#stop asking me to buy you shit that costs like $60 for your birthday and for christmas i dont even have a god damn job

[vanishingmoments]

i dont hate my brother in the sense of wishing ill will on him but i hate him in the sense that i want him to stop being an inconsiderate asshole and an idiot.

#stop eating like 5 fucking meals a day other people in this house need to have food to eat too and you're not michael phelps #stop letting out loud groans when you take a shit as if nobody else is there to hear it #stop leaving smudges of random things all over the kitchen because you cant be bothered to keep your hands clean while cooking #stop walking around the house with the heaviest footsteps you can possibly have #stop asking me to buy you shit that costs like $60 for your birthday and for christmas i dont even have a god damn job

[purplesurveys]

1269

Last thing you bought online? Did you like it? OMG OMG so I got Angela an Army Bomb!!!!!! for her birthday!!!! It was HELLLL looking for sealed ones that were already onhand, but fortunately I was able to find one from this really nice seller a few days ago and the shipping was quick as well. I’m just a little worried because the outbox has a little dent on it :( but it was the best onhand offer I could find so I got it before anybody could call dibs. I still hope she likes it! I got her batteries too so that she can try lighting it up as soon as she has it. :D

Could you date someone who didn’t drive (and didn’t show an interest in ever getting their license, either)?  I feel like this is such a petty thing to make a big deal about...if they knew how to commute or any other way to get to their destination, I don’t think this should be a problem. It would only be an issue to me if they refused to get a license in a very I-generally-lack-ambition kind of way.

How would you react if your artwork became famous?  I don’t have any to show off to begin with. I love appreciating art, but creating it was never a forte of mine.

Would you get your nipples pierced?  No, I don’t plan on getting any piercings. How many people know your birthday?  Outside of my family, my best friends. I think everyone else relies on Facebook to be reminded, which is fine with me.

Has anyone ever tried to ruin a relationship you were in?  No. Quite the contrary, really...I was sometimes informed about red flags taking place, which of course my stubborn ass ignored.

Have you ever watched a whole hour long infomercial?  Probably, as a kid. The channel from which I used to watch WWE aired these really long infomercials so I would watch those while waiting for like Raw or whatever show was going on after.

What is your current MySpace song?  I never hung out on Myspace. I had an account, but I was too young for it so it wasn’t long before I got bored.

What is your favorite kind of meat to put on your sandwich?  Pulled pork or fried chicken.

Which one of your exes do you feel like you have the most chemistry with?  I only have one ex.

How do you feel about people who make Facebook profiles for their pets? I find it really cute. But I personally wouldn’t put in as much effort lol.

Have you ever personally known a pair of conjoined twins?  Hmmmmmmmm I don’t think so.

What was the most disturbing thing you have ever heard your mother say? She threatened suicide in front of me and my dad in a very calm way when I was around 11, I think? Maybe 12, idk. I haven’t actually thought about that moment in an extremely long time until this question. I’ll move on now and shove the memory at the very very back of my head before I get sad.

Is there something in particular you like to look at photos of? What is it?  Aside from members of BTS (lol), interior design inspirations.

Chewy chocolate-chip cookies: like or dislike?  Ooh, love. When I bite into a cookie it hassssss to ooze chocolate, otherwise I would be underwhelmed.

If your boyfriend/girlfriend wanted to dress only in the opposite sex’s clothing, would you support that? If not, would you leave them?  Support.

Do you think your grandmother is/was beautiful?  They both are.

Which of your fields of interest are you a total expert on?  Anything that has to do with writing (except poems), I guess? I like being able to give people advice and tips when it comes to that.

When was the last time you got all dolled up?  Last July when we had a big PR media launch thingy and I couldn’t afford to look like shit on Zoom.

Do you ever name objects? (i.e. mp3 players, guitars, cars, etc.)  Never.

Do you have a criminal record?  Not criminal but it’s possibleeeee that I have some kind of record on my license from the time I got stopped by an officer in Alabang, lmao. It was a minor offense from a tiny part of the town so I don’t actually know if they filed it, but it’s possible.

Last person you took a nap with?  I don’t really nap with other people. I hate falling asleep in front of others to begin with.

Does seeing your mother cry automatically make you feel sad as well?  No.

Do you think someone likes the same person you like?  I don’t like anybody.

Do you want your life to stay the way it is right now forever?  No, I do not want to stay in a pandemic and not get to maximize my life the way it’s supposed to be enjoyed forever.

Have you ever been to craigslist.com?  I’ve never checked it out; idk if we have that here?

What about eBay?  I also dunno if they operate here so no, I’ve never bothered.

Have you ever used Nair?  Not Nair, but I’ve used Veet before.

Are you medicated?  Nope.

Do you shape/fill in your eyebrows?  I never do stuff to my eyebrows except shave them.

Have you ever stolen/borrowed clothes from an ex?  Several articles of clothing were left behind here, yeah. I never had the chance to give them back because I stupidly thought we were going to get back together eventually. By the time I moved on the timing was already off, so the clothes stayed with me untillll...just a few days ago, actually – when I finally cleaned up my room and got rid of a bunch of knickknacks that accumulated here over the years, including all her shirts and sweaters and stuff.

Could you make a statement about anything political?  The 2022 presidential election landscape looks like complete shit and I’m nearly at that point where I want to stop giving a fuck about this country’s future.

Do you think you’ve already met your soulmate?  No.

Do you get the feeling something good will happen in your life soon?  I think I’m already living in it, haha.

Do you enjoy romantic movies, even when they’re cliche?  Sure, but cliché is also hit and miss for me. I love Titanic and Love Actually, but I cannot stand movies like Me Before You and The Notebook. I guess it depends on certain executions, like the acting, screenplay, casting, etc.

Have you been to McDonald’s in the past month?  No, not inside. We did drive-thru within the last month, though.

Have you ever slept over at your best friend’s house?  Not at Andi’s, but I have at Angela’s.

How often do you go bowling?  Extremely rarely. I can’t tell you the last time I went bowling.

Last time you were in an apartment?  Like 2007 when I visited my aunt back when she still lived in one. None of my friends have their own apartments.

Have you ever seen a live seahorse?  I don’t think so.

Would you like to have your own yacht? I mean I wouldn't say no if you offered it to me for free, but I'm not exactly interested in one. < Same.

Winnie the Pooh or Tigger?  Tigger always made me laugh as a kid.

What’s the unhealthiest thing you’ve eaten today?  Luncheon meat, I think? I didn’t go overboard with the junk food today.

Has a stranger ever offered to buy you a drink?  Hm, not that I can recall.

What is something you’d be happy to receive as a gift, that doesn’t cost a lot?  A bag of the salted egg chips that I really like costs like 30 bucks, or roughly 60 US cents.

What kind of music does your significant other/crush like to listen to?  I don’t have any irl crushes, can I use a celebrity crush instead? HAHA he’s heavily into jazz and whenever he gets asked for music recos he always gives jazz artists from like the 50s and 60s.

Who did you have your first kiss with? Do you remember what colour his/her eyes were?  Gab. Dark brown.

Are there any themes from TV shows that you like to sing along to? The Big Bang Theory and Friends; and then I also liked humming to the themes of Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, and BoJack Horseman. The Phineas & Ferb theme was also a lot of fun to sing along to.

Do you eat dessert after dinner? No, I never do that. I’m usually already full after dinner, and we don’t always have sweets at home anyway.

Have you ever had too much to drink and felt embarrassed about your behavior the next day?  Sure.

When you go out drinking, what do you prefer to drink?  Cocktails. I very rarely go for hard drinks/shots, especially if I brought my own car.

What was the last animal that you saw?  Dog.

What was the last thing that you said to one of your siblings?  I just told my sister I was done using her laptop so she can have it back. My Memories of 2020 DVD turned out to be region-locked so I have to use her laptop every time I want to watch it :(

What is the most expensive thing that you’ve purchased that you paid for:  My Map of the Soul photobook cost me around 5k in total.

What is your favorite messaging program?  Messenger.

Do you eat fast food more than 5 times a week?  Wow no. Aside from being extremely unhealthy, that’s also a LOT of spending??

Have you ever almost drowned?  Yes.

Have you ever learned something shocking about someone through Facebook?  I mean I’ve had to learn about more than one family death through my Facebook feed, which sucks but is nothing I have control over. Otherwise the most shocking thing I’ve seen is probably classmates from high school having their own kids, but at this point I’m used to it already.

What’s the scariest living animal that you’ve petted?  I’m not really afraid of carrying/petting animals especially if there’s a guide or expert nearby, but the most daring one was probably the crocodile I volunteered to hold in Palawan.

Do you remember the first conversation you ever had with the person you currently have feelings for?  Not at all.

Do you dread certain days of the week? If yes, what day/s and why?  I hate Mondays for obvious reasons lol. I don’t know anyone who is actively cheery about reporting back to work.

If you eat oatmeal, do you have it plain or do you have certain toppings that you like to add to it?  I never eat oatmeal. I had that every single day for breakfast from like kindergarten to 4th grade and I vowed never to take a spoonful of it again.

What is the funniest or strangest thing you’ve ever heard somebody say in their sleep?  I dunno. I used to keep a log of the things my ex used to say in her sleep and a great deal of them were hilarious, but obviously I deleted that note a long time ago.

Choose one - Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers:  Butterfinger.

Do you use Mozilla Firefox? Nopes.

Who is your favorite person to hug? Angela and Laurice.

Have you ever had to have a mug shot?  Nope.

What was the last thing you carried to your room?  Kimi.

When was the last time you had a late night phone call?  WELL over a year ago.

#survey #surveys

[feministlikeme]

1. Before explaining something to a woman, ask yourself if she might already understand. She may know more about it than you do.

2. Related: Never, ever try to explain feminism to a woman.

3. Trans women are women. Repeat that until you perish.

4. RESPECT PEOPLE’S PRONOUNS. It’s not hard.

5. Remember that fat women exist and aren’t all trying to get thin. Treat them with respect.

6. In fact, just never comment on a woman's body.

7. Be kind to women in customer service positions. Tip them extra. (But not in a creepy way.)

8. Trust women. When they teach you something, don't feel the need to go and check for yourself. And especially do not Google it in front of them.

9. Don’t maintain a double standard for… anything, ever.

10. CLOSE YOUR LEGS ON PUBLIC TRANSIT, OH MY GOD.

11. Trying to describe a woman positively? Say she's “talented,” “clever,” or “funny.” Not “gorgeous,” “sweet,” or “cute.”

12. Examine your language when talking about women. Get rid of “irrational,” “dramatic,” “bossy,” and “badgering” immediately.

13. Don't think to yourself, I describe men like that too. A) You probably don't. B) If you do, it's to criticize them for acting like a woman.

14. Do you love “fiery” Latina women? “Strong” Black women? “Mysterious” Asian women? Stop. Pick up a book on decolonial feminism. Read.

15. Stop calling women “feisty.” We don't need a special lady word for “has an opinion."

16. Recognize women's credibility when you introduce them. “Donna is lovely” is much less useful than “Donna knows shitloads about architecture.”

17. Think about how you describe the young women in your family. Celebrate them for being funny and smart, not for being pretty and compliant.

18. Examine the way you talk about women you’re attracted to. Fat women, old women, queer, trans, and powerful women are not your “guilty crush.”

