I am what everyone thought I was which is a lazy little bitch using depression and suicidal thoughts as an excuse to be lazy I use to feel guilty but idc anymore it just shows there's no hope for me at all the only problem is I don't have the guts to shoot myself in the head and it's the last option I have Im sorry I just don't know who to turn to

hey dude. i’m sorry to hear you’re hurting so much right now. i know it’s a complex and personal issue that words alone can’t solve, but i still hope you’re open to some comfort, some alternative narratives to center your thoughts around. and idk just a few words from someone who can understand to an extent....i think first and foremost it’s a good idea to ask yourself, when you’re in the right state of mind to, where all of this self loathing is actually coming from. whether it’s grounded in anything substantial. it’s important to remember that a massive part of depression is feeling like you’re faking, over-exaggerating, using it as an excuse etc. i’ve heard a lot of people with mental illness echo the same sentiment. and the fact that you feel this way, so violently negatively towards yourself, indicates that you ARE struggling with a much deeper problem. but we’re taught to overlook it and to blame ourselves, partially due to society’s attitude regarding mental illness. in short we’re conditioned to feel like we’re lazy and worthless if we can’t produce labor and profit, or if something prevents us from doing so, but that’s merely a capitalist myth. those around you have internalized its message and are now projecting it onto you. but now that you recognize that fact, you can begin dismantling that belief system in your own head. cause in actuality, it’s got nothing to do with you or your value as a person. it’s the system that’s the issue, and the way it sees human life as nothing more than a means to an end, when people are so much more than that. you are so much more than that. you’re not here to constantly please everyone or to be some emotionless machine. so anyone who was judging you by that standard is fkn deluded and their opinion doesn’t hold much weight to begin with. then there’s also the stigma surrounding depression itself. people who’ve never experienced it don’t get how debilitating it is to live with. how it doesn’t just prevent people from working, how it prevents people from progressing in all areas of their lives when it’s left unacknowledged. which is why the answer isn’t to hurt yourself, it’s to admit to what hurts. this isn’t a matter of personal failure, or of laziness. it’s an illness, something that needs to be confronted head on with time, treatment, and self help in order to move beyond it. it’s just as serious as any physical ailment, but you don’t have to beg anyone to understand that. you’re going through so much just by getting through the day and the fact that you’re still here counts for so much. i promise, you are not your negative thoughts. your mind is just trying to get you to stay in the cycle of self hatred > self destruction > self hatred so that you feel more discouraged and less likely to seek the support you need, even though that could be the one thing that would break the repetitive pattern. idk who made you believe that you are this bad and unforgivable person but i hope you know that it is genuinely, truly possible to grow beyond that way of thinking. it may take time, and it may feel unreachable right now, but change is honestly constant especially if you seek it out. the way you see yourself in five years will not mirror the way you see yourself now, you know? this is all a process and as long as you’re getting through it, you’re doing so much better than you realize.

it’s ok to recognize all of that and to still feel like shit, to still feel like giving up sometimes. sadness, anger, pain - they’re exhausting and terrifying, but you don’t have to push those emotions away. though they don’t have to control all of your actions either. because they’re never as permanent as they feel. part of being suicidal is thinking in a black and white fashion, where everything has to be all or nothing. but it doesn’t. there’s a lot of nuance and a lot of different choices you can make, if you just breathe and keep yourself in a safe environment above all else. like i said, you’re living with an illness and bad days are a natural part of that. but having the tools to be able to cope with them in a healthy way could make all the difference. and that IS an option for you, even if you can’t see it right now. are you currently seeing a mental health professional? if not, i’d really really suggest looking into that before you make any permanent and heavy handed decisions about whether or not it’s worth it to stay alive. seriously, even if you’re unable to see a therapist at the moment - there are depression/suicide hotlines you can call who can help you with the next step, there may be support groups in your area, your doctor may be able to refer you to a counselor. you are capable of reaching out, as proven with this message, which is a really good sign. and building routines around personal self help and finding what works for you would be a step in the right direction, too. there is so much that can be done in terms of identifying what you feel the way you feel, relearning how to treat yourself, developing a support network over a period of time, opening up to make room to heal - it’s possible. i promise it is. it’s possible to live a full, stable life that you’re proud of despite having depression. if you have any trusted loved ones, now may also be a good time to talk to them about whats going on. i’m sure they want to have the chance to be there for you, and it’s alright to lean on them when you need it. you’re clearly in a very emotional state right now so i don’t blame you if you can’t bring yourself to believe me, but i hope it’s an idea you can keep revisiting. because really what my main point is, is that you deserve to stay alive regardless the fact that you’re dealing with a mental illness. i don’t want to sound cliche but it’s true that nothing would be the same without you, that you’re here for a reason (which you fulfill every day, just by being who you are) and that your presence is far more precious than you know. i’m sorry you were made to feel any different. you get this one life and i would really hate to see you do something you could regret over situations and feelings that can be helped. you are not beyond hope, you are not a lost cause. especially if you live your life as if you’re not. you still exist and that means there are a million different ways things could turn out, the future is ever changing. the present is all you need to worry about. it’s just another symptom of depression to catastrophize and picture everything ending in the worst case scenario, which is something that can also be helped with therapy/practicing mindfulness. anyway, i’m aware that this is getting super long and i’m going to leave some links that may be of some use to you in terms of follow up support, but i’m really begging you. no matter how awful you feel tonight, just allow yourself to breathe through it. cry through it. call someone if it all feels like too much. keep yourself away from anything you could use to harm yourself with. and then wake up tomorrow knowing you have the chance to try again, knowing that that is a good thing, knowing that this moment is not what your whole existence is going to look like. please, please call someone if you think you’re a danger to yourself. even if you have to pick up the phone on autopilot. you mean so much. im sending you a lot of love and hoping you find the self appreciation you deserve. if you ever need a friend please feel free to message me. you’re not on this alone.

https://faq.whatsapp.com/general/security-and-privacy/global-suicide-hotline-resources/

https://www.helpguide.org/articles/depression/coping-with-depression.htm

https://www.mentalhealth.org.nz/get-help/a-z/resource/50/suicide-coping-with-suicidal-thoughts

https://medium.com/@sameoldzen/finding-intrinsic-self-worth-in-a-capitalist-system-7069be072b5b

https://serenitymentalhealthcenters.com/31-coping-skills-for-depression/

#tw suicide #tw self harm #anon

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deservedgrace · 4 years

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I've been spending the past few days feeling constantly physically ill because of all this in addition to not doing well mentally. I'm really tired.

And I don't even know if my experiences are real anymore. My mom doesn't flat out say I have a horrible memory but whenever I bring things up my experiences are so different to hers. I may be devastated over fake trauma.

I hate myself for being traumatized by religion, I hate myself for my life being completely ruined by religion, and I hate myself for not being over it yet. A lot of people's sympathy for me over this situation has run out. At least it truly, truly feels that way. And it makes sense; this has derailed my entire life and keeps getting worse. I can barely function now, and I already could barely function before all this. Of course people are sick of hearing about it. Especially because I still work for the church because I absolutely love my job and the kids I work with and I take my chances with getting triggered and I keep obsessing over my trauma. Which might not even exist. I went to a "nice, normal" church. It was non denominational. I went to school through the church. No one else was traumatized. And I didn't seem to be affected by it until after I left.

