Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
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there's something deeply gutting about being a writer right now. watching studio execs brag about starving people like you out of your very house just to not pay you anything above the pennies you currently make. watching some people cheer over AO3 being targeted for a DDOS attack. the complete lack of profitability of writing commissions or writing in general in transformative spaces, especially in contrast to fanart. the pivot of so many social media platforms to be video and image based near-exclusively.
I don't know. it just makes me sad to know that the hobby that kept me alive while growing up homeschooled with dial-up internet and local antenna TV... is only ever gonna be a side job with minimal engagement. I know this site is good about supporting libraries and the concept of books but, do me a favor? Reach out to a writer friend you know. Leave a comment on your last five read stories on your favorite website.
Tell us you care.
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there he is......the man of the house
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Imagine little Turtle Tot Leo practicing his best Lou Jitsu grin in the mirror during the nights he can’t sleep. He’s gotta be just like his idol, after all! So he masters the art of the cocky grin, slowly perfecting his imitation.
Eventually that confident grin becomes his default one, and the quiet, happy smile that he’s born with, the one that he first greets his father with, that one is the rarity.
Until the invasion happens. Until he throws himself into the Prison Dimension. Until he’s beaten within an inch of his life and he’s holding onto his last remnant of his family through sheer willpower alone.
In that moment, looking at the photo of the ones he loves, that quiet smile comes back.
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you know what’s absolutely terrifying???? having to cut a baby’s nails………
Katsuki has to cut your baby’s fingernails when he discovers a tiny little scratch by her eye one morning. it’s barely there, a small thing, but it’s there, marring her little face nonetheless. he frowns at her when he holds her the next morning, her dreamy eyes alert and blinking up at him, she smiles.
“Now I gotta cut yer claws down,” he mutters to her, voice quiet as to not wake your sleeping form in the bedroom. he pads throughout the house with her chubby face resting on his shoulder, her gums gnawing at his bare skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind it.
he finds himself in a conundrum though, once he realizes just how fucking—how sharp the damn clippers are. they’re tiny, lavender in color, but they’re meant to cut though the nail with such precision. and yes, he’s a pro hero, has had to adopt the title of EMT, firefighter, emergency surgeon a few times in his life when need be.
but…those people weren’t his baby girl. they weren’t this tiny and precious, and they never looked up at him with a face so similar to his, it makes his heart squeeze tight in his chest. he frowns at her again, even deeper, and this makes her hiccup a little giggle, gummy smile spreading wide.
“You’re only gonna wear mittens from here on out,” he grumbles after a while, finally daring to pick up a tiny hand that she instantly curls around his thick finger. it’s the cutest image, he thinks to himself, but he catches sight of the jagged nail, the culprit. his heart squeezes even tighter though, when he realizes that he can’t protect her from every hurt in the world, even if the hurt comes from her own hands. and the realization is an aching one, but he tells himself that he, at least, can patch her up.
you walk in minutes later, find Bakugou curled over your daughter in the rocking chair he built for her room. his tongue pokes from the corner of his mouth in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed. your daughter babbles to him the whole time, her sweet voice cooing the softest little noises that he responds back to.
“I know, I know,” he mumbles to her. “Ya don’t like baths, and don’t like your nails cut, either. What other shit do you hate, huh?” he asks, and she seemingly responds with a long, sighed out coo. it makes him smile, despite the way his hands slightly shake when he cuts the next nail. he’s terrified, of somehow hurting her even more, of cutting too close, of scratching her. but he treks on, and kisses her fat little fingers every time he clips another nail.
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I feel a deep sense of anger and grief for Palestine. I’m angry at God, at the world powers donating to those who are killing civilians, angry at people looking away and encouraging you to worry about yourself when people can’t even walk down their streets without being attacked. I’m angry that my friend donated, only for it to be stolen and taken by the soldiers abusing Palestine. I’m angry that I can’t do much of anything but tell you to at least CARE about the people being bombed and slaughtered. Please, if you can’t do anything please just CARE about these people and listen to their stories. Hold them in your hearts at the very least. Don’t pretend they don’t exist or just brush it off as “its been going on for centuries, there’s no point in stopping it.” I want to do more, I want to make people care and love those who need it, rather than continue spreading anger and hate.
These are real people I’ve drawn. Keep the people of Palestine in your heart at the very least please.
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I just... love them a lot.