19. Learn to praise a woman without demonizing other women. “You're not like other girls” is not a compliment. I want to be like other girls. Other girls are awesome.

20. Share writing by women. Don't paraphrase their work in your own Facebook post to show us all how smart or woke you are. I guarantee the woman said it better in the first place.

21. Buy sanitary pads and tampons and donate them to a homeless shelter. Just do it.

22. How much of what you are watching/reading/listening to was made by women? Gender balance your bookcase.

23. Feeling proud of your balanced bookcase? Are there women of color there? Trans, queer, and disabled women? Poor women? Always make sure you’re being intersectional.

24. Don't buy media that demeans women’s experiences, valorizes violence against women, or excludes them entirely from a cast. It's not enough to oppose those things. You have to actively make them unmarketable.

25. Pay attention to stories with nuanced female characters. It will be interesting, I promise.

26. If you read stories to a child, swap the genders.

27. Watch women's sport. And just call it “sports.”

28. Withdraw your support from sports clubs, institutions, and companies that protect and employ rapists and abusers.

29. Stop raving about Woody Allen. I don't care if he shits gold. Find a non-accused-abuser to fanboy over.

30. It's General Leia, not princess. The Doctor has a companion, not an assistant. It's Doctor Bartlett, not Mrs Madame First Lady.

31. Cast women in parts written for men. We know how to rule kingdoms, go to war, be, not be, and wait for Godot.

32. Pay for porn.

33. Recognize that sex work is work. Be an advocate for and ally to sex workers without speaking for them.

34. Share political hot takes from women as well as men. They might not be as widely accessible, so look for them.

35. Understand that it was never “about ethics in journalism.”

36. Speak less in meetings today to make space for your women colleagues to share their thoughts. If you're leading the meeting, make sure women are being heard as much as men.

37. If a woman makes a good point, say, “That was a good point.” Don't repeat her point and take credit for it.

38. Promote women. Their leadership styles may be different than yours. That's probably a good thing.

39. Recruit women on the same salary as men. Even if they don't ask for it.

40. Open doors for women with caring responsibilities by offering flexible employment contracts.

41. If you meet a man and a woman at work, do not assume the man is the superior for literally no reason.

42. If you're wrongly assumed to be more experienced than a woman colleague, correct that person and pass the platform to the woman who knows more.

43. Make a round of tea for the office.

44. Wash it up.

45. If you find you're only interviewing men for a role, rewrite the job listing so that it’s more welcoming to women.

46. Make sure you have women on your interview panel.

47. Tell female colleagues what your salary is.

48. Make sure there's childcare at your events.

49. Don't schedule breakfast meetings during the school run.

50. If you manage a team, make sure that your employees know that you recognize period pain and cystitis as legitimate reasons for a sick day.

51. If you have a strict boss (or mom or teacher) who is a woman, she is not a “bitch.” Grow up.

52. Expect a woman to do the stuff that's in her job description. Not the other miscellaneous shit you don't know how to do yourself.

53. Refuse to speak on an all-male panel.

54. In a Q&A session, only put your hand up if you have A QUESTION. Others didn’t attend to listen to you.

55. If you have friends or family members who use slurs or discriminate against trans or non-binary people, sit them down and explain why they must stop. (This goes for cis women, too.)

56. If you have friends or family members who use slurs or discriminate against women of other races, sit them down and explain why they must stop. (This goes for white women, too.)

57. If you see women with their hands up, put yours down. This can be taken as a metaphor for a lot of things. Think about it.

58. Raising a feminist daughter means she's going to disagree with you. And probably be right. Feel proud, not threatened.

59. Teach your sons to listen to girls, give them space, believe them, and elevate them.

60. Dads, buy your daughter tampons, make her hot water bottles, wash her bras. Show her that her body isn't something to be ashamed of.

61. But dads, do not try to iron her bras. This is a mistake you will only make once.

62. Examine how domestic labor is divided in your home. Who does the cleaning, the childcare, the organizing, the meal budgeting? Sons, this goes for you, too.

63. Learn how to do domestic tasks to a high standard. “I'd only do it wrong” is a bullshit excuse.

64. Never again comment on how long it takes a woman to get ready. WE ARE TRYING TO MEET THE RIDICULOUS STANDARDS OF A SYSTEM YOU BENEFIT FROM.

65. Challenge the patriarchs in your religious group when they enable the oppression of women.

66. Challenge the patriarchs in your secular movement when they enable the oppression of women.

67. Trust women's religious choices. Don't pretend to liberate them just so you can criticise their beliefs.

68. Examine who books your trips, arranges outings, organizes Christmas, buys birthday cards. Is it a woman? IS IT?

69. And if it is actually you, a man, don't even dare get in touch with me looking for your medal.

70. Take stock of the emotional labor you expect from women. Do you turn to the women around you for emotional support and give nothing in return?

71. Remember that loving your mom/sister/girlfriend is not the same as giving up your own privilege to progress equality for women. And that gender inequality extends beyond the women in your direct social group.

72. Don’t assume that all women are attracted to men.

73. Don’t assume that a woman in public wants to talk to you just because she’s in public.

74. If a woman tells you she was raped, assaulted, or abused, don't ask her for proof. Ask how you can support her.

75. If you see a friend or colleague being inappropriate to a woman, call him out. You will survive the awkwardness, I promise.

76. Repeat after me: Always. Hold. Men. Accountable. For. Their. Actions.

77. Do not walk too close to a woman late at night. That shit can be scary.

78. If you see a woman being followed or otherwise bothered by a stranger, stick around to make sure she’s safe.

79. This should go without saying: Do not yell unsolicited “compliments” at women on the street. Or anywhere.

80. If you are a queer man, recognize that your sexuality doesn’t exclude you from potential misogyny.

81. If you are a queer man, recognize that your queer women or non-binary friends may not feel comfortable in a male-dominated space, even if it’s dominated by queer men.

82. Be happy to have women friends without needing them to want to sleep with you. The “friend zone” is not a thing. We do not owe you sex.

83. Remember that you can lack consent in situations not involving sex—such as when pursuing uninterested women or forcing a hug on a colleague.

84. Champion sex positive women but don't expect them to have sex with you.

85. Trust a woman to know her own body. If she says she won't enjoy part of your sexual repertoire, do not try to convince her otherwise.

86. Be sensitive to nonverbal cues from women, especially around sex. We’re not just being awkward for no reason. (You read “Cat Person,” didn’t you?)

87. It is not cute to try to persuade a woman to have sex with you. EVER. AT ALL. Go home.

88. Same goes for pressuring women to have sex without a condom. Go. Home. And masturbate.

89. Accidentally impregnated a women who doesn't want a kid? Abortions cost money. Pay for half of it.

90. Accidentally came inside a woman without protection? Plan B is expensive. Pay for all of it.

91. Get STD tested. Regularly. Without having to be asked.

92. Examine your opinion on abortion. Then put it in a box. Because, honestly, it's completely irrelevant.

93. Understand that disabled women are whole, sexual human beings. Listen to and respect them.

94. Understand that not all women have periods or vaginas.

95. Believe women's pain. Periods hurt. Endometriosis is real. Polycystic ovaries, vaginal pain, cystitis. These things are real. Hysteria isn’t.

96. If a woman accidentally bleeds on you, try your absolute best to just keep your shit together.

97. Lobby your elected officials to implement high quality sex education in schools.

98. Uplift young Black and Indigenous girls at every possible opportunity. No excuses.

99. Do not ever assume you know what it’s like.

100. Mainly, just listen to women. Listen to us and believe us. It’s the only place to start if you actually want all women to have a “Happy International Women’s Day.”

#feminism #sexism #misogyny #patriarchy #equality #truth #rape culture #trans #lgbtqia #girl hate

[feelings-at-3am-blog]

To My Family

I broke my family. They found out about my issues, how bad it all is, the reason I ended up in hospital in the first place. It was confronting, and I knew nothing would be the same, like how it was before. My parents walked on eggshells, worried they would say something that would trigger another episode, do something that would push me right back to that point again. I didn't know how to tell them, how to speak to them about what was going on with me, all I knew what that I broke them and they didn't know why.

I realised I'm better writing words than speaking them so, at 4am I sat down at my computer, opened a word document and started typing.

This is how I explained to my family, how I told them what is storming inside me...

Hey mum, Hey dad… and Trishicus too…

First, I want to just say that… I wasn’t okay with saying any of this out loud to you, I felt if I did I’d probably start crying and end up not being able to say any of it. I don’t talk about my emotions or problems. I don’t share my feelings, it’s not who I am, it’s really not who I grew up to be, and even writing this letter makes me feel… so much.

I know you’ve been wondering why. What went wrong and what’s going on, so I’m gonna try and answer that as best I can.

You did nothing wrong. It’s not your fault. You loved me and raised me to be "a strong independent woman who don’t need no bitch ass people telling me what to do". You taught me how to be brave, how to be strong, you taught me how to believe in myself and dream. It’s not your fault, it is never your fault, what’s going on with me.

The one at fault to start with is Nan and Pop. They were the ones who made me feel unimportant, useless, pathetic and even fat at times. I constantly felt I had to prove myself to them to make them like me, or even acknowledge my presence. I felt like I always had to prove myself better than Wayne to them and that nothing I did was ever good enough for them. I saw the way they treated him and the others like I was the afterthought to the grandkids. After my 14th birthday when I had asked for my ID bracelet and even showed nan and pop the one I wanted it wasn’t big is wasn’t even expensive and they ended up getting me the one I have now from them (albeit the only good thing they’ve ever given me) I realised just how much I meant to them. For a good six months especially name kept going on how much is cost her and that I should cherish it until I die, like it was a task to spend that much (like 50-60$ from memory) and that they hadn’t wanted to in the first place, like I wasn’t worthy of it enough or something.

It was around then that the bullying in school started. I didn’t tell you how bad it was because I didn’t want it to get worse (not that it didn’t anyway), I could handle myself you know that, and I had my ways of dealing with it and telling you just… It’s not who I am. It was terrible in year ten (remember when I was in my emo phase… that hasn’t really ended I guess), that year I got to school one day in March, and my group of friends didn’t want to talk to me… I didn’t know why and none of them would tell me what I had done. It took me three weeks to find out that Stacie had read one of the short stories I used to write back then and took it all out of context and the wrong way, saying that I was spreading rumours and lying about them (I didn’t change the names of the characters for privacy and policy reasons back then because you know I was young and stupid). After that fight, they kicked me out of the group. And then about a month after that, the rumours and lies about me got so bad to the point where no one in my grade would talk to me. The rumours make me laugh now, my top three…

1.       I’m was a slut that slept around with everyone including the teachers as well as stealing other people’s boyfriends because I was easy 2.       I did drugs (I laugh hard when I think about this one) 3.       And I was a troublemaker (think the bad girl who rides the motorcycle with her biker boyfriend in the movies and you get the picture)

No one would look at me let alone talk to me, and it went on right till the end of the year. I decided the best way to fix the problem was to take myself out of the picture. Not kill myself (not then anyway) but to leave the groups and areas they hung around to escape the bullying. I ended up hanging with a group of geeks and nerds from my grade that were friends with the same types from the other grades. They were really great and didn’t care about the rumours or lies that were being spread. I had people to talk to and eventually I was happy again. I don’t know what happened around October but Stacie and Carly ended up talking to me in class one day around then, and I asked them what the hell was going on. They didn’t apologise they just told me I guess they wanted to be my friend again. I was sceptical and reserved, but eventually, by November I was sitting back with them and talking to them again, with everyone else talking to me again as well. The rumours were still around but were more whispers really.