The thought of going back to religion makes me sick to my stomach. I don't trust Christians not to attempt to reconvert me, due to experience. I've even had atheists and fellow ex Christians subtly (or not so subtly) encourage me to go back to church or attempt to repair my religion. It's hard to talk to anyone about it because of that.

I know I've been destroyed over this trauma (that isn't even really trauma because christianity/God can't hurt people) for too long and people are frustrated. I am too. I thought I'd be able to work through this in therapy in addition to on my own so I can heal but it's truly just getting worse. Everyone's sick of hearing about it. They don't understand how much this has broken me. It's ruined me to my core. Religion was supposed to be the center of my whole life. It was the foundation and it was a part of nearly everything else in my life as well. I have to take myself apart completely, rebuild my foundation and rebuild myself again. It's exhausting. This is the hardest thing I've ever gone through. It's completely destroyed me, if I'm being honest.

My therapist tells me that I can let it go but how can you let 2 decades of indoctrination go? It's inside me. I have to take it out to let it go, which means relearning every toxic thing I've been taught by religion so I can let it go.

It feels like religion only allowed me to grow up to be a part of a person, because you need to be incomplete to need a savior.

There was always so little of me, and deconversion is taking so much of what little person I was away. I'm barely a person now.

I don't know how to cope with this or what to do anymore. I'm still going to do the work because what else can I do, I'm trying desperately not to isolate myself despite feeling (knowing?) that people have run out of sympathy for me and I've started safety planning again just in case. I'm truly doing my best to overcome this.

It doesn't feel like it's going to be enough. I think this has destroyed me beyond repair.

One of my only ex Christian friends irl said that if I keep doing the work, as long as I stay alive the odds are in my favor to get better. That it's nearly impossible for things not to get easier at least. She might be right. I'm trying to hold onto that.

#personal #mine #imma be honest.. this is probably the closest I've come to accurately describing this #i know this sounds dramatic but all this surpasses language for me #religious trauma syndrome #deconversion #this is something i sent 2 my friend. i hope he understands how hard this is

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allislaughter · 4 years

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3 AM time for introspection

As someone who wants so very badly to finish all the creative projects I start due to chasing the high of project completion and sharing stories/art/whatever with people and seeing them enjoy it

I think one of the better skills to learn is that there’s no shame in letting go of a project for whatever reason, especially if it’s for your mental/physical health.

I have a story I’ve been working on that I realize I can’t bring to completion due to something established at the end of Selfinsertale Chapter 7, and it hurts that I put years of work into this story and would have to restart it from the ground up to continue it in a capacity that would make me happy. And so the easiest and healthiest thing for my mental health is merely to let it go and drop it from my work list.

And this is okay. It’s a bit freeing, since it feels like a loss of one of many burdens I have, especially in the current time with everything that’s been happening and may continue to happen for who knows how long.

The last six months have been really weird for me, and it’s a shame it all started so soon after I stopped going to therapy and had to work through all of it on my own. And then everything the last couple months certainly hasn’t helped much, and I’m certainly having many struggles due to it, but it’s given me time to relearn how to make myself happy despite circumstances. How to keep myself stable when things are so shaky. How to learn to let go of projects and not torment myself with the idea that I need to finish them at all cost.

And that’s okay. And perhaps I’m better for it. I’m not worse for it, and that’s good enough. Not every story has to be written, especially if it’s no longer a story I want to write, and that’s okay.

After all, there’s always other stories that I’ll decide I want to write. :>

#allislaughter talks

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kizardofkoz · 3 years

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Muscle

It was a little over a year ago and we were visiting with our best friends over Labor Day weekend. I was still in my first year of new baby, knee deep in first-year-baby-love and my all too familiar struggle of *bouncing back* (which has Never been my actual experience. It’s more like a slow rolling on the ground mixed with some crying, disgust, guilt, disgust at my guilt and guilty about my disgust, very slow muscle gain and trying to figure out how many WW points are in the scones I just made - because friends, I make a mean scone) and I was just feeling so irritated with where I was compared to where I wanted to be. Our friends looked so lean, healthy, toned -and I?

I was jealous.

I felt soft and annoyed. While I was grateful that I carried a baby for the fourth time, I was So. Over. Losing. *The Baby Weight*.

They said the only real change they had made in their lifestyle was that they had been running. (They also only have half as many children and are in a different life stage with their ages, but we’re focusing on the health portion here.)

And so.

I began running.

100% it was born out of a competitive desire to look and feel better and become a runner. But I actually found a part of me that I lost during quarantine, and the several year pattern of having and raising baby boys.

I would leave my house for 30-60 minutes, put on a podcast that scared me (it was early fall when this love affair really began to take hold and I would listen to Spooked! - holy crap, it is absolutely terrifying. So I would throw in some true crime, just to shake up my amygdala) and as the weather started to cool and leaves started to turn, I found my alone time, running the streets of my neighborhood.

And it was good.

Necessary.

Healing.

_______________________________________________________________________

I have had an interesting relationship with running and fitness my entire life. Exercise, up until this past year probably, was usually a punishment. A method to burn off the calories that I so painfully counted and tried to delete one way or another. (For several years -junior year of high school through sophomore year of college- that would involve sticking a finger down my throat, which is not a unique story for a teenage, American girl, yet it still feels quite vulnerable as I have never publicly mentioned it, like on this blog that has hundreds of thousands of followers. ;) I grew up sitting on a piano bench. I was never a super athletic kid (and was often told that) and things like running, and sports and physical coordination seemed like another realm that I would never know. So I would admire all of the athletic kids that looked so sinewy and strong and natural, and I would feel embarrassed and frustrated that God gave me the body that I had. I was grateful for my artsy, musical abilities, but in this culture, as a young woman especially, there is no greater skill or attribute, then to be small, smooth, and beautiful.

I am still trying to figure out how to undo parts of this thinking.

Stretched skin, years of confidence building, therapy and relearning that food is actually really delicious (who knew!) has helped tremendously. I wish I could hug younger me.

But she had to learn this on her own.

In her own way.

In her own time.

So at this time, as a matured 37 year old, I went into running differently. I would leave my house and find new paths that had more gradual hills because you don’t realize how hilly your neighborhood is until you try to run. Or ride a bike. Or in my case, walk a bike up a hill.

But I would also allow myself to slow down. To walk. For the first time in my life I listened to my body, and if she was tired, I walked. If she couldn’t breathe, I slowed down to catch my breath. And it changed everything. I built strength and avoided injury. I looked forward to my next run because I wasn’t too sore, and because once I had quit using running as a method of torture it actually started to become quite rewarding. My soul needed the exercise as much as my muscles.

Minus all of the true crime and ghost stories, it was kind of like prayer at times. Or some really bizarre, spooky therapy.

_______________________________________________________________________

Three weeks ago I had the absolute honor and life blessing of being able to attend a women’s retreat in Estes Park, CO. I flew there early on a Thursday morning to meet up with 20 women who I had never met to reconnect with a God that I was missing dearly and to find myself again.

Oh my gosh.

I can’t even explain the exact magic of that weekend and I actually won’t give away too many details because part of the retreats’ (there are two: a mens ones and they just began a women’s one last year) magic is the slight, secret-society-ish-ness of it, so a previous group won’t ruin the experience for those that follow.

But I felt so taken care of and loved. I have not had the time and space to release and let go the way I was able to. In years. Every meal was prepared and cleaned by a woman named Jess. Every activity was thoughtfully planned yet not overbooked. I didn’t have to make a decision, make breakfast or make a to-do list. My nervous system settled and my brain was clearer than I feel it has been in my adult life.