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does anyone else get so upset when you think about all the things that happened to your f/o... all the things they went through? all the things they haven't healed from? the pain that they may still be enduring? how you can do your best to help them but you can't protect them from everything. so you just love them the ways they needed before, how they deserved. and you see them happy because they finally accept, at least in some ways, that they do deserve it. they deserve love like all beings do
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Small detour of what I usually post, but I absolutely wish (other) clown the best of luck during these confusing and almost hopeless times- nobody knows how to deal with such amount of attention in such short amount of time- a blessing and a curse to behold
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Major Trimax Spoilers Ahoy:
Man. Man.
You ever think about how Vash just wanted something so badly. He wanted to be with Wolfwood so badly. Even though hunting down his brother has been his sole, major motivation to get going most of the manga, he found Wolfwood in that church. Vash came just for him.
He fell into step beside Wolfwood, so close that they don’t need words. He admitted, if only to himself, that he wanted to spend all the tomorrows he could get from Wolfwood. He wanted. He wanted.
He wanted so much that, as they sat on that damned couch, Vash prayed. For the very first and last time, he chose to pray to a god he wished for, but didn’t have faith in. A god that his priest inspired in him. Anything and anyone who would help him, help them. Just one more tomorrow, even. Anything. Please.
And, you know, here we are again, aren’t we? In another universe but with the same men, and with the same gods. And we all know what’s coming. It’s consumed them every single other time, a fixed point that we can’t escape. But the gods of this universe are still there. They’ve seen Vash beg, they’ve seen Vash plead, they’ve seen Vash mourn.
Do they care enough to listen? Do they care enough to spare them? Do they care enough to let them have their tomorrows?
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Do you guys think that Sonic has scars?
Not like Tails’, definitely not like those. Tails’ scars are from ripping fur, burning flesh, badly healed broken bones, deep cuts, and stuff he doesn’t even remember, from before he even met Sonic and started fighting Eggman. So many scars. He’s covered in them, his fur hides them, so he’s lucky that his tails are the fluffiest part of him, that’s where he has the most scars, hes not exactly ashamed of his scars, they show what he’s survived, they show that he came through all that. But still, most of them are a painful reminder that he had to survive, not live, survive.
Now Sonic… Sonic has very few scars, almost none of them from fights or Eggman encounters, his dumb bots couldn’t ever dream of hurting him, he was way too fast for that, way too strong. So they’re not from those fights, no, they’re from something completely different.
All the baby fox fangs marks in his hands, all the deep scratches from tiny little claws in his chest and the back of his arms, all the little cuts close to his face, all of them.
Sonic is proud of those scars.
He’s proud of those scars, because each and every of those scars are a reminder that he baby fox that caused them survived, because every time Sonic bled because of that kid, it was worth it.
Because he tried to bathe him when he was more blood and mud than fur. Because he forced him to take medicine when he was sick. Because he hugged him every time he had a nightmare and wouldn’t wake up even if it meant he would instinctively try to hurt him in the process. Because he held him and didn’t let go even when he felt tiny claws digging and ripping in his skin.
Those scars meant his little brother still wanted to survive. Those scars meant Sonic did everything to make sure he would live.
He’s proud of those scars.
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[I'm sorry for your loss.]
It was a long time ago. The wounds don't heal, but they become more bearable.
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It feels utterly criminal that I've waited over a year since first drawing/coming up with her before even posting anything of her and now I'm dumping it all at once! 😭
This is Jayce's drider ex, Leticia, an aerial dancer, who he first met going to a club with his tracker buddies to celebrate his big untrackable find. Wanting to look cool with them, but immediately falls in love instead lmao. She was not convinced his feelings were genuine for a while at first, due to either fetishized or teased for being half spider (even with being an empath herself), but he was adamant about having his feelings known and she eventually caved to his affections and they were together for several years...
Eventually she was wanting to settle down and didn't like how dangerous his job was as a tracker and things got a bit rough towards the end. He didn't want to stop tracking, but he promised her one last mission where he might not need to anymore if he could find and open the coffer and release ancient magic for the world again, something that would benefit everyone!
She thought he had ideals of grandeur too high to achieve and she went to stay with her folks for a bit, and then...
Jayce went missing for 5 years...
She assumed eventually that he had passed and had to move on herself. She met someone else and started a family and has her second child on the way when Jayce finally returns again, far too late to try and fix things. She still cares for him a lot, but has moved on, while it's still fairly fresh in Jayce's mind as he was in stasis most of that time missing. They both wish each other happiness, but it still hurts...
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