By that point though… the bullying had reached a pretty bad point with some of the kids some not even in my grade telling me the world would be better off if I were dead, they would all be better off if I just killed myself. And I believed it, back then I absolutely believed it. That I was useless and pathetic and stupid and no one would care if I was gone.

Those thoughts got really bad in year 11 when I started self-harming. I don’t know if you knew, but I did. I used to cut my thighs because I could hide them from everyone and no one would know. It wasn’t about ending my life, it was about relief. The pain used to remind me that I was still alive, that I could still feel, that I was still here. Cutting released some of that… pent-up agony inside me, it was an outlet for all the shit I was feeling.

And then you mum had your break down… I can still remember that day so so clearly everything that happened everything I did…

I woke up late because you didn’t wake me up for school as usual, it was 10 am when I woke up, and I knew after finding the car gone that something was wrong. I searched… I searched for hours, for at least 12 hours, I rang Cherylee, I rang your work, I rang everyone I could think of, but you were gone, and I was legitimately in that in-between state of panic and disbelief that it was all happening. I remember sitting in the loungeroom staring at the turned off tv wondering what I was going to do, I had the phone in my hand on the verge of calling the police when I heard the car. I heard you come up the steps, I watched you walk in the door, and all I could say was “where the fuck where you?” I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but I was just upset and angry and scared. I will… can never forget what you said to me as an answer after standing there for like five full minutes, I remember your words, word for word like a quote from a movie…

“I was sitting in the car on the train tracks waiting for the train to come.”

I swear, I swear I stopped breathing when you said that and, my eyes stung from the tears I tried not to cry as you did, and my chest hurt and I wanted to scream… But I dropped the phone and went over to you and made you go and have a bath while I made dinner then I put you to bed with dinner and then I stayed there till you went to sleep. I didn’t sleep that night… or the next day… I remember fighting with you to take you to the doctors… I remember the argument we had and you not talking to me for the rest of the day. I remember taking you home to sleep and that afternoon while you were asleep I went to your work and talked to that dick you had for a boss… did your co-workers ever tell you that I ripped him apart in front of them and like four customers… because I did and it was beautiful and fulfilling. Turns out he didn’t give a fuck because it was like 30 minutes to EOD and he wanted to go home.

I remember it all even when I rang dad and told him what was going on when I called him and told him that you had a breakdown and that I had taken you to the doctors, I honestly don’t remember if I told dad what you said though. I remember he was panicked and worried, and I promised him you were okay, we were okay, and he told me he’d be there as soon as he could. I still remember how happy you were to see him when he arrived the next day.

That was when I bottled everything… you weren’t really in the frame of mind to be a mum, and I had to step up to take care of both of us, to instead wake you up for work, to make sure you had your tablets, to cook dinner and do the chorus. It was what I could do to help because dad was helping with working and money, and you were sick and working hard to pay the bills, and I was just… there… I felt helpless, useless even, and that’s how I could help, by cleaning the house, by doing the washing and washing the dishes and making sure dinner was ready by the time I came to pick you up. I felt useless because I had foolishly stopped working at IGA… that I couldn’t help pay bills or buy food or do something more to help.

I had gone to see a counsellor about my suicidal thoughts back then, I went for like four visits before you had your break down and I stopped going. I felt… I feel my issues aren’t important, that they were only small things, but yours was a big thing, and you needed me. I pushed my problems to the back and focused on the ones before me, the ones I could fix, the dishes, the dinner, making sure you took your tablets, keeping dad updated on how you were doing, making appointments and metaphorically bitch slapping your boss. I put my problems away and they sort of just faded into the dark corners where they stayed for months. I eventually stopped cutting because I was so busy dealing with everything but the itch was always there, the need for release. I’m not sure if you noticed, or you both put it down to teenage mood swings and growing pains, but they came and went, this depression, the suicidal thoughts, the anxiety, came and went all the way to the end of high school.

The longest they stick around was about 3-5 days depending on situations and how they affected me. In year 12, my friend group had a big fight and split up into two sides. I think I told you about it, but I didn’t choose a side, by that point I was guarded, I was I guess distance from them after what had happened, and my trust in them sort of went "you know what, fuck you, I’m done trying to understand your fucking shit, you can come to me". The two sides did end up coming to me trying to make me choose a side, and I kid you not before the entire year 12 grade I told the two of them Stacie and Angela that if they wanted me to choose a side I was going to punch someone. They backed off at that and settled for me being friends with both of them, I’m sure the rumours came back again, but I can’t be positive, all I know is that they backed off and high school finished relatively painlessly.

I think the most prolonged bout of the worlds fucked, everyone hates me, my life’s pointless, it all needs to end was in 2010 when I was doing STEPS with no real clue on what I wanted to do with my life, what I wanted to be, who I wanted to be. I was unemployed, studying without a real direction and I felt useless at home.

After that trying to find a job really affected me a lot. The rollercoaster of it-sucks-ville would come and go with each rejection I got in regards to a job application, and by 2012 before I got the job at TS I honestly felt like there was something wrong with me, that I was useless, I didn’t have anything to offer, I was cursed even, not helped at all by that work experience I went to do at Woolworths and the supervisor telling me I wasn’t good enough and trying hard enough. Through the years after it with my jobs the anxiety of working, of having to face people, of being afraid people would see through the mask I wear was mild, easy to manage, I knew how to deal with it, and it wasn’t so much a problem. I could overcome it by the time I got to work or by the time I was halfway through my shift, and it stopped being a problem by the time my shift or the day was over. I questioned myself so much during that time, I still do now, a lot, what am I doing? What’s the point? Can I do this? Did I seriously just bullshit my way in? Do I even want to be here? Do I enjoy this? And so on.

And then in 2015, I was told I was going blind. At first, it took a good month to sink in, and then it hit, I was going blind… what if I went completely blind? We couldn’t afford it, we couldn’t even afford the crosslinking procedure… When you mentioned Pop, and he had the money to help… I had an internal breakdown. I had promised myself I would never ask them for anything again. That asking them for something, especially for money made me degrade myself, bring myself down to a level equal to that of a bug under their shoe, they had the power to crush me if they wanted to. Remember you kept asking me for five days if I had rung Pop to ask about the money and I kept saying whatever it was I said, I kept lying… the anxiety of having to talk to him, to ask for the money was too much to handle and while you were at work around day 3 I had a panic attack, a bad one, a horrible one I try to forget… I didn’t want to give them a reason to hate me even more, to hold that over my head like he does. But I asked, I sucked in every ounce of courage I could find and called and asked. I asked because I could see your worry, your panic, I knew you were worried about the finical situation, that we couldn’t afford it and to live at the same time, that it was too much to budget for in the short space of time we had. I felt like it was my fault we were struggling and I had to do something to help.

And then I went back to studying. My professors made me feel stupid for even trying, and I found myself flashing back to that day in year ten when we had to decide our futures and the head of the English department telling me I was going to fail if I even attempted to do OP level English. It was like I realised at some point between 2015 and 2017 that my teachers had been right, that I was stupid and couldn’t do anything right. I felt like I had only just caught up to the program by that point.

But then, weirdly enough I got to work with dad and even weirder still the anxiety I expected to have from working like all my other jobs… didn’t come, I was happy to go to work, I was excited to learn about IT, I was happy, well… as happy as being me can be like a medium… a 5/10 (apparently looking back that’s the happiness score I have in life…) it helped me realise what I wanted to do, what I wanted to achieve. But then my job went away, and I had to find a new one. It was alright in the beginning, I didn’t hold my breath and just rolled with it all.

And then Neato called. I wasn’t happy about it, I mean, I was happy I got a job, but I wasn’t happy about getting a job because I knew the anxiety and the worry and the panic would come back.

Everything was excellent, the two weeks of training were easy, like before I pushed the anxiety away got through it and if it stuck around, I did my best to ignore it. Until that Monday, the 3rd. Bec announced in the morning meeting that I was officially taking over my role as recruitment admin support and everything I had pushed away, the anxiety of doing something I’d never ACTUALLY done before, the fear of fucking up knowing what I was dealing with, vulnerable people and situations, and the depression that all of it brought, just snapped.

What happened that day… I asked to talk to Bec after the meeting, and after everyone left she asked me what was up, and I asked her if I could have the morning off to go and see my doctor. She asked what was up and I told her I was feeling overwhelmed, that everything was just rushing in and I needed to talk to someone. She understood and asked me if I was going to go and see them and I said I would. I got my things, I got my lunch box… I got down to my car… and I burst into tears. I ugly cried for at least 10 minutes, and then worked on breathing for 10 more before I could actually drive. I got home, I washed my face, I sat down at my desk… and I called Sydney St medical. They didn’t have any appointments, but there was one with Dr Brendan at Caneland. I legitimately considered running away, hanging up the phone and pretending I never called, that I would just stay home that day then go to work the next day like nothing had happened, but, the feeling… the feeling of not wanting to be here, of not wanting to live wouldn’t go away like it had over the last 12 years, and it was only getting worse.

I went to my appointment at 2 and sat down and told Dr Brendan just that, that I didn't want to be here, I didn’t want to be alive and that yes, I was considering taking my own life. He could see the situation for what it was and called Mental Health opposite Ford. I talked to them and rather than going to the hospital the lady I spoke to told me to do a walk in, and someone would see me, so that’s what I did. I talked to a counsellor, and she told me she would forward my case onto people that could help.

I know your angry that I didn’t call you or Trish, I know she’s pissed too, but there were so many things that stopped me. I was scared, scared how you would react, scared you’d get upset that I didn’t do something sooner, scared you’d just… be angry, and I didn’t want to be a burden, I didn’t want to burden you with my fucked-upness. With all these fucking issues that make it all hell in a handbasket.

I didn’t want to tell you because I knew how it would go, I knew I’d break you, and I did. Wednesday night… when you stood beside my bed sobbing so hard I watched you break, when you told me you couldn’t lose me because I was your best friend mum, when dad was trying not to make a sound as he sat on the edge of the bed crying, as he laid there when I was hugging him shaking, as mum gripped my hand while hugging me from behind so tightly I couldn’t move my fingers. I knew, I knew before that even, I knew I broke you, it was my fault, it was my fault you blamed yourselves, it was my fault you were scared, it was my fault you overreacted with the knives and shit in the house, it was my fault you keep thinking what your thinking, I broke you and it’s my fault.

I didn’t know how to tell you I’m suffering, I’m struggling, I’m tired, I’m so tired. I don’t know how, how do you tell people you're exhausted even though you’ve slept for 10 hours? How do you tell them that you need a break from talking and smiling and simply being near them? How do you tell them although you love them, you so desperately need to be alone tonight?

I guess I’ve just reached the end. I just wish I could go to sleep and never wake up again, because I know I’d never disappoint anyone again. It’s hard to get out of bed every morning, and I know if I don’t I’d just be a disappointment to you, and that just makes me hate myself more. I don’t even know what being happy really feels like because I’ve faked it for so long I can’t remember what it is. I just want to lock myself in my room and never come out again. I feel like I have to censor myself when someone asks that question “how are you today?” all I want to do is scream.