And my heart.

I didn’t realize how lethargic I had become in my own faith. Of course I love God and Jesus and my faith is the most important thing to me, but was I actively doing anything to strengthen and encourage it? Negative.

And this is where muscle comes in.

I have been running and conditioning my body over the past year to run miles, to handle hills, build my stamina and improve my pace. I have put in the work and time and my body is stronger. Muscle memory.

In Estes, I feel like I just went through a spiritual bootcamp. I received a megadose injection of peace, love, refinement, depth, stillness and Jesus. I can either keep going and try to maintain and strengthen this muscle, or I can become apathetic, put it off for tomorrow, make excuses that were never meant to be excuses and just not prioritize this thing that I claim is the most important thing to me.

Guys. (And gals!)

I did it.

I’m doing it.

I am actually carving out time each day (mostly) and I am keeping a prayer journal and reading from a devotional (I go between Shauna Neiquest’s “Savor” - thank you Meredith Hopping and Sarah Young’s “Jesus Calling”, thank you Mom), and I am Reading My Bible. (I’m a Message girl, which should not be surprising at all. The Poetry and FEELINGS!) And I am actually WANTING to read the bible. Like, I am finding it interesting and I actually kind of look forward to reading it the next day because I want to know what happens and not “I am reading this because I am Supposed to and because I have promised God since I was a child that I would read the whole thing and there’s no time like at age 37 to make good on a promise to Jehovah that I made as a 6 year old. That makes sense.”

I say all of these words NOT TO BRAG AT ALL BECAUSE NO NOPE NOPE NO NO, but to hopefully encourage others out there. (PS, I’m reading 1 Kings - if you’re Trump, that would be “One Kings”, I’m also praying for compassion and less judgment from myself. And that was the most compassionate way I could say that.:) I realized that just like with exercise, I often felt that if I didn’t have enough time to really sit down and read chapters of the bible, or have 10-15 minutes for a deep, thoughtful prayer, then it wasn’t worth giving God any time at all. I was being a perfectionist with my faith life and refused to not partake if it couldn’t be what I thought it would be. Or should be.

And I don’t really think God, in the end, gives a shit.

I think God wants any and all. God will take a 10 second, or 3 minutes or half hour long prayer. As long as it is authentic and humble and vulnerable because I think that is what God works with best and how we can refine and mature the most. I also think intentional longer prayers that include time to pause and listen (especially with the terrifying, faith building fear of But what if God doesn’t answer). God and I have always chatted throughout the day, but overall, I realized that I was getting in my own way with some twisted perfectionism, when all God wants is my truest, most imperfect self.

Along with this, I have also been much more gentle with myself. I skipped a day the other day. (And yesterday!) And this is okay. I wasn’t able to get it in and instead of shaming myself and feeling guilty, negative and embarrassed, I gave myself love. I let myself walk instead of run because there are busy days and hills and we aren’t made to run and dominate every single one of them every single time.

It is also important to note that I spent much of this weekend eating chips and birthday cake as it was our eldest’s first sleepover party. I stepped on the scale this morning and it was 2-3 pounds higher than it normally is. And you know what? I am actually okay. I am probably the most okay I have ever been in this situation and I am absolutely floored and comforted that I know God sees me and knows what I need. I know that in time I will get back to where I was, not with punishment but with mindfulness. And to stop eating the cake (it was so good though). And maybe ease off of the chips.

And to joyfully run.

God’s grace is so wild, and beautiful, and abundant.

I think I grew up with a bit of a childish, lopsided idea of God. I don’t know if it was my education, my church, my family or my own absorption and interpretation, but for a very, very long time I knew God was loving, but I also knew God was wrathful, jealous, vengeful and judgmental. After years of growth and exposing myself to other theologies, biblical philosophies, and finding my own spiritual and path, I have rediscovered Jesus and God in a whole new way. I have been reminded of, or relearned, God’s tenderness.

God’s Gentleness.

God’s Compassion.

And I truly think if we could remember these qualities first, and also use these qualities first as Christians - to one another, to ourselves, and to *gasp* non-Christians - the world would literally be a different place.

So.

I am going to continue building these muscles. I have worked really, really hard to get to where I am physically and I am really, really proud of it. I can run and keep up with my children, I have no idea what I could bench or deadlift but I can pick up our enormous <99% 1 year old multiple times each day and I feel like that in and of itself could be a really popular WOD. “The Kepler”: pick up 35 pounds 50 times and run across the house between each set of five. Then halfway through you change the laundry over as fast as you can and at the very end you realize you forgot to push start on the dryer.

Repeat as necessary.

And I am going to continue building my spiritual muscle. This looks like prayer time, bible reading, (I even installed a wall light so I can read in this special spot because we know that special spots are really important to Jesus.) and prioritizing this priority to me.

And this also looks like tenderness.

Gentleness.

Compassion.

Because even God knows we need a sabbath and sometimes the body just needs to rest.

The soul, too.

And I am learning to be gentle with myself. To love me and give grace to me even when I skip a day.

At least spiritually.

Because physically, I am still doing “The Kepler” daily.

Even more exhausting because my warm-up is “The Wyndsor”.

The charcuterie board that puts all other charcuterie boards to shame. Jess, a pilates instructor with a gift of hospitality, healthy cooking and presentation made us the most beautiful meals. And coffee. And wine. And pop corn. And fudge. I miss Jess.

I know what you’re thinking - *Now I see why they have 4 boys!* BECAUSE I LOOK SO DAMN GOOD IN OVERALLS!!

Just 20 something of my new dearest friends. I can’t wait to see them again next fall. So I can start crying every six sentences and zen out in all of God’s natural beauty coming through the landscape, the carved out time and the stories each of these women are carrying. Ready to drink around a fire with all of you again. I will try to stay up later this time. Maybe. (Who have I become??!) #Revel2021

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reryanblogs · 6 years

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I Am Not Fine

I'm writing this at three in the morning. Prior to this, I listened to a just-released bonus content of my favorite audio drama podcast called "The Bright Sessions."—It’s a series of therapy sessions for the strange and unusual (*whispers* It’s fucking awesome).

I was having a bad headache and my stomach was acting funny so I decided to treat myself to a warm black tea. Teas are fucking magical! It eased the pain, and I guess I'd say a hangover from listening to the podcast made me sit at my bed and meditate. I used to meditate back then, but for some reasons, I've forgot the skill and now I'm relearning how to actually do it through guided meditation. After that, also practiced abdominal breathing. Damn, this brought so much peace of mind. And then, I almost had a panic attack.

It’s nothing new. These are the times of the day where it’s so eerily silent that I feel sooo fucking alone with my thoughts, it scares the heck out of me. But why? I did a thing that I really enjoy, I meditated, practiced breathing exercises, I even cleaned my room, so why?!

The greatest take-away I can say from the guided meditation I’ve just done was that “Meditation isn’t about getting rid of your thoughts. It’s about learning how to be at ease with them.” This! This fucking blew my mind. I was frantically and desperately wanting to push away and to “clear” my thoughts thinking I should be empty in order to acquire peace where in fact, these thoughts are fucking mine, these make me who I am. I should learn how to accept that rather than forcing myself to get rid of it.

So yeah, here I am, at my most chill and vulnerable state... writing. Letting my thoughts go and flow and letting it be the way it is.