I’m not fine, I’m so far from fine it’s funny.

Broken, sad, lonely, upset, alone, depressed, suicidal, angry, hateful, breaking down, screaming, dead, empty, nothing, crying, shouting, giving up, hiding, wearing a mast, cutting, horrible, done, hollow, worthless, misunderstood, incapable, inferior, vulnerable, distressed, lost, pathetic, ashamed, bitter, forced, uneasy, tense, dominated, pessimistic, distrustful, tearful, crushed, offended, aching, wrong, shaky, timing, wary, victimised, tortured, pained, lifeless, cold, dull, nervous, scared, suspicious, alienated, numb, stressed, bruised, used, unimportant, pathetic, a waste of space, dirty, disgusting, a burden.

I feel all of this, all the time, all at once and none of it all together.

I’ve always wanted just one thing I guess, a dream I’ve had since I was a little kid. I just want to be able to say at least once in my life that I had a purpose, a reason, that I didn’t hate absolutely everyone on this planet with myself at the top of that list. I’d like to wake up one day and look forward to it, be happy about it, but I just don’t care anymore. I do what I’ve always done… I smile and pretend and make everyone believe it’s okay. I say “I’m fine thank you, how are you?” because for the longest time… it’s what I’m good at.

I don’t know how to tell you what’s wrong because it’s not who I am, it’s not who I grew up to be, it’s not how I grew up. I grew up being told I didn’t matter, being told I wasn’t important, being told to grow up, being told to get over it, being told my existence wasn’t important. I grew up pushing my problems away because no one cared, no one wanted to know, I grew up alone surrounded by people.

If I had to put it into words, I guess, I’m paralysed. I’m scared to live but also scared to die. If life is pain I’ve definitely buried mine a long time ago, but I know it’s still alive, still smouldering, lingering in places I want nothing more than to bury, burn and forget, because I know it’s all slowly taking me over. I wish so hard to feel something other than this numbness inside, and yet I keep feeling nothing. I keep wondering why? I feel like I’m on the outside just watching life and time pass by like I’m leaning back against a brick wall with my hands stuffed in my pockets and my hoodie up just watching the world turn around me. It’s like I’m at the ocean and the waves are crashing in like I’m being dragged under until I’m fully submerged. I’m underwater and on top of it at the same time unable to decide if I want to sink or swim. I’m at the bottom, and I don’t even know what the damn problem is. I’m trapped in a box, and it's me who locked me in, suffocating, suffering, slowly running out of oxygen. I’m paralysed, and I find myself wondering where my feelings are? I don’t feel things I know damn well I should.

I find myself wondering where the real me went because I’m so fucking lost and it only kills me more inside. When the fuck did I become so numb? When the fuck did I lose myself? All the words that have left my tongue feel like they have come from someone else. When the hell did the cold settle in and take over? When did I become so ashamed it became me? I wonder where the person I once knew has gone because I’m paralysed.

I don’t know if that helps you understand if that even makes sense at all, and after my panic attack at work… Bec and I sat down and talked, I understand what she’s saying, and I have already thought about it, I’ve spent the last two days thinking about it. That this work, as much as I love it, as much as I am good at it and can do it, as much as I want to stay, I can’t. I can’t do this job when my head doesn't let me, I can’t help people if I can’t help myself. The medication isn’t a long-term fix, and I WILL NOT become dependent on drugs. I need to get better first, and I’ve decided to go back to study, to transfer to IT, to something I love and want to get into, something that doesn’t make me feel anxious and depressed. I have decided to quit my job, to focus on myself and getting better. I couldn’t tell you this to your face because I know it would only disappoint you, make you disappointed in me for giving up, and I’m so sorry. I wish, I wish so fucking many things were different, and I was better, and I wasn’t a burden or a huge disappointment, I wish I weren’t so fucked up.

I love you, and just being here is enough. It’s enough to know at least someone (including the crazy aunt) is in my corner. There will be days I don’t believe you when you tell me I’m special or loved, days when I think you’re just saying that because your family and it’s your job to say that but I love you, I mean that so much, I love you for believing in me, for raising me like you have, for trying to understand. I Just want you to know that it’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, and I’ll get through this, I’ll work hard to overcome all that’s dragging me down, and I’ll work had to be better, to get better.

I’m sorry if you cried, I didn’t mean it, I just didn’t know how to say this to you face to face. And I love you so much. XOXO Kimi.

My mother cried a lot, turns out she doesn't remember much from back when she had her break down, doesn't even remember taking me to see the counsellor those four times. My Aunt was the one I knew wouldn't be happy, my Mother called her pissed I was going into work that day to resign, and she came over to yell at me and determined to make me change my mind. She changed though after reading my letter to them, my job involved me helping vulnerable people, and I was just hypocritical in "being fine" and telling them "it would be fine" when none of it was. My father a man who rarely cries actually did again that morning after he read the letter.

I was nervous about giving it to them, but I broke them, and they deserved to understand, to know why I am fucked up, so there is it. The letter To My Family.

#to my family #Mum #Dad #Aunt #letter #numb #paralyzed #depressiom #explaining my depressiom #explaining myself #text post

[uniquequotesonlife]

rhondastephens To Catch A Falling Cactus

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Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?

Summer 1974. I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 am, I’m up and out of the house, or if it’s Saturday I’m up and doing exactly what my father, Big Jerry, has told me to do. Might be raking, mowing, digging holes, or washing cars. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Summer 2016. I’m tiptoeing out of the house, on my way to work, in an effort not to wake my children who will undoubtedly sleep until 11 am. They may complete a couple of the chores I’ve left in a list on the kitchen counter for them, or they may eat stale Cheez-its that were left in their rooms 3 days ago, in order to avoid the kitchen at all costs and “not see” the list. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); If you haven’t noticed, we’re getting a raw deal where this parenting gig is concerned. When did adults start caring whether or not their kids were safe, happy, or popular? I can assure you that Ginny and Big Jerry were not whiling away the hours wondering if my brother and I were fulfilled. Big Jerry was stoking the fires of his retirement savings and working, and working some more. Ginny was double bolting the door in order to keep us out of the house, and talking on the phone while she smoked a Kent. Meanwhile, we were three neighborhoods away, playing with some kids we’d never met, and we had crossed 2 major highways on bicycles with semi-flat tires to get there. Odds are, one of us had crashed at some point and was bleeding pretty impressively. No one cared. We were kids and if we weren’t acting as free labor, we were supposed to be out of the house and out of the way. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); My personal belief is that the same “woman with too little to do”, that decided it was necessary to give 4- year old guests a gift for coming to a birthday party, is the same loon who decided we were here to serve our kids and not the other way around. Think about it. As a kid, what was your costume for Halloween? If you were really lucky, your mom jabbed a pair of scissors in an old sheet, cut two eye holes, and you were a ghost. If her friend was coming over to frost her hair and showed up early, you got one eye hole cut and spent the next 45 minutes using a sharp stick to jab a second hole that was about two inches lower than its partner. I watched my cousin run directly into a parked car due to this very costume one year. He was still yelling, “Trick or Treat” as he slid down the rear quarter panel of a Buick, mildly concussed. When my son was 3 years old, we had a clown costume made by a seamstress, complete with pointy clown hat, and grease makeup. His grandmother spent more having that costume made than she did on my prom dress. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); At some point in the last 25 years, the tide shifted and the parents started getting the marginal cars and the cheap clothes while the kids live like rock stars. We spend enormous amounts of money on private instruction, the best sports gear money can buy, and adhere to psycho competition schedules. I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve bought the $300 baseball bats with money that should have been invested in a retirement account, traveled from many an AAU basketball game, or travel baseball game, to a dance competition in the course of one day, and failed to even consider why. Remember Hank Aaron? He didn’t need a $300 bat to be great. Your kid isn’t going pro and neither is mine, but you are going to retire one day and dumpster diving isn’t for the elderly. My brother and I still laugh about how, when he played high school baseball, there was one good bat and the entire team used it. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Remember your clothes in the 70’s? Despite my best efforts to block it out, I can still remember my desperate need to have a pair of authentic Converse shoes. Did I get them? Negative. Oh, was it a punch in the gut when my mother presented me with the Archdale knock-offs she found somewhere between my hometown and Greensboro. Trust me. They weren’t even close. Did I complain? Hell, no. I’m still alive, aren’t I? We’ve got an entire generation of kids spitting up on outfits that cost more than my monthly electric bill. There were no designer baby clothes when we were kids. Why? Because our parents weren’t crazy enough to spend $60 on an outfit for us to have explosive diarrhea in or vomit on. Our parents were focused on saving for their retirement and paying their house off. The real beauty of it is that none of these kids are going to score a job straight out of college that will allow them to pay for the necessities of life, brand new cars, and $150 jeans, so guess who’s going to be getting the phone call when they can’t make rent? Yep, we are. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Think back; way, way back. Who cleaned the house and did the yard work when you were a kid? You did. In fact, that’s why some people had children. We were free labor. My mother served as supervisor for the indoor chores, and the house damn well better be spotless when my father came through the door at 5:35. The battle cry went something like this, “Oh, no! Your father will be home in 15 minutes! Get those toys put away nooooow!” The rest of our evening was spent getting up to turn the television on demand, and only to what Dad wanted to watch. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); On weekends Dad was in charge of outdoor work and if you were thirsty you drank out of the hose, because 2 minutes of air conditioning and a glass of water from the faucet might make you soft. Who does the housework and yardwork now? The cleaning lady that comes on Thursday, and the landscaping crew that comes every other Tuesday. Most teenage boys have never touched a mower, and if you asked my daughter to clean a toilet, she would come back with a four page paper on the various kinds of deadly bacteria present on toilet seats. Everyone is too busy doing stuff to take care of the stuff they already have. But don’t get confused, they aren’t working or anything crazy like that. Juggling school assignments, extracurricular activities, and spending our money could become stressful if they had to work. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I don’t recall anyone being worried about my workload being stressful, or my mental health in general. Jerry and Ginny had grownup stuff to worry about. As teenagers, we managed our own social lives and school affairs. If Karen, while executing a hair flip, told me my new Rave perm made me look like shit and there was no way Kevin would ever go out with my scrawny ass, my mother wasn’t even going to know about it; much less call Karen’s mother and arrange a meeting where we could iron out our misunderstanding and take a selfie together. Additionally, no phone calls were ever made to any of my teachers or coaches. Ever. If we sat the bench, we sat the bench. Our dads were at work anyway. They only knew what we told them. I can’t even conceive of my dad leaving work to come watch a ballgame. If I made a 92.999 and got a B, I got a B. No thinly veiled threats were made and no money changed hands to get me that A. Ok, full disclosure, in my case we would be looking at an 84.9999. I was the poster child for underachievement. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Back in our day, high school was a testing ground for life. We were learning to be adults under the semi-vigilant supervision of our parents. We had jobs because we wanted cars, and we wanted to be able to put gas in our cars, and wear Jordache jeans and Candies. Without jobs, we had Archdale sneakers and Wranglers, and borrowed our mother’s Chevrolet Caprice, affectionately known as the “land yacht”, on Friday night. No one, I mean, no one, got a new car. I was considered fairly lucky because my parents bought me a car at all. I use the term “car” loosely. If I tell you it was a red convertible and stop right here, you might think me special. I wasn’t. My car was a red MG Midget, possibly a ’74 and certainly a death trap. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Look at your coffee table. Now imagine it having a steering wheel and driving it. I promise you, it’s bigger than my car was. The starter was bad, so after school I had the pleasure of popping the hood and using two screwdrivers to cross the solenoids or waiting for the football players to come out of the dressing room headed to practice. Those guys pushing my car while I popped the clutch, is a memory no 16-year old girl around here will ever have, and it’s a great one. Had I driven that car in high winds, it’s likely I would have ended up airborne, and there were probably some serious safety infractions committed the night I took 6 people in togas to a convenience store, but I wouldn’t go back and trade it out for a new 280Z, even if I had the chance. I was a challenging teenager, and in retrospect the fact that it was pretty impressive every time I made it home alive, may not have been an accident on the part of my parents. Go to the high school now. These kids are driving cars that grown men working 55 hours a week can’t afford, and they aren’t paying for them with their jobs. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); And those new cars don’t do a thing for telling a good story. I tell my kids all the time, the very best stories from my teen and college years involve Ann’s yellow Plymouth Duster with the “swirling dust” graphic, Randy’s Valiant with the broken gas gauge, and Carla’s burgundy Nissan that may or may not have had a complete floorboard. A story that starts, “Remember that time we were heading to the beach in Carla’s Nissan and your wallet fell through the floorboard onto the highway?” is so much more interesting than, “Remember that time we were going to the beach in your brand new SUV, filled up with gas that your parents paid for, and the…well, no, never mind. Nothing happened. We just drove down there.” To top it all off, most of them head off to college without a clue what it’s like to look for a job, apply for it, interview, and show up on time, as scheduled. If they have a job, it’s because someone owed their dad a favor…and then they work when it “fits their schedule”. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We all love our kids, and we want to see them happy and fulfilled, but I fear we’re robbing them of the experiences that make life memorable and make them capable, responsible, confident adults. For the majority of us, the very nice things we had as teenagers, we purchased with money we earned after saving for some ungodly amount of time. Our children are given most everything, and sometimes I wonder whether it’s for them or to make us feel like good parents. The bottom line is that you never value something you were given, as much as something you worked for. There were lessons in our experiences, even though we didn’t know it at the time. All those high school cat fights, and battles with teachers we clashed with, were an opportunity for us to learn how to negotiate and how to compromise. It also taught us that the world isn’t fair. Sometimes people just don’t like you, and sometimes you’ll work your ass off and still get screwed. We left high school, problem solvers. I’m afraid our kids are leaving high school with mommy and daddy on speed dial. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We just don’t have the cojones our parents had. We aren’t prepared to tell our kids that they won’t have it if they don’t work for it, because we can’t bear to see them go without and we can’t bear to see them fail. We’ve given them a whole lot of stuff; stuff that will break down, wear out, get lost, go out of style, and lose value. As parents, I suppose some of us feel pretty proud about how we’ve contributed in a material way to our kid’s popularity and paved an easy street for them. I don’t, and I know there are many of you that are just as frustrated by it as I am. I worry about what we’ve robbed them of, which I’ve listed below, in the process of giving them everything. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Delayed gratification is a really good thing. It teaches you perseverance and how to determine the true value of something. Our kids don’t know a damn thing about delayed gratification. To them, delayed gratification is waiting for their phone to charge.Problem-solving skills and the ability to manage emotion are crucial life skills. Kids now have every problem solved for them. Good luck calling their college professor to argue about how they should have another shot at that final because they had two other finals to study for and were stressed. Don’t laugh, parents have tried it.Independence allows you to discover who you really are, instead of being what someone else expects you to be. It was something I craved. These kids have traded independence for new cars and Citizen jeans. They will live under someone’s thumb forever, if it means cool stuff. I would have lived in borderline condemned housing, and survived off of crackers and popsicles to maintain my independence. Oh wait, I actually did that. It pisses me off. You’re supposed to WANT to grow up and forge your way in the world; not live on someone else’s dime, under someone else’s rule, and too often these days, under someone else’s roof.Common sense is that little something extra that allows you to figure out which direction is north, how to put air in your tires, or the best route to take at a certain time of day to avoid traffic. You develop common sense by making mistakes and learning from them. It’s a skill best acquired in a setting where it’s safe to fail, and is only mastered by actually doing things for yourself. By micromanaging our kids all the time, we’re setting them up for a lifetime of cluelessness and ineptitude. At a certain age, that cluelessness becomes dangerous. I’ve seen women marry to avoid thinking for themselves, and for some it was the wisest course of action.Mental toughness is what allows a person to keep going despite everything going wrong. People with mental toughness are the ones who come out on top. They battle through job losses, difficult relationships, illness, and failure. It is a quality born from adversity. Adversity is a GOOD thing. It teaches you what you’re made of. It puts into practice the old saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. It’s life’s teacher. Our bubble-wrapped kids are so sheltered from adversity, I wonder how the mental health professionals will handle them all after the world chews them up and spits them out a few times. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I know you are calling me names right now, and mentally listing all the reasons this doesn’t apply to you and your kid, but remember I’m including myself in this. My kids aren’t as bad as some, because I’m too poor and too lazy to indulge them beyond a certain point. And I’m certainly not saying that our parents did everything right. God knows all that second hand smoke I was exposed to, and those Sunday afternoon drives where Dad was drinking a Schlitz and I was standing on the front seat like a human projectile, were less than ideal; but I do think parents in the 70’s defined their roles in a way we never have.I worry that our kids are leaving home with more intellectual ability than we did, but without the life skills that will give them the success and independence that we’ve enjoyed. Then again, maybe it’s not parents that are getting the raw end of this deal after all. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJQP7kiw5Fk Watch: most watched video on youtube source Read the full article