These past months has been so hard for me. Right before the first day of this semester, I know I wasn’t fine. And I thought, since I’m aware of those feelings, I’ll be “fine”. I even started this 30-day poster design challenge on my Facebook page to get out all the creative juices out of my body, and keep stimulating my brain. And you guess it, it’s a fucking distraction. It’s an excuse to say that “Yeah, I know I’m not doing well, but at least I’m doing something about it.” Am I? Do I really think that way?

Weeks passed, and suddenly, posts here and there of my block mates getting accepted from various media companies for internship flooded my timeline. And here I am. Refusing to do what should have been done. I’m not doing anything about my CV, my resume, and all the “responsible things” that should be done. Am I jealous for them getting accepted early? Maybe? But I guess it’s more of, I feel pressured. Everyone was doing their thing and then there’s me doing all the escapism crappy bullshits. Of course, I’m not judging these people, first of all, no one told me to be there, to be at all these apps that consume our most valuable resource—time, it’s just how it is. I was overwhelmed.

Unfortunately, I also had to quit my org. It’s such a great, loving community where I can just be myself; but I quit. Being with them was so much fun, I always get to laugh and to just be me without getting judged. Their stories are so inspirational and moving; but I quit. As someone who gets energy from being alone, it was quite draining in my part. Maybe quitting was not the best thing to do but it surely helped me lighten the burden I’m carrying. And they were so fucking understanding, and just so nice about it. Best people in the world, I don’t deserve them hahaha.

A month has passed, and I still don’t feel quite right. I even stopped posting to the poster design challenge I started. I had declined requests from friends to meetup. It was such a hard thing to do. Especially when you wanted to scream for help but you don’t even have the energy to get up, wash, dress up, and pretend everything’s fine. I feel so bad for rejecting people. I mean there’s only few who’d really go their way just to meet this potato but I still turned them down.

And then there’s this particular subject for this semester, Publication Design. It’s a subject where one of the requirements is to produce and release a volume of a magazine. Magazine, layouting, yay fun! Almost everyone was counting on me. I never felt so useful in my entire life. You don’t know how much I appreciate that level of trust. It’s so nice and warm to hear people say that my designs look fantastic and how much they admire them... and then I refused to do it. I know I’m not mentally and emotionally stable and capable enough to accept this big project that puts sooooo much pressure on me. I know I wouldn’t be able to pull this thing off.

Why does the things that I used to enjoy made me suddenly feel so lethargic? Why do I need to feel this way? I... I don’t have the time for this.

I did horrible things to myself.

I’m not really sure how and when I feel “less shitty” about myself, I mean, I don’t know why I felt those detrimental sentiments in the first place either, but I could say I’m on that “pick-up myself” phase right now. And it’s so difficult to maintain especially with all the overwhelming tasks here and there. But I guess whether it’s dropping everything at once to take a rest, or just breathing (which I found really really helpful), or talking to someone, it starts with taking that frightening first step and reaaally appreciating and applauding yourself for conquering that tiny yet critical first step. Pat yourself at the back, or hug yourself if that’ll make you feel better. Seriously, I got a lot of weird looks trying to have a pep talk and reassuring myself that I did a great job and everything’s fine at the middle of the streets.

And yeah, I’m trying to meet people at my own pace. I realized that there’s nothing bad with wanting to feel “okay” but there’s no need to rush either. I’ve talked to friends, and tried my best to be honest with my feelings at that time. I didn’t find the point of saying that everything’s good and responding to people’s “How are you?” with “I am fine,” which I found, became so engraved to me, it turned into a habit. So I decided to stop saying “I am fine” for the sake of small chitchat, but don’t necessarily need to tell the whole story of why I am not fine. It just put everything to perspective. It’s a proof that I’m not denying my own feelings and it might not be fine as of the moment but the most important thing is I’m trying to do something about it. For example, writing it down, yay! Didn’t realize that I’ve written more than a thousand of words.

Oh, I’ve also decided to be the head layout artist of our magazine. It’s a thing I really wanted to do and something I really wanted to be involved with. Very much aware of the stress and pressure this project is inducing, but so far, I’m enjoying creating beautiful stuffs.

Also, I’ll be continuing the poster design challenge on my page, hopefully, by next week. Go to facebook.com/reryanpage if you want to check my previous designs. I really hope that I can continue this self-project amidst the other uni stuffs I need to accomplish plus the internship. Yup, I’m hired yaaay!

Have you read all of these? I’m guessing it’s either you can relate or you have a big crush on me, probably the latter hahaha. These are just some of my thoughts and experiences, but I hope you pick up something from it, but if you don’t, still, thank you for sharing your most valuable resource—your time. I believe that talking about this kind of matters really help lift the stigma on mental health and mental illness. And I encourage you, to talk about stuffs that’s going on your mind whether on social media or with someone.

Let’s continue to make magic, shall we?

Like my Facebook page: facebook.com/reryanpage

Follow me on Instagram: Instagram.com/re_ryan_

I’m also on Tumblr, but it’s still on the process of curating: tumblr.com/reryanblogs

iCommunicate XIV: Cirque SNS

Facebook: facebook.com/icomm.xiv

Twitter: twitter.com/icommxiv_cirque

Instagram: Instagram.com/icommunicate.xiv

The Market Monitor (I was hired, can you believe it??? Hahaha!):

facebook.com/themarketmonitor

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ready-shready · 6 years

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Transitioning from Female to Male: 3 years on Testosterone.

Honestly. Lately I’ve been having some hard days in my transition from female to male. Which is totally normal and expected obviously. But over the past few years that I’ve been on T, I’ve had far more good days than bad. If you’re familiar with me and my journey, you’re aware of the fact that I’m really fortunate to have not been super feminine prior to starting this process. Meaning it didn’t take much time for my appearance to change and for people to generally recognize me as a male. So from the very start of my Hormone replacement therapy, I’ve had it pretty easy. But lately I’ve been dealing with a lot of insecurities and dysphoria that I haven’t had to deal with before and it’s not something I’m used to. I also feel like I’ve hit a point in my transition where everything just kinda stopped progressing. My appearance and my body has stopped changing, and I’m just stuck here. I know that I’ve been hella lucky and can pass for male almost all the time, and there’s guys out there that have it so much harder than I do. But I think maybe I’ve based so much of my confidence and self worth on the fact that I LOOK male, that I have completely disregarded the fact that I have to figure out how to FEEL male on the inside too. I mean shit, I spent 23 years learning how to be a woman, then completely flipped it upside down. I never learned how to be a man. And if that in itself wasn’t a frightening enough thought, I also have a lifetime of body language, mannerisms, gestures, reactions, emotional expressions, and all that shit, that I now have to unlearn and relearn in a completely different way. And it’s not as though I’m starting over as a child with parents and role models to teach me these things. Fuck no. I’m 25 years old, and going through puberty, in a serious relationship, trying to figure out how to live a real adult life... and figure out what it means to be a man at the same time? Like shit. I realize that I’m very lucky, and that most strangers see me as a man... but that’s not what matters to me anymore. Because when I look in the mirror, I see a little boy looking back at me, when all I want is to see a man. Physical appearance is a part of this insane journey I’m on, but three years into this transition, I’m finally starting to see that there is so much more to it than that. 9 Times out of 10 I get called sir, but that’s not what makes me a man. I’m finally understanding that I can’t just change the outside and be comfortable with myself. There’s a whole other side to this transition that I haven’t even begun yet. And that’s fucking terrifying. I never by any means expected this to be easy, but I guess I underestimated exactly how tough it would be. Becoming the person you’re meant to be is a scary task, especially if you’re starting that task 20 years later than most people.

Thank goodness I have such an amazing woman beside me, because honestly, sometimes I don’t know that I’d be strong enough to take this on alone. It means the world to me that, no matter what I see myself as, I’ll always be a man in her eyes. She gives me strength and courage when I can’t seem to find my own. I owe a lot of my progress to her, she’s certainly made me the man I am. I love you so much Rae.

Anyways. End rant.

Goodnight.

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eceoncu · 4 years

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7 Things About fireinsidemusic Your Boss Wants to Know

[What you have to know to begin the day: Get Big apple Nowadays inside your inbox.]

In Could of 2002, Francesco Clark’s life radically improved when he dove in the shallow conclude of a stranger’s pool. His neurosurgeon at time claimed he had a lasting spinal cord harm, rendering Mr. Clark paralyzed and not able to communicate.

Shortly, he had moved again in with his dad and mom in Westchester County. “When I observed the medical center bed in my mother or father’s residence in which I accustomed to play the piano, I burst into tears.”

But right after decades of arduous Actual physical therapy, Mr. Clark has proved A lot of the initial prognosis to become Completely wrong, although also commencing A prosperous skin treatment business enterprise referred to as Clark’s Botanicals. A countrywide ambassador for the Christopher Dana Reeve Foundation, Mr. Clark, 41, life together with his father, mother and an aide, Silvia Golle, in Bronxville.

Speak with ME Alexa wakes me at 8 a.m. Voice-activated computer software has created my existence much easier. I talk with her fifty occasions each day. In the last 17 a long time I’ve regained my capability to discuss and breathe on my own and use my arms. Sleeping is significantly less distressing since I obtained a special mattress that Carefully turns me while I’m sleeping. I also rest with splints on my palms and toes.

Group Get the job done My mother makes me a triple cappuccino and gets my concoction of thirty diverse vitamins and dietary supplements structured. I've a few aides and two different nurses who support me. Silvia continues to be with us for eleven years. She’s Component of the family. She aids me shave and will get my workout garments from the closet. Then a Hoyer carry and net get me away from bed and right into a water-resistant wheelchair.

LAB RAT Once the incident, I felt like my everyday living was on pause though Absolutely everyone was shifting light several years ahead of me. Aside from becoming paralyzed, my entire body didn’t sweat. My skin appeared terrible and became clogged And that i broke out. The very last thing I wished to do was search inside the mirror. My father And that i started out Clark’s from a hospital bed. I’m the lab rat. I check loads of the products and solutions we make in the morning. I've a roll-in shower so just after tests I clean anything off.

Development My exercise routine uniform is Uniqlo trousers, Lacoste shirt, navy blue Adidas sneakers. For the initial three many years I didn’t go out. I shaved my head. I wore a similar paper medical center trousers day to day until finally Christopher Reeve passed absent. That’s when I spotted I needed to get responsibility for my lifestyle. By ten I’m in my manual wheelchair and might use my arms to groom myself. At my desk I’ll read through e-mail. In the last five years my fine-motor actions have come back.

Physique Perform The garage was once a horse steady before we turned it into my work out and get the job done House. I have a standing frame that looks like an elliptical machine, and my assistant and aide get me in it. It’s wonderful to generally be standing once again and to defy what persons said I’d in no way be capable of do. This moves my arms and legs and stops osteoporosis, relieves suffering and stretches my muscles. My iPhone is tied to your manage bar. During the week this is how I make a lot of my business calls.

ENDORPHINS For the subsequent hour I do bicycle rotations on my back for muscle and spine stimulation which allows for aerobic activity. I used to operate seven miles a day and was over the crew team, so that is a strain launch. I’m up to 3,000 rotations, that's 6,000 techniques. Then I return email messages and evaluation my working day along with the week.

Excursion TO Town My mother and aide obtain the van Completely ready. Purchasing the very first van was a way to re-create my independence. It had been a tremendous step in my recovery and gave me a way of self. I a short while ago began considering townhouses within the Upper West Facet. I’m able to move out alone once more. I like being around Lincoln Heart for the opera as well as the Museum of All-natural Heritage.

The largest obstacle will be finding a home wherever I'm able to insert an elevator and produce a ramp. If I’m not undertaking that, we’ll all Visit the Achieved. I grew up in Italy, so I love looking at historic perform, Specially from Van Gogh.

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FAMILY Supper My brother and sister as well as their people all Dwell close by. They appear in excess of for our Thanksgiving-like Sunday meal. I textual content Everybody what to deliver and when to point out. My brother grills steak, my mom would make gnocchi and tagliatelle, my niece does dessert, my nephew can make and serves the cappuccino. Anyone is environment the table. Someone else is finding the wine. There’s a way of intention to all this; that’s what’s improved in my lifetime.

THERAPY My Bodily therapist comes in excess of. I’m relearning how you can crawl. I do planks and relocating about on my elbows. I love it. I’m listening to new music — Abba, Erasure, Girl Gaga, Donna Summer, anything at all pop and upbeat.

THE CLASSICS By eleven:fifteen I’ve been assisted back again into mattress and will enjoy a movie. I really like aged types, especially Hitchcock, like “Dial M for Murder.” I such as the elegance, and will capture one thing distinctive each and every time I check out it. It’s not just Grace or Tippi, there’s this element of suspense.

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rewrite-the-wrongs · 4 years

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ever get in a fight with your own brain? / ADHD & RSD

I spoke in my first post about the pace at which I create, and the constant mental back-and-forth I go through when reading or writing. The thing I didn’t mention, though, is that it can take a nearly-insurmountable effort to get to the point that I’m actually producing anything.

For instance: After I wrote the first two sentences of this post and four words of the next, I left my computer on my bed and went to have a shit. While there, I spent about fifty minutes on my phone (it’s no wonder I have fucking hemorrhoids, my poor butthole). Even as I continue typing now, I can’t stop flipping to other tabs. Sometimes I even pick up my phone and look at the same fucking apps I have open in Chrome.

I spent about three years talking with a therapist about this same issue nearly every week. She would ask me, “Easy, do you still want to be a writer?” and I would feel this horrible knot in my stomach, like if I said Yes I would be lying, even though that’s just not the case. No matter what I would press through the discomfort and say, “Yes. This is what I want. It’s what I love.” But something in my assertion felt hollow.

The question becomes: Why? Why in the living hell does my brain try so goddamn hard to prevent me from doing a thing that I spent countless hours practicing as a child straight up through my early twenties? Why has it taken me so long--I’m 27 now--to get back on the horse, even when I know that holding all of this creativity in can very literally make me ill?

I present to you an article a friend of mine shared a while back, and the first time I considered the very real possibility that I’m dealing with ADHD that is most certainly comorbid with my depression and anxiety:

https://www.webmd.com/add-adhd/rejection-sensitive-dysphoria#1

That’s a rudimentary rundown of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), a common symptom of ADHD. Basically, rejection (perceived or genuine) can trigger a stress response, which subsequently can lead to extreme emotional responses to said rejection.

Nobody likes to be rejected, but this shit takes it a step further, into a place that can be utterly debilitating. When I try to get creative, I often freeze up or get incredibly sad after a short time working. This is because, on some semiconscious level, I’ve convinced myself my writing will be rejected before anybody’s ever had the chance to read it. I completely overwhelm myself with the idea of an audience--I can’t help but think about how hard it is to be published, or how huge the internet is and how easy it is to be drowned out in a sea of voices, or how my absurdly limited human brain can’t possibly come up with something nobody’s thought of before.