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Respect Fanartists & Fanfiction Writers

Listen, and do so carefully... because this will be said once. 

Fanartists & Fanfiction Writers put a LOT of time, effort, emotion and skill into making things that you enjoy for free, friends. 

Sure, it takes you a minute to stare at artwork that someone spent weeks on; or 15 minutes tops to skim through a fic that may have taken days... so you just see it as something to be consumed, and in a lot of frustrating cases, your RIGHT to have provided.

For one, providing feedback in the form of comments or reviews/asks is always appreciated. That’s awesome and we love it!

Sending ask after ask or Private Message after Private Message demanding they make you something specific... NOT okay.  OR, worse, falsely befriending them in order to get them to make you free art/fiction, is alternatively what the creative side of the fandoms calls ‘a dick move’.

See, here’s the thing... if you are friends with someone, you are there for them. If you friend them with the ulterior motive of getting them to draw you a specific picture, or comic, or write you a highly-detailed fanfiction... then you are being a manipulative drain on their life.

Like, listen... even if someone reblogs a ‘Writing/Art Prompt’ post, you cannot sincerely anticipate they will answer every single request they get. There might be duplicates, the person receiving them may not like one received, they may lose energy or focus, or just be busy with the real world. To harass, to send additional follow-up asks bothering people? Not okay. 

It used to happen more frequently in the past, but it’s rising up again.

Consistent harassment of the creative sides of fandom (encompasses gifmakers, SFM makers, all the types, etc.) just drains the creative batteries worse than a lack of comments/reviews on new art/fiction does.

It puts them under pressure to fulfil your demand, which is not okay. Hell, assholes in certain fandoms used to do CALLOUT posts on artists and writers who didn’t fulfil the requests they demanded. It was ridiculous?

Let’s not go back there.

-

So here’s the thing. 

>You like their artstyle? Yes. <You would like them to draw you something? Oh yes! >Are they doing commissions, or would they be willing to do one? They are open to commissions/Oh, I will politely ask. <They are open to commissions and you can afford what you want? a)Yes (Proceed) b) No. You can save up to commission them later. YOU WILL NOT HARASS THE ARTIST FOR FREE ART (that includes trying manipulative tactics such as making up sob stories, falsely befriending them, and/or claiming you don’t trust internet banking options*). [*If you distrust paypal, or certain sites, you can actually buy preloaded/disposable credit cards (which are basically gift cards), that you can put the required amount on and use to pay. There are alternatives, just ask.]

>>>You can afford it, and what you are asking fits what the artist has said they are comfortable drawing for you? Yes. ~Ask them if they are happy to take this commission and provide the details necessary. ~Accept that it will take time, and effort, don’t hover trying to get them to finish it faster.  ~Do not try to change the deal mid-way through the commission. E.g. if you paid for greyscale, don’t demand colour, or one character but now you want too for the same price, or withhold payment until you get your way. That is a major dick move, and your name will circle through the artistic sphere as ‘difficult’ and ‘untrustworthy’. 

There have been a few notable people out there that have tried to get free art this way, and thought artist-hopping would make sure no one found out. But, buddy, if you know one artist, they know ten more, and it branches out from there... who do you think has the most feedback for creators, but other artists and writers? They will all find out, eventually.

>Not being able to afford it, it not a good excuse to hound the artist to change their prices. Listen, if you’re at the store and can’t afford the new action figure you want... you can’t haggle with the poor storeclerk at the counter (but numerous people have tried that? Is that where you have learned this from?) for a ‘better price’.  You might counter, ‘but the clerk can’t set the price and an artist can’. Listen, lissen here fucko mccoconuts, the artists on tumblr charge an obscenely low pittance for the amazing art they do... like, barely anything.  A coloured sketch? Some artists will do it for five bucks because they’re too goddamn afraid you whiny little bastards won’t agree to anything more; they are downselling their hard-earned artistic abilities.

And fanfiction authors? They have to do it for free because NO ONE pays for writing. Ask, and they will tell you almost all fanfiction commissions fall through, for one reason or another... but mostly the idea is considered absurd.

If you cannot afford it now, then either save, or maybe ask if the artist is open to a payment plan. E.g. If you requested a five-page comic at $60 coloured, by the way an obscenely low price compared to real-world prices, you could ask to pay it in two lots, or something of that nature. It depends on each artist as to whether they are amenable to it. Never assume.

>Not being able to afford it does not mean, ‘befriend the person and try to feed them your headcanons in the hopes of free art’ (nor the old, ‘so my birthday’s coming up... do you think you could make me _____?’).  If that’s the whole reason you have ‘befriended’ them (manipulated them into thinking you are genuinely offering altruistic friendship) then you’re an absolute cactus, mate. A conglomeration of pricks, that is to say. 

You don’t make friends to get things. And if you do, perhaps you need to re-evaluate your priorities, you drongo bastards, people are human beings not vending machines. 

Sometimes, if an artist or writer gets inspired by the stupid headcanons you share at 3am your time and like 9am their time... accidental art or fanfiction happens. It’s spontaneous, fun, a gift based on mutual feedback and conversation. But to anticipate being rewarded simply for your friendship, is wrong.

ESPECIALLY, and I cannot stress this enough, especially if  you try to feed the artist a headcanon... then ceaselessly pester them as to why they haven’t made the fiction/fanart of it yet? Everyday? What the fuck is your problem?

-

>Why is it so expensive? It isn’t. It really fucking isn’t. I’ve covered this. Also, everyone is so damn quick to say “But art is haaaaaard” when told to draw something themselves, because an artist doesn’t want to, but just as fast to question why that artist (who has learned that skill and ceaselessly practised until they have their own artstyle that you like enough to think about commissioning) is charging you MONEY for something you WANT (not NEED).

You will not actually die if you don’t get a pic of your OTP fucking in a jacuzzi, suzy. So just calm ya tiddies and carry on.

>Why won’t you draw my headcanon? Did you commission the artist? No? Then fuck off. They have their own life and ideas... and if you harass them, others who are less polite are going to have something to say about it. Especially the adults who pressure young artists to make them shit all the time... you will be found and shamed you bastards. >Why won’t you write my detailed headcanon? Same as above. But also, aren’t you the person who keeps saying ‘but writing is easy’? How about you write it yourself. One of the many things you will be told to do to yourself if you don’t stop pestering writers.  That goes for bothering writers/artists here, on AO3, ff.net, DeviantArt or any random site they’re affiliated with. 

- - - -

The biggest question is what makes you feel so ENTITLED to their work?

And that’s really what it is. “I want it. Make it for me.”

Oh sure, you can cover it in pretty words, “But we’re friends”, “But I can’t afford it”, “But I’m feeling so down recently, maybe this elaborate 15k OTP headcanon I want you to write will make things better, don’t skimp on the smut! XD” ...it all amounts to, “Hey, you should reward me for liking your art/writing. If I do not get it immediately, without cost, I will pester you either brazenly, or subtly... I may even pretend to be a genuine friend, to get what I want. You owe it to me.”

And, really, from the bottom of the creative community’s hearts, I’d love to just remind each and every person who feels this way... that you are not a good person, at heart, and can fuck right off out past alpha centauri where such disrespect might be considered flattering... because it sure as hell isn’t on earth.

-

Fanartists, Fanfiction writers, put up with this all the time.

It’s the sixteen asks they don’t publish, all demanding things.

It’s the excitement cut short when they thought they had a new fic review, but it’s actually just someone trying to get them to write them something.

It’s the person in your chat always giving headcanons, many you don’t agree with, and then checking in to see if you’ve drawn/written them. Relentlessly.

It’s the Private Messages, dozens of them, requesting you do something specific for someone, something that will require time and effort on your part but not theirs. And the angry messages that follow if you turn down their demands.

It’s the angry ‘callout’ posts from people who you’ve said No to. The people who were told, “I’m not taking requests, but if you would just see my commission post for details...” and were abhorred at the idea of PAYING for ART they WANT????

And more. There is always more, worse, unending, frustrating.

This goddamn barrage hits some more than others. Some acquiesce for the sake of peace, but it will not end if they do; because once someone gets free art, or fiction, they’ll demand again and again and again...

- - - 

And as you can imagine, like a ceaseless cascade of waterfall over a cliff-face, eventually it erodes the joy, the fun, the creativity of your art or writing, or any of the other artistic abilities (e.g. gifsets, photomanips, videos, animations, etc.)

But the reality is, these groups (plus the whole gamete of other creative types out there) are putting time, effort and skill into making something; whether it’s free or a commission, and you need to respect that.

-

So please, be kind to the people who are putting their abilities out there, often entirely free, for the sake of enjoying something they love with the rest of the fandom. Respect them, don’t demand, and remember that a comment on what you enjoyed about their work can mean the world of encouragement.

Thank you.

#long post #stop fucking pulling this shit #fight me #i have two fists and no mercy

[pinkamour1588]

Holy shit this is a lot of questions

Tagged by the lovely @outside-the-government. Thank you, love!

Tagging: @t-hy-lla, @goingknowherewastaken, @engineeringtrashcan, @lucyclairedelune, @captainsbabysitter-blog, @darlinleonard, and anyone else who wants to do this because I have a short attention span and am trying not to tag people who’ve already been tagged or who have already done this.

Also putting this under read more, because seriously, this is a lot of questions.

1. Drink? A lot of lemonade. That’s my go to drink. Alcohol wise, I like hard ciders, moscato, and vodka.

2. Phone Call? I avoid them at all costs. Only make them when I absolutely have to.

3. Texting? My go to method of contact.

4. Last song you listened to? Uhhh, “Ground Control (feat. Teagan and Sara)” by All Time Low

5. Last time you cried? I can’t remember. Maybe two weeks ago?

6. Dated someone twice? I’ve never dated someone even once.

7. Kissed someone and regretted it? No. I’ve never kissed anyone. Unless you count me forcing one of the neighbor boys to kiss me when I was like 8.

8. Been cheated on? Nope.

9. Lost someone special? Yes. My grandpa my senior year of high school.

10. Been depressed? Many times.

11. Gotten drunk and thrown up? Thankfully no. I’ve never gotten that drunk.

Favorite Colors

12. Dark purple

13. Watermelon pink (like a reddish pink)

14. Orchid

In the last year have you…

15. Made new friends? Yeah. You all.

16. Fallen out of love? Nope.

17. Laughed until you cried? I don’t think I've ever actually cried laughing. Laughed so hard I can’t stop laughing, yes. But I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard I cried.

18. Found out someone was talking about you? Don’t think so. If I did, I blocked it out.

19. Met someone who changed you? Yeah, again, you all.

20. Found out who your friends are? Maybe. I had a friend stop talking to me out of the blue with no explanation, but other than that, no.

21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list? See #7

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know irl? All of them? I mean, I only friended people who I knew. I don’t really know a lot of them well anymore. Plus, I never really use Facebook.

23. Do you have any pets? A cat named Maui.

24. Do you want to change your name? No.

25. What did you do for your last birthday? Ok, this sounds a little like bragging which I hate doing. I was actually in Hawaii for my 21st birthday. My grandma wanted to take my family there so we planned the trip so we’d be there for my birthday. At midnight, my sister, brother, and at the time soon to be brother in law took me to a bar and I got a cocktail. The next day, my mom woke me up staying she was making French toast. Ten minutes later, my sister came in and said “We’re making mimosas. Get up if you want booze.” (Not even exaggerating about that).

That afternoon, I got to go on a helicopter tour of part of the island we were staying on. Then later we (my grandma, parents, siblings, siblings SOs, aunt, and uncle) went to a bar and got drinks and a whole lot of appetizers that ended up just being our dinner. And then we had cake and I opened presents back at the condo we were staying in.

I would like to be clear that most of the time my birthday consists of hanging around the house, going out to dinner, birthday cake, and then opening gifts. It’s a hell of a lot more mundane.

26. What time did you wake up? This morning? Technically, I woke up twice. Once at like 6am and then managed to fall back asleep around 7am, then woke up again at 11am.

27. What were you doing at midnight last night? Watching @auduna-druitt write.

28. Name something you can’t wait for: My birthday.

29. When was the last time you saw your mom? Like 2 seconds ago. She’s sitting across the room from me.

What happened to 30?

31. What are you listening to right now? @auduna-druitt typing? And a desk fan.

32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom? Probably. Can’t think of any off the top of my head though.

33. Something that is getting on your nerves? The hot weather. And earlier I was commenting/complaining about people saying they’re antisocial when they mean they’re asocial.

34. Most visited website? Probably Tumblr and AO3. Oh, and Pinterest.

35. Hair color. Auburn. And I have a natural blonde streak on the underside of my hair at the very nape of my neck.

36. Long or short hair? Long hair. It goes down to around the band of my bra.

37. Do you have a crush on someone? Fictional characters, yeah. People in real life, no.

38. What do you like about yourself? My eyes. And my empathy.

39. Piercings? I have both my ears double pierced, so two piercings in each earlobe.

40. Blood type? I think O+...I’d ask my mom but she knows I’m doing a question post so that might be weird.

41. Nickname? Don’t really have one. I believe that Audie has nicknamed me kit-kat. But, yeah, I don’t really do nicknames.

42. Relationship status? So ridiculously single.

43. Zodiac? Leo.

44: Pronouns: She/Her.

45. Favorite TV Show: Is it weird if I actually say Star Trek TOS? I don’t know. I watch a lot of things. I’m trying to get into TNG or any of the other series, but I’m having a hard time getting into them. I’m kinda going through a phase where I’m not super into any tv shows. I like SVU.

46. Tattoos? Nope.

47. Right or left handed? Right handed.

48. Surgery? Uh, I’ve had to get teeth pulled when I was like 11 (they were all baby teeth)

49. Piercing? See #39

50. Sports? I like watching hockey. That’s pretty much it.

51. Vacation? I want to travel to a lot of places, but I don’t have any planned.

52. Pair of trainers? I need to buy a pair of converse since that’s pretty much all I wear.

53. Eating? I just ate a quesadilla with ground beef taco meat.

54. Drinking? Water currently.

55. I’m about to? Uh, don’t know.

56. Waiting for? My birthday and the contacts I bought because I’m almost out and the order I made from Ulta.

57. Want? A boyfriend. More friends. A job. To know how to talk to people. I want a hell of a lot of things.

58. Get married? Yes. It’s always been something I wanted.

59. Career? Don’t know what I want to do as a career yet, but I do want one.

60. Hugs or kisses? I’ve never been kissed, so I’m gonna go with hugs until find the right person to kiss.

70. Turned someone down? No. Never had the opportunity to.

71. Sex on the first date? Absolutely not.

72. Broken someones heart? No.

73. Had your heart broken? No. At least not romantically. I’ve had friends hurt me.

74. Been arrested? Nope.

75. Cried when someone died? Absolutely. Like instantly after my dad told me my grandpa had passed away I was sobbing.

76.. Fallen for a friend? No.

do you believe in…

77. yourself? Sometimes.

78. Miracles? Maybe. I’m not really sure.

79. Love at first sight? No. I believe in attraction and/or infatuation at first sight, but not love. Not the kind of love that lasts.

80. Santa Claus? My parents didn’t do the whole Santa Claus thing when I was growing up. So no, I don’t and never have.

81. Kiss on the first date? Like would I do it? Probably not. It would depend on the person and how well I knew them before.

82. Angels? Maybe.

83. Current best friends name? Rachel. And she’s fucking fantastic and my resident chemistry nerd and doesn’t have a tumblr unfortunately.

84. Eye color? I have total heterochromia so I have two different colored eyes. My right eye is blue. My left eye is green.

85. Favorite movie? I’m down to watch Star Trek anytime. I also watch Harry Potter at least once a year. And I loved Wonder Woman.

[uniquequotesonlife]

rhondastephens To Catch A Falling Cactus

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Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?