This issue becomes even worse when I have a personal connection to my audience. I went to school for writing, and I was surrounded by talented people, some of whom I’ve maintained contact with. Many of them publish pieces in lit mags or online pretty frequently, and a couple have books out. I’ve contacted two of them directly to ask about writing reviews/essays on their work, and they’ve enthusiastically said yes. Unfortunately--and predictably, if you’re following along--that’s as far as I’ve gotten. Those messages both went out some two years ago.

I actually came out to one of those two writers on a whim recently, and mentioned/apologized for the lack of review--and she’d forgotten about it completely.

It used to be that most of my rejection sensitivity was aimed at my lack of social grace. I was a pretty hapless kid, lost in my own thoughts, almost never tracking the conversation around me. I would frequently offer non sequitur distractions in class, to the chagrin of my teachers and often my classmates. I can distinctly recall many occasions during which I

1) Patiently waited with my hand up for ten solid minutes, thinking only about whatever random fact or opinion the conversation had brought to mind;

2) Relayed said fact or opinion;

3) Was corrected or chastised, either by the teacher or kids around me or both;

4) Put my head down on my desk and began to quietly cry and hope nobody would ever look at me again.

But it wasn’t just in the classroom that I struggled to be social. Cue an image of me watching at least a solid hundred kids and parents do the Cha Cha Slide while I sat entirely alone in a corner of the gym. Cue an image of another gym, where I was watching my younger sister and several friends play in our elementary school’s steel drum band alongside every band in our county’s program; all of the players gathered on bleachers opposite our audience bleachers, and a few non-players traipsed over to sit and socialize, and I sat there thinking about crossing that gym the entire time I was there. Cue an image of a moment at a swimming pool when I misspoke and offended a friend-of-a-friend, and tried to make myself apologize but just sat there and felt queasy, and I never found the courage to speak to either person again.

When I got to high school, things got worse before they got better. I became so stressed out by rejection that I began vomiting simply because I was around somebody I was attracted to who didn’t reciprocate my feelings. In the span of maybe two months, I dropped from a hundred eighty pounds to about one-fifteen. RSD literally nearly killed me.

At this point I was writing fervently, producing upwards of a hundred thousand words between a few different shitty novel concepts. My art was the one place I could go that rejection couldn’t touch me, the one thing I would share with anybody who would have a look. I enrolled in those writing workshop classes I mentioned last post. Whenever I had a spare moment that wasn’t reserved for video games or books or my eventual girlfriend, I was creating. And my brain and I kept at it that way for years.

This is the internet, so you’ve heard of the Dunning-Kruger Effect, yeah?

I found myself very firmly at the peak Mt. Ignorance when I entered college. My high school program had prepared me extremely well, and before long I was singled out by more than one professor, and even a couple upperclassmen. It went to my head quickly.

Enter a very tumultuous, extremely unhealthy relationship that began with me cheating on my high school sweetheart (no way that could go wrong). By the start of spring semester, this older woman realized she’d invented a version of me in her head I couldn’t possibly live up to, and I--being a deeply closeted egg, still, and steeped in learned misogyny--collapsed in on myself and turned into a borderline stalker for a couple of months. (I have since apologized, and we’re still in touch, albeit it very, very distantly.)

I deeply internalized this rejection, to the point that I started to denigrate myself as an artist, and my brain connected RSD more inextricably to my writing. When I hit sophomore year, my confidence had begun to waver, and even though I was still learning and improving, by the time I was a junior that confidence had all but dissolved. I was flat on my ass in what a political scientist friend of mine calls THE VALLEY OF DESPAIR, or the trough at the very bottom of the Dunning-Kruger curve.

This lack of confidence culminated in an independent study that I should have failed. It was spring semester of my junior year. I had the opportunity to work one-on-one with my favorite professor and, in my opinion, the most talented writer we had to learn from. But I was nearly out of creative energy, and I found it nearly impossible to write anything I felt would be good enough, especially for someone I idolized so intensely. I wound up sending him stories I’d written for a fiction workshop the semester before, and even then I wasn’t able to complete the course. That professor left my grade unmarked until I graduated, at which point he aced me out of what was probably a mixture of pity and a need to keep our small private school’s GPA high.

Senior year, I found poetry, which gave me the opportunity to produce less in terms of volume. I stayed in poetry the whole year, and wrote less than I had since I was eight. When I left school, I stalled out almost entirely.

This is all a rather long-winded way of saying that my brain is my own worst enemy when it comes to writing. RSD leaves me prone to catastrophizing everything, and the general trajectory of my life felt downward for a long time.

But I went to therapy, and I came out to my partner just about a year ago now, and I’m happier every day. I’m relearning the patience with myself and my artistic process. I’m pushing myself to keep learning and gaining experience and knowledge. I’ve got a couple different creative projects going. And I’m here on Tumblr, blogging for the second time in a week (ish--where the hell are the time stamps on these posts?!).

Every time I start to feel the crushing weight of the world above me--every time I feel like I’ll never climb out of the Valley of Despair, like I couldn’t possibly contribute anything good to the world--I’m going to remind myself of this image:

TL;DR: Fuck you, brain. You’re not the boss of me. I’m a writer, and I will remain one. And my writing is for me. Any other readers are a bonus.

Much love, y’all--

Easy

#writing #ADHD #RSD #Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria #process #creativity #diary

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shbettereveryday · 7 years

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Day 284 / 285 / 286

Rain…then shine

My disability could be described with that. There are many days when it is raining. Things just seem so depressing. The legs don’t feel good, the bladder isn’t cooperating , and the nerve pains is high. These days, like a rainy day, it just doesn’t feel like you want to get out of bed. I have to remember that sun will shine again. Sunday was literally a rainy day and it had been raining for a few days which meant we had a basement with water in it. It isn’t finished, but something we want to take care of. Michele, on top of everything else in the morning, was down there trying to do her best to control it. It also means something else that I can’t help with. One of the topics on a forum I have been in online is dealing with the feelings of not being able to help and the stress of how much that your spouse, parent, or whoever your caregiver has to do for you. I have felt that and I can see the exhaustion in her face but I still require help with things. One of the biggest is the toilet. I can’t do this on my own. It seems to be a culprit in some of the things that are problematic for me. I can also feel, sometimes, when I really need to go. Sunday getting ready for a planned dinner I had that feeling when I was getting up from a nap. I told her and the reaction was like ‘oh shit’ no pun intended, haha, I am sure. One of the thing that has been better is dealing with involuntary bowel movements. I haven’t had as many, but if we did a commode routine we would most certainly have been an hour late at least which would be basically canceling. I decided to head out with some confidence in not having an accident. Everything went fine and was able to get home and take care of business then. The reason this is so much work: by the time I get to that point my legs have tightened up and the transfers are very difficult which puts more stress on her.

TMI TIME Part of my injury is not being able to control my muscles below my injury and the bowel and bladder sphincter are muscles. I can’t control them, so part of a bowel regimen is doing whatever you have to do to get things to move through your system, which is difficult because the digestion process is also slowed and impared. Lately things have been improving, where once I get on the commode if I lean enough things have moved on their own. Part of my success lately is first finding a combination of meds to keep things moving but also not doing things at work, and out and about, that I know can trigger an accident, when I know that I am also ready. It takes some time to relearn your body and its signals. Anyway, she has manually stimulate that muscle to open and stay open for things to move out. Sometimes she has to manually remove things, but less often lately. I know, gross right? Think how your relationship would be if you had to rely on someone else to do something so personal and basic. At some point I will probably get to have core strength, balance, and the right chair to be able to do that for myself, but currently I simply can’t. That is why it is more then just a few minutes to run to the bathroom. The bowel routine takes at minimum an hour, no matter how it goes. END TMI.