Summer 1974. I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 am, I’m up and out of the house, or if it’s Saturday I’m up and doing exactly what my father, Big Jerry, has told me to do. Might be raking, mowing, digging holes, or washing cars. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Summer 2016. I’m tiptoeing out of the house, on my way to work, in an effort not to wake my children who will undoubtedly sleep until 11 am. They may complete a couple of the chores I’ve left in a list on the kitchen counter for them, or they may eat stale Cheez-its that were left in their rooms 3 days ago, in order to avoid the kitchen at all costs and “not see” the list. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); If you haven’t noticed, we’re getting a raw deal where this parenting gig is concerned. When did adults start caring whether or not their kids were safe, happy, or popular? I can assure you that Ginny and Big Jerry were not whiling away the hours wondering if my brother and I were fulfilled. Big Jerry was stoking the fires of his retirement savings and working, and working some more. Ginny was double bolting the door in order to keep us out of the house, and talking on the phone while she smoked a Kent. Meanwhile, we were three neighborhoods away, playing with some kids we’d never met, and we had crossed 2 major highways on bicycles with semi-flat tires to get there. Odds are, one of us had crashed at some point and was bleeding pretty impressively. No one cared. We were kids and if we weren’t acting as free labor, we were supposed to be out of the house and out of the way. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); My personal belief is that the same “woman with too little to do”, that decided it was necessary to give 4- year old guests a gift for coming to a birthday party, is the same loon who decided we were here to serve our kids and not the other way around. Think about it. As a kid, what was your costume for Halloween? If you were really lucky, your mom jabbed a pair of scissors in an old sheet, cut two eye holes, and you were a ghost. If her friend was coming over to frost her hair and showed up early, you got one eye hole cut and spent the next 45 minutes using a sharp stick to jab a second hole that was about two inches lower than its partner. I watched my cousin run directly into a parked car due to this very costume one year. He was still yelling, “Trick or Treat” as he slid down the rear quarter panel of a Buick, mildly concussed. When my son was 3 years old, we had a clown costume made by a seamstress, complete with pointy clown hat, and grease makeup. His grandmother spent more having that costume made than she did on my prom dress. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); At some point in the last 25 years, the tide shifted and the parents started getting the marginal cars and the cheap clothes while the kids live like rock stars. We spend enormous amounts of money on private instruction, the best sports gear money can buy, and adhere to psycho competition schedules. I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve bought the $300 baseball bats with money that should have been invested in a retirement account, traveled from many an AAU basketball game, or travel baseball game, to a dance competition in the course of one day, and failed to even consider why. Remember Hank Aaron? He didn’t need a $300 bat to be great. Your kid isn’t going pro and neither is mine, but you are going to retire one day and dumpster diving isn’t for the elderly. My brother and I still laugh about how, when he played high school baseball, there was one good bat and the entire team used it. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Remember your clothes in the 70’s? Despite my best efforts to block it out, I can still remember my desperate need to have a pair of authentic Converse shoes. Did I get them? Negative. Oh, was it a punch in the gut when my mother presented me with the Archdale knock-offs she found somewhere between my hometown and Greensboro. Trust me. They weren’t even close. Did I complain? Hell, no. I’m still alive, aren’t I? We’ve got an entire generation of kids spitting up on outfits that cost more than my monthly electric bill. There were no designer baby clothes when we were kids. Why? Because our parents weren’t crazy enough to spend $60 on an outfit for us to have explosive diarrhea in or vomit on. Our parents were focused on saving for their retirement and paying their house off. The real beauty of it is that none of these kids are going to score a job straight out of college that will allow them to pay for the necessities of life, brand new cars, and $150 jeans, so guess who’s going to be getting the phone call when they can’t make rent? Yep, we are. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Think back; way, way back. Who cleaned the house and did the yard work when you were a kid? You did. In fact, that’s why some people had children. We were free labor. My mother served as supervisor for the indoor chores, and the house damn well better be spotless when my father came through the door at 5:35. The battle cry went something like this, “Oh, no! Your father will be home in 15 minutes! Get those toys put away nooooow!” The rest of our evening was spent getting up to turn the television on demand, and only to what Dad wanted to watch. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); On weekends Dad was in charge of outdoor work and if you were thirsty you drank out of the hose, because 2 minutes of air conditioning and a glass of water from the faucet might make you soft. Who does the housework and yardwork now? The cleaning lady that comes on Thursday, and the landscaping crew that comes every other Tuesday. Most teenage boys have never touched a mower, and if you asked my daughter to clean a toilet, she would come back with a four page paper on the various kinds of deadly bacteria present on toilet seats. Everyone is too busy doing stuff to take care of the stuff they already have. But don’t get confused, they aren’t working or anything crazy like that. Juggling school assignments, extracurricular activities, and spending our money could become stressful if they had to work. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I don’t recall anyone being worried about my workload being stressful, or my mental health in general. Jerry and Ginny had grownup stuff to worry about. As teenagers, we managed our own social lives and school affairs. If Karen, while executing a hair flip, told me my new Rave perm made me look like shit and there was no way Kevin would ever go out with my scrawny ass, my mother wasn’t even going to know about it; much less call Karen’s mother and arrange a meeting where we could iron out our misunderstanding and take a selfie together. Additionally, no phone calls were ever made to any of my teachers or coaches. Ever. If we sat the bench, we sat the bench. Our dads were at work anyway. They only knew what we told them. I can’t even conceive of my dad leaving work to come watch a ballgame. If I made a 92.999 and got a B, I got a B. No thinly veiled threats were made and no money changed hands to get me that A. Ok, full disclosure, in my case we would be looking at an 84.9999. I was the poster child for underachievement. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Back in our day, high school was a testing ground for life. We were learning to be adults under the semi-vigilant supervision of our parents. We had jobs because we wanted cars, and we wanted to be able to put gas in our cars, and wear Jordache jeans and Candies. Without jobs, we had Archdale sneakers and Wranglers, and borrowed our mother’s Chevrolet Caprice, affectionately known as the “land yacht”, on Friday night. No one, I mean, no one, got a new car. I was considered fairly lucky because my parents bought me a car at all. I use the term “car” loosely. If I tell you it was a red convertible and stop right here, you might think me special. I wasn’t. My car was a red MG Midget, possibly a ’74 and certainly a death trap. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Look at your coffee table. Now imagine it having a steering wheel and driving it. I promise you, it’s bigger than my car was. The starter was bad, so after school I had the pleasure of popping the hood and using two screwdrivers to cross the solenoids or waiting for the football players to come out of the dressing room headed to practice. Those guys pushing my car while I popped the clutch, is a memory no 16-year old girl around here will ever have, and it’s a great one. Had I driven that car in high winds, it’s likely I would have ended up airborne, and there were probably some serious safety infractions committed the night I took 6 people in togas to a convenience store, but I wouldn’t go back and trade it out for a new 280Z, even if I had the chance. I was a challenging teenager, and in retrospect the fact that it was pretty impressive every time I made it home alive, may not have been an accident on the part of my parents. Go to the high school now. These kids are driving cars that grown men working 55 hours a week can’t afford, and they aren’t paying for them with their jobs. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); And those new cars don’t do a thing for telling a good story. I tell my kids all the time, the very best stories from my teen and college years involve Ann’s yellow Plymouth Duster with the “swirling dust” graphic, Randy’s Valiant with the broken gas gauge, and Carla’s burgundy Nissan that may or may not have had a complete floorboard. A story that starts, “Remember that time we were heading to the beach in Carla’s Nissan and your wallet fell through the floorboard onto the highway?” is so much more interesting than, “Remember that time we were going to the beach in your brand new SUV, filled up with gas that your parents paid for, and the…well, no, never mind. Nothing happened. We just drove down there.” To top it all off, most of them head off to college without a clue what it’s like to look for a job, apply for it, interview, and show up on time, as scheduled. If they have a job, it’s because someone owed their dad a favor…and then they work when it “fits their schedule”. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We all love our kids, and we want to see them happy and fulfilled, but I fear we’re robbing them of the experiences that make life memorable and make them capable, responsible, confident adults. For the majority of us, the very nice things we had as teenagers, we purchased with money we earned after saving for some ungodly amount of time. Our children are given most everything, and sometimes I wonder whether it’s for them or to make us feel like good parents. The bottom line is that you never value something you were given, as much as something you worked for. There were lessons in our experiences, even though we didn’t know it at the time. All those high school cat fights, and battles with teachers we clashed with, were an opportunity for us to learn how to negotiate and how to compromise. It also taught us that the world isn’t fair. Sometimes people just don’t like you, and sometimes you’ll work your ass off and still get screwed. We left high school, problem solvers. I’m afraid our kids are leaving high school with mommy and daddy on speed dial. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We just don’t have the cojones our parents had. We aren’t prepared to tell our kids that they won’t have it if they don’t work for it, because we can’t bear to see them go without and we can’t bear to see them fail. We’ve given them a whole lot of stuff; stuff that will break down, wear out, get lost, go out of style, and lose value. As parents, I suppose some of us feel pretty proud about how we’ve contributed in a material way to our kid’s popularity and paved an easy street for them. I don’t, and I know there are many of you that are just as frustrated by it as I am. I worry about what we’ve robbed them of, which I’ve listed below, in the process of giving them everything. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Delayed gratification is a really good thing. It teaches you perseverance and how to determine the true value of something. Our kids don’t know a damn thing about delayed gratification. To them, delayed gratification is waiting for their phone to charge.Problem-solving skills and the ability to manage emotion are crucial life skills. Kids now have every problem solved for them. Good luck calling their college professor to argue about how they should have another shot at that final because they had two other finals to study for and were stressed. Don’t laugh, parents have tried it.Independence allows you to discover who you really are, instead of being what someone else expects you to be. It was something I craved. These kids have traded independence for new cars and Citizen jeans. They will live under someone’s thumb forever, if it means cool stuff. I would have lived in borderline condemned housing, and survived off of crackers and popsicles to maintain my independence. Oh wait, I actually did that. It pisses me off. You’re supposed to WANT to grow up and forge your way in the world; not live on someone else’s dime, under someone else’s rule, and too often these days, under someone else’s roof.Common sense is that little something extra that allows you to figure out which direction is north, how to put air in your tires, or the best route to take at a certain time of day to avoid traffic. You develop common sense by making mistakes and learning from them. It’s a skill best acquired in a setting where it’s safe to fail, and is only mastered by actually doing things for yourself. By micromanaging our kids all the time, we’re setting them up for a lifetime of cluelessness and ineptitude. At a certain age, that cluelessness becomes dangerous. I’ve seen women marry to avoid thinking for themselves, and for some it was the wisest course of action.Mental toughness is what allows a person to keep going despite everything going wrong. People with mental toughness are the ones who come out on top. They battle through job losses, difficult relationships, illness, and failure. It is a quality born from adversity. Adversity is a GOOD thing. It teaches you what you’re made of. It puts into practice the old saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. It’s life’s teacher. Our bubble-wrapped kids are so sheltered from adversity, I wonder how the mental health professionals will handle them all after the world chews them up and spits them out a few times. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I know you are calling me names right now, and mentally listing all the reasons this doesn’t apply to you and your kid, but remember I’m including myself in this. My kids aren’t as bad as some, because I’m too poor and too lazy to indulge them beyond a certain point. And I’m certainly not saying that our parents did everything right. God knows all that second hand smoke I was exposed to, and those Sunday afternoon drives where Dad was drinking a Schlitz and I was standing on the front seat like a human projectile, were less than ideal; but I do think parents in the 70’s defined their roles in a way we never have.I worry that our kids are leaving home with more intellectual ability than we did, but without the life skills that will give them the success and independence that we’ve enjoyed. Then again, maybe it’s not parents that are getting the raw end of this deal after all. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJQP7kiw5Fk Watch: most watched video on youtube source Read the full article

[uniquequotesonlife]

rhondastephens To Catch A Falling Cactus

Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?