But really from that time on Sunday afternoon and through Monday into Tuesday my legs have felt really tight which affects my comfort in the chair. Work has been really crazy, due to the flooding in the region . My legs were bad as well as continuing problems with the bladder.etc. I was looking forward to Paraquad and especially on Tuesday because of the appointment with Logan for chiropractic evaluation. It went really well and I have high hopes that they will be able to help lessen the leg problems and lower back/hip pain. I according to them have problems with some pelvic bones that they can help relieve. They say some of my main complaints can be caused from what they see. They had me lay on the mat face down with a wedge to give my back a good stretch and it felt really good even without the therapy work they were doing. I have once a week scheduled for 12 weeks to work on this problem. It will include core exercises because the core strength, or lack of it, stresses the pelvic area because it works harder to keep me moving the way I do. I already felt better immediately after and hope that continues. Bettereverday through back-cracking if that is what it takes, works for me. The sun is shining now but I know it will rain again too, such is the cycle of disability.

#bettereveryday #spinalcordinjury

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asfeedin · 4 years

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“Grown Woman Weight”: The Concept That Helped Me Embrace My Curves

I arrived at Georgia Southern University in 2005 weighing 105 pounds, in size 00 low-rise jeans (the horror) and a size DD bra. It wasn’t until around sophomore year of college that I finally started to gain weight, and I was thrilled at the idea of my bottom half finally catching up to my top half. Grown woman weight, as I would soon come to know it, was seen as a beautiful thing, and as a Black girl from Atlanta, I saw full hips, thick thighs and big butts as a source of pride long before J. Lo and Kim Kardashian made them acceptable assets to the mainstream.

With this in mind, I was excited at the prospect of developing curves—that is, until I allowed other people to make me feel self-conscious. It didn’t take long for me to transform into one of those people who was obsessed with her weight.

One holiday weekend, while working at my very part-time job at Lady Foot Locker, I was venting to a coworker about worries that my weight was starting to get out of control, my former feelings of pride now a deep insecurity. A moment later, someone who had overheard my worries interjected to reassure me: “You’re just putting on your grown woman weight. That’s all that is,” she insisted. I found great comfort in that phrase, and I still do today. It symbolized progress, and meant that my body was shifting from that of a young girl to a woman. It made me realize the changes I was going through were natural, and not anything to be ashamed of.

Fast-forward to 2020, and I was recently reminded of this experience when I came across a Twitter thread started by influencer Tayler Rayne, asking her followers to share their own grown woman weight photos. I scrolled through the thread of beautiful, confident, curvy women celebrating weight gain as an achievement, and the photos gave me a true sense of empowerment. I think back and wish my younger self had been able to see such positive examples of women embracing their changing bodies.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t been quite so lucky back then, and the shame of gaining weight really took its toll on me. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I suffered tremendously from depression throughout my college years. I’d always been someone who felt things very deeply and experienced occasional bouts of sadness, but being away from home, ill-equipped for the social pressures of the school, my issues were taken to new heights. I started partying hard, and eating just as hard to soothe my sadness.

I I found myself desperate for the approval of others, and I entered into a relationship during my senior year. The guy had admired me for years, and when my body started to look different than that of the girl he’d lusted over from afar, he wasn’t shy about letting me know it. His comments didn’t motivate me to eat less; instead, they left me paralyzed as my confidence sunk even lower. I felt ashamed of how my body was changing, and I coped with my shame by eating, which only perpetuated the unbreakable cycle.

Jessica Wilkins.

My coping mechanisms of eating and drinking—plus my penchant for toxic relationships—were all things I took with me well after graduation. As my negative behavior continued, so did my weight gain. A few months before my 25th birthday in 2012, I began a meal replacement program (recommended by a doctor) and barely had to work out before dropping down to my goal weight of 130lbs. Everyone was so proud of me, and the external validation gave me enough momentary confidence to apply to the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York.

I got accepted and made the big move, but found quickly that a temporary fix for my overall issues wouldn’t be enough. I still didn’t have the proper coping mechanisms to deal with the daily highs and lows that came with just being a human being, especially one in a new, unfamiliar place. I often felt victimized, like the world was picking on me specifically. So I slowly abandoned my strict diet, and the weight came back on with a vengeance.

Jessica Wilkins.

It took about four years of struggling in New York before I finally got a job that allowed me to afford therapy. I started to identify and unlearn my unproductive thinking patterns and depressive triggers, and to relearn healthier coping mechanisms like journaling and meditation. Still, even with all this progress, I found myself wishing that I could get my trim, freshman-year-of-college body back.

This, it turned out, was an unrealistic expectation. As we age, our metabolisms slow down and our bodies change. We can never really fully go back, but we can walk forward into a new normal, one that’s in alignment with a healthier overall version of ourselves. Once I started embracing my grown woman weight, accepting this became easier, even exciting.

Therapy changed my entire perspective, allowing me to focus on how I felt as a whole as opposed to overthinking my external appearance. We tend to associate health and happiness with fit, beautiful bodies, sometimes without intending to at all. Even though I know they meant well, the friends and family who had celebrated my previous weight loss had no idea that the my accomplishment was really a facade, one that hid a very sad and broken spirit. Weight loss isn’t always a victorious accomplishment. Often, a person is still suffering emotionally on the inside.

Jessica Wilkins.

My journey to a healthier body could only truly be actualized by first treating myself with the compassion, kindness, and acceptance I deserved. That said, one thing I simply couldn’t come to peace with was my bra size—an H at my largest. I started to develop major back and shoulder problems because according to my doctor, my breasts were literally too big for my body. I’m only 5’2 for crying out loud! I made the decision to get a breast reduction and it was life-changing. I felt like I could see more of myself, and once I didn’t have to wear three sports bras to do a single jumping jack, working out became far less of a hassle.

Earlier this year, I started documenting my wellness journey and sharing it online. I knew many other women were struggling with feelings of inadequacy associated with weight gain and loss, and I felt compelled to share how focusing on fixing my mental health and outlook, not my appearance, was what helped me through dark times.

Seeing that “grown woman weight” Twitter thread reminded me that, always, my priority is to be well, not thin. Since 2005, I’ve gained about 70 pounds. To some people, that’s not much at all, and to others it’s a significant number. That said, what matters is how I feel about it, and to be honest, I’ve have never felt better about myself in my life. I was proud to contribute my own Before and After images to Tayler Rayne’s thread. My grown woman weight is a sign of survival, a physical representation of my growth and overcoming past hardships. I carry my weight like a badge of honor, not a source of shame, and I’m never looking back.

Tags: concept, Curves, Embrace, grown, Helped, weight, WOMAN

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uncle-ak · 4 years

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What Do You Do?

A conversation at a networking event between X and Y (chromosomes; haha) X= Her, Y= Him…

Y: Hi, how are you?

X: I’m fine; and you?

Y: I’m fine as well... My name is Y; you are?

X: (smiles) I am X.

Y: Nice to meet you.

X: (smiles) unsure what to say…

Y: Do you live in the area? I haven’t seen you around.

X: Yeah I do.

Y: Oh really?! Have you been hiding?

X: (smiles) what we see depends on what we are looking for at any given point in time.

Y: (Smiles) Interesting… Do you have a minute?

X: A minute?! She smiles...

Y: You know what I mean… Do you mind taking a walk?

X: I wouldn’t be asking if I knew what you meant. I’m not a mind reader… (Smiles and starts walking)

Y: What do you do?

X: In regards to?

Y: School or work?

X: While attempting to answer…

Y: Wait let me guess… Nursing?

X: Nope! Nice try though...what I do is still in the health field.

Y: Pharmacy? Doctor?

X: Even if you had a hundred years to guess, you probably wouldn’t guess right.

Y: Really? Are you sure?

X: Positive!

Y: Ok, what do you do?

X: I am an Occupational Therapist. (Smiles)

Y: Laughs… looks away... What do they do?

Ooohh okay! Enough of the conversation!

First, let me say that I admire people who admit that they don’t know something and are open to learning about it. Even if it is just the basic information.

I am sure we have been asked one of the following questions at least once thus far in our journey of life. If you are in school, the question would be; what is your major or what are you studying? If you aren’t in school, the question would be, what do you do for work? Acknowledging that the question; what do you do, is a little vague, it, however, allows the conversation to flow in any direction. Also, with the shift in entrepreneurialism in our generation, people have more than one job or multiple streams of income.

I have had the above conversation too many times to count and each time it amazes me to see the reaction of the people who haven’t heard or don’t know about Occupational Therapy, a profession that was founded in 1917 and celebrated its 100th year in 2017. National Occupational Therapy month is celebrated in April; this year’s annual celebration was canceled due to COVID-19. So I am writing this in honor of that and to share my journey thus far and how it has molded me into the person I am today.

It has been four years of me working as an Occupational Therapist... It’s been challenging with speed bumps, rocky hills, roller coasters especially leading up to the new Medicare changes that happened in October 2019 that felt like a 360-degree change in the field for me. Between September 2018 and December 2019, there were moments that tested me to the core because, in addition to preparing for the Medicare changes, the company I worked for was being sold; so the transition was... Somehow I still woke up every morning and got myself ready to keep going because besides all the chaos that was/is going on, I LOVE what I do. Then came 2020 when things were beginning to stabilize and boom COVID-19...

I consider my journey to becoming an Occupational Therapist as a non-traditional one. The background story; some of which are mentioned in a previous blog post I wrote back in September 2017. My journey to a non-traditional profession in the African community. As you can tell from the conversation at the beginning, the typical professions in the African community are or were Pharmacy, Doctor, Nursing and throw in Engineer. But the narrative is changing now as the Sitmpod sheds light on how we are deviating from what was the norm and still excelling and thriving.

May I share that I was humbled when recently asked to participate in a research study; Understanding the impact of a WhatsApp support group for health and community development practitioners during times of political/social crisis. This forum has been very enlightening with the information shared. At some point, it was a little overwhelming with the wealth of information shared from people in varying fields in healthcare residing in different parts of the world with vast extensive years of experience. I sometimes thought to myself, I only have four years of experience and probably one of the youngest in the forum, what do I really have to share. But there came moments when I shared from my personal experience in my journey thus far and the uniqueness of my experience with the response from other participants made me want to ask more questions to learn and share more of my perspective.

Working as an Occupational Therapist has helped me to be more grounded, more humble, more grateful, more present in the moment, more patient… the list goes on. Some of my experiences include using varying strategies/techniques to help people relearn how to get out of bed, to feed themself, complete grooming/hygiene, take a shower, get dressed, how to go from laying down to sitting up, how to maintain balance when transitioning from sitting to standing, how to make the simplest of meals like a cup of tea or a sandwich, cereal, oatmeal..etc. Some of which require quick thinking on my feet and creativity.

Whenever I have a challenging day and my emotions try to get the best of me, I recall an experience of someone I worked with whom with the help of occupational therapy, they celebrated their ability to drink water from a cup on their own meanwhile they had experienced a health condition that affected their ability to recognize the use and or differentiate a hairbrush from a toothbrush which they were able to prior to the health condition that changed all that. Another experience where someone celebrated their ability to scope their food and feed themself rather than wait for someone to come feed them or their ability to sign their own checks because they weren’t able to hold/manipulate a pen. Or someone who celebrated their ability to take a shower instead of sponge baths... The list/examples can go on and on. These experiences and more have helped me to appreciate the simplest of things.

One thing that surprised me during my first year working as an occupational therapist was that there were some healthcare providers who did/do not know what Occupational therapy is. I work in a skilled nursing facility where the population is mostly geriatric (older people) when I knock on the door to introduce myself to new patients; I’ll say Good morning, my name is X and I am an Occupational Therapist. Some of the responses I get include; I’m retired I don’t need a job; derived from the term “Occupation.” Others would say; what does that mean? What do they do? In my four years in this field, I still do get to explain what I do. It got to a point where I called being an Occupational Therapist a mystery profession. In 2017 when we celebrated our 100th year, I could not understand how a hundred years later, we still have to explain who we are and what we do.

Prior to the initial partial lockdown following the outbreak of COVID-19 that only allowed essential employees to go work, I initially thought that essential was only for hospitals. And given the way the term “Therapy” tends to be interpreted, I was bracing myself for a stay at home situation when I was notified otherwise. So the worry of staying at home for X duration shifted to fear of... See my most recent blog post

Some of my friends say my personality is a mystery to them so that’s probably why I was drawn to a profession that is a mystery as well (wink). Maybe, maybe not! Some theories suggest that who we are fundamentally shaping what we do, others suggest that what we do day in/day out shapes who we become… Will this be a tomayto/tomahto situation?

So, who is an Occupational Therapist and what do they do? A description from The American Occupational Therapy Association (AOTA) Website;

[Occupational therapy practitioners ask, "What matters to you?" not, "What's the matter with you?]

“In its simplest terms, occupational therapists and occupational therapy assistants help people across the lifespan participate in the things they want and need to do through the therapeutic use of everyday activities (occupations). Common occupational therapy interventions include helping children with disabilities to participate fully in school and social situations, helping people recovering from injury to regain skills, and providing support for older adults experiencing physical and cognitive changes. Occupational therapy services typically include:

An individualized evaluation, during which the client/family and occupational therapist determine the person’s goals,

Customized intervention to improve the person’s ability to perform daily activities and reach the goals.

An outcomes evaluation to ensure that the goals are being met and/or make changes to the intervention plan.

Occupational therapy services may include comprehensive evaluations of the client’s home and other environments (e.g., workplace, school), recommendations for adaptive equipment and training in its use, and guidance and education for family members and caregivers. Occupational therapy practitioners have a holistic perspective, in which the focus is on adapting the environment to fit the person, and the person is an integral part of the therapy team.

Happy Occupational Therapy Month to my fellow colleagues working in different settings from hospitals (aka acute setting), to sub-acute, Skilled Nursing Facilities (aka SNF/nursing homes), NIH, NRH, Medstar, Walter reed, Military, Navy, Air Force, Armed force, to outpatient settings, home setting, school setting, mental health in/outpatient, work & industry, self-employed, research, policy making/lobbying, ethics and list continues…

Have you or are you on a journey to something non-traditional in your culture, society, community, home? It doesn’t have to be work related. If so, what has your journey been like thus far?

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