Summer 1974. I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 am, I’m up and out of the house, or if it’s Saturday I’m up and doing exactly what my father, Big Jerry, has told me to do. Might be raking, mowing, digging holes, or washing cars. Summer 2016. I’m tiptoeing out of the house, on my way to work, in an effort not to wake my children who will undoubtedly sleep until 11 am. They may complete a couple of the chores I’ve left in a list on the kitchen counter for them, or they may eat stale Cheez-its that were left in their rooms 3 days ago, in order to avoid the kitchen at all costs and “not see” the list. If you haven’t noticed, we’re getting a raw deal where this parenting gig is concerned. When did adults start caring whether or not their kids were safe, happy, or popular? I can assure you that Ginny and Big Jerry were not whiling away the hours wondering if my brother and I were fulfilled. Big Jerry was stoking the fires of his retirement savings and working, and working some more. Ginny was double bolting the door in order to keep us out of the house, and talking on the phone while she smoked a Kent. Meanwhile, we were three neighborhoods away, playing with some kids we’d never met, and we had crossed 2 major highways on bicycles with semi-flat tires to get there. Odds are, one of us had crashed at some point and was bleeding pretty impressively. No one cared. We were kids and if we weren’t acting as free labor, we were supposed to be out of the house and out of the way. My personal belief is that the same “woman with too little to do”, that decided it was necessary to give 4- year old guests a gift for coming to a birthday party, is the same loon who decided we were here to serve our kids and not the other way around. Think about it. As a kid, what was your costume for Halloween? If you were really lucky, your mom jabbed a pair of scissors in an old sheet, cut two eye holes, and you were a ghost. If her friend was coming over to frost her hair and showed up early, you got one eye hole cut and spent the next 45 minutes using a sharp stick to jab a second hole that was about two inches lower than its partner. I watched my cousin run directly into a parked car due to this very costume one year. He was still yelling, “Trick or Treat” as he slid down the rear quarter panel of a Buick, mildly concussed. When my son was 3 years old, we had a clown costume made by a seamstress, complete with pointy clown hat, and grease makeup. His grandmother spent more having that costume made than she did on my prom dress. At some point in the last 25 years, the tide shifted and the parents started getting the marginal cars and the cheap clothes while the kids live like rock stars. We spend enormous amounts of money on private instruction, the best sports gear money can buy, and adhere to psycho competition schedules. I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve bought the $300 baseball bats with money that should have been invested in a retirement account, traveled from many an AAU basketball game, or travel baseball game, to a dance competition in the course of one day, and failed to even consider why. Remember Hank Aaron? He didn’t need a $300 bat to be great. Your kid isn’t going pro and neither is mine, but you are going to retire one day and dumpster diving isn’t for the elderly. My brother and I still laugh about how, when he played high school baseball, there was one good bat and the entire team used it. Remember your clothes in the 70’s? Despite my best efforts to block it out, I can still remember my desperate need to have a pair of authentic Converse shoes. Did I get them? Negative. Oh, was it a punch in the gut when my mother presented me with the Archdale knock-offs she found somewhere between my hometown and Greensboro. Trust me. They weren’t even close. Did I complain? Hell, no. I’m still alive, aren’t I? We’ve got an entire generation of kids spitting up on outfits that cost more than my monthly electric bill. There were no designer baby clothes when we were kids. Why? Because our parents weren’t crazy enough to spend $60 on an outfit for us to have explosive diarrhea in or vomit on. Our parents were focused on saving for their retirement and paying their house off. The real beauty of it is that none of these kids are going to score a job straight out of college that will allow them to pay for the necessities of life, brand new cars, and $150 jeans, so guess who’s going to be getting the phone call when they can’t make rent? Yep, we are. Think back; way, way back. Who cleaned the house and did the yard work when you were a kid? You did. In fact, that’s why some people had children. We were free labor. My mother served as supervisor for the indoor chores, and the house damn well better be spotless when my father came through the door at 5:35. The battle cry went something like this, “Oh, no! Your father will be home in 15 minutes! Get those toys put away nooooow!” The rest of our evening was spent getting up to turn the television on demand, and only to what Dad wanted to watch. On weekends Dad was in charge of outdoor work and if you were thirsty you drank out of the hose, because 2 minutes of air conditioning and a glass of water from the faucet might make you soft. Who does the housework and yardwork now? The cleaning lady that comes on Thursday, and the landscaping crew that comes every other Tuesday. Most teenage boys have never touched a mower, and if you asked my daughter to clean a toilet, she would come back with a four page paper on the various kinds of deadly bacteria present on toilet seats. Everyone is too busy doing stuff to take care of the stuff they already have. But don’t get confused, they aren’t working or anything crazy like that. Juggling school assignments, extracurricular activities, and spending our money could become stressful if they had to work. I don’t recall anyone being worried about my workload being stressful, or my mental health in general. Jerry and Ginny had grownup stuff to worry about. As teenagers, we managed our own social lives and school affairs. If Karen, while executing a hair flip, told me my new Rave perm made me look like shit and there was no way Kevin would ever go out with my scrawny ass, my mother wasn’t even going to know about it; much less call Karen’s mother and arrange a meeting where we could iron out our misunderstanding and take a selfie together. Additionally, no phone calls were ever made to any of my teachers or coaches. Ever. If we sat the bench, we sat the bench. Our dads were at work anyway. They only knew what we told them. I can’t even conceive of my dad leaving work to come watch a ballgame. If I made a 92.999 and got a B, I got a B. No thinly veiled threats were made and no money changed hands to get me that A. Ok, full disclosure, in my case we would be looking at an 84.9999. I was the poster child for underachievement. Back in our day, high school was a testing ground for life. We were learning to be adults under the semi-vigilant supervision of our parents. We had jobs because we wanted cars, and we wanted to be able to put gas in our cars, and wear Jordache jeans and Candies. Without jobs, we had Archdale sneakers and Wranglers, and borrowed our mother’s Chevrolet Caprice, affectionately known as the “land yacht”, on Friday night. No one, I mean, no one, got a new car. I was considered fairly lucky because my parents bought me a car at all. I use the term “car” loosely. If I tell you it was a red convertible and stop right here, you might think me special. I wasn’t. My car was a red MG Midget, possibly a ’74 and certainly a death trap. Look at your coffee table. Now imagine it having a steering wheel and driving it. I promise you, it’s bigger than my car was. The starter was bad, so after school I had the pleasure of popping the hood and using two screwdrivers to cross the solenoids or waiting for the football players to come out of the dressing room headed to practice. Those guys pushing my car while I popped the clutch, is a memory no 16-year old girl around here will ever have, and it’s a great one. Had I driven that car in high winds, it’s likely I would have ended up airborne, and there were probably some serious safety infractions committed the night I took 6 people in togas to a convenience store, but I wouldn’t go back and trade it out for a new 280Z, even if I had the chance. I was a challenging teenager, and in retrospect the fact that it was pretty impressive every time I made it home alive, may not have been an accident on the part of my parents. Go to the high school now. These kids are driving cars that grown men working 55 hours a week can’t afford, and they aren’t paying for them with their jobs. And those new cars don’t do a thing for telling a good story. I tell my kids all the time, the very best stories from my teen and college years involve Ann’s yellow Plymouth Duster with the “swirling dust” graphic, Randy’s Valiant with the broken gas gauge, and Carla’s burgundy Nissan that may or may not have had a complete floorboard. A story that starts, “Remember that time we were heading to the beach in Carla’s Nissan and your wallet fell through the floorboard onto the highway?” is so much more interesting than, “Remember that time we were going to the beach in your brand new SUV, filled up with gas that your parents paid for, and the…well, no, never mind. Nothing happened. We just drove down there.” To top it all off, most of them head off to college without a clue what it’s like to look for a job, apply for it, interview, and show up on time, as scheduled. If they have a job, it’s because someone owed their dad a favor…and then they work when it “fits their schedule”. We all love our kids, and we want to see them happy and fulfilled, but I fear we’re robbing them of the experiences that make life memorable and make them capable, responsible, confident adults. For the majority of us, the very nice things we had as teenagers, we purchased with money we earned after saving for some ungodly amount of time. Our children are given most everything, and sometimes I wonder whether it’s for them or to make us feel like good parents. The bottom line is that you never value something you were given, as much as something you worked for. There were lessons in our experiences, even though we didn’t know it at the time. All those high school cat fights, and battles with teachers we clashed with, were an opportunity for us to learn how to negotiate and how to compromise. It also taught us that the world isn’t fair. Sometimes people just don’t like you, and sometimes you’ll work your ass off and still get screwed. We left high school, problem solvers. I’m afraid our kids are leaving high school with mommy and daddy on speed dial. We just don’t have the cojones our parents had. We aren’t prepared to tell our kids that they won’t have it if they don’t work for it, because we can’t bear to see them go without and we can’t bear to see them fail. We’ve given them a whole lot of stuff; stuff that will break down, wear out, get lost, go out of style, and lose value. As parents, I suppose some of us feel pretty proud about how we’ve contributed in a material way to our kid’s popularity and paved an easy street for them. I don’t, and I know there are many of you that are just as frustrated by it as I am. I worry about what we’ve robbed them of, which I’ve listed below, in the process of giving them everything. Delayed gratification is a really good thing. It teaches you perseverance and how to determine the true value of something. Our kids don’t know a damn thing about delayed gratification. To them, delayed gratification is waiting for their phone to charge.Problem-solving skills and the ability to manage emotion are crucial life skills. Kids now have every problem solved for them. Good luck calling their college professor to argue about how they should have another shot at that final because they had two other finals to study for and were stressed. Don’t laugh, parents have tried it.Independence allows you to discover who you really are, instead of being what someone else expects you to be. It was something I craved. These kids have traded independence for new cars and Citizen jeans. They will live under someone’s thumb forever, if it means cool stuff. I would have lived in borderline condemned housing, and survived off of crackers and popsicles to maintain my independence. Oh wait, I actually did that. It pisses me off. You’re supposed to WANT to grow up and forge your way in the world; not live on someone else’s dime, under someone else’s rule, and too often these days, under someone else’s roof.Common sense is that little something extra that allows you to figure out which direction is north, how to put air in your tires, or the best route to take at a certain time of day to avoid traffic. You develop common sense by making mistakes and learning from them. It’s a skill best acquired in a setting where it’s safe to fail, and is only mastered by actually doing things for yourself. By micromanaging our kids all the time, we’re setting them up for a lifetime of cluelessness and ineptitude. At a certain age, that cluelessness becomes dangerous. I’ve seen women marry to avoid thinking for themselves, and for some it was the wisest course of action.Mental toughness is what allows a person to keep going despite everything going wrong. People with mental toughness are the ones who come out on top. They battle through job losses, difficult relationships, illness, and failure. It is a quality born from adversity. Adversity is a GOOD thing. It teaches you what you’re made of. It puts into practice the old saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. It’s life’s teacher. Our bubble-wrapped kids are so sheltered from adversity, I wonder how the mental health professionals will handle them all after the world chews them up and spits them out a few times. I know you are calling me names right now, and mentally listing all the reasons this doesn’t apply to you and your kid, but remember I’m including myself in this. My kids aren’t as bad as some, because I’m too poor and too lazy to indulge them beyond a certain point. And I’m certainly not saying that our parents did everything right. God knows all that second hand smoke I was exposed to, and those Sunday afternoon drives where Dad was drinking a Schlitz and I was standing on the front seat like a human projectile, were less than ideal; but I do think parents in the 70’s defined their roles in a way we never have.I worry that our kids are leaving home with more intellectual ability than we did, but without the life skills that will give them the success and independence that we’ve enjoyed. Then again, maybe it’s not parents that are getting the raw end of this deal after all. source Read the full article