youcanrantifyouwantto

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

I’ve Got Space

It’s so hard for me to admit what I feel when I end up around you. The air is distinctly clear, my pulse seems to regulate. I take a breath that feels so fresh, my lungs say thank you.

It’s harder still to admit what I feel when I’m alone. Anxiety creeping up, taking over every thought, every blink, every move.

It’s not you. It’s the way you move, the way you talk, the way you listen. It’s the ease of the conversation, the energy in the air I breathe.

Alone, I think of all my fears. The fear of losing my head, losing my heart, losing myself. The fear of letting go or holding on too tight. The fear of absolutely not understanding how to handle my emotions, my thoughts, my trepidation.

Oh, it’s so hard to admit how much I feed off that vibe, feel the atmosphere, fine tune the tone of every exchange. It may be fleeting. It may not last forever or even until tomorrow, but today, oh today, it could last long enough for my escape, my departure from the parasites of self-doubt and stress clinging to all my nerves.

When I’m alone, I pretend it doesn’t exist. I push that fleeting feeling to the side for that solid swallow of real life. Back to me. Back to what I understand to be true. It’s not you, and it’s not that there’s anything inherently wrong. It’s just that I miss you.

It’s hard to admit because I never asked for this. I never wanted to feel as vulnerable as I do right now. I never wanted to be honest with you or with myself. I never wanted to look at your face and see comfort. It doesn’t have to be real, be serious, be understood to feel desirable.

When I’m alone, I’m fine. Trust me, I am. I’ve built up walls for my structure. I’ve planted a garden in my hands for serenity. I’ve moved oceans in my mind to wash it all away. I don’t need you.

But there’s space for you here, too, if you ever need it.

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

Delino DeShields and Falling In Love With Baseball Again.

I’m always down to celebrate whatever makes you happy. Do you love playing Dungeons & Dragons or LARP on the weekends? Do. Your. Thing. Are you into trivia nights? Enjoy your Tuesdays at the bar with tipsy friends. Do you enjoy cosplay and going to conventions? Live your life! For me, it’s always been baseball. After all, what is a sports fan other than a cosplayer dressing as their favorite player?

I’ve been a fan of baseball since I can remember life. Pudge Rodriguez started it all for me, and I’ve never really looked back. A few years ago, I even thought I got to live my dream come true and write about baseball for the D-FW sports world to enjoy. As it turns out, dreams change. Here’s how that stifled my love of baseball, and how I got it back largely because of one player.

Growing up, Pudge Rodriguez was my whole life. I wanted to be a pitcher so I could throw to him. I spent days outside playing catch with my dad, acting like I knew how to play baseball. As I grew up, I was becoming more interested in other things. I still watched baseball, but my interest began to vary (read: boys), and I didn’t always have the time to invest. The summer after my senior year of high school, a player by the name of Ian Kinsler was called up to the Texas Rangers, and I was back. Say whatever you want about why I liked him, but I did like him a lot. He wore his heart on his sleeve. He’d get angry, and he’d show it. When he’d pop up or fly out, you could always tell that he was not pleased with his own performance, and I loved that. His wiggly batting stance that should never work, his little hops at second when a batter is getting ready to swing. It just brought me all back in. Yeah, he wasn’t too bad on the eyes either. Sue me. Baseball is fun and quirky and a game. It helped to never take it too seriously

Then I took baseball way too seriously. So did the people around me. I was afforded the opportunity to write about the Texas Rangers on a public, unpaid forum. It felt like the best dream come true, and for most of the time I did it, it was. Since it was an unpaid position, I was able to keep some freedom of just being a fan. If I thought Craig Gentry had a nice face, I’d say so, but then I’d write about why Joe Nathan had been almost as good as Mariano Rivera. I tried to create a place for myself where I could have fun and still be a fan, but show some analysis about the sport I love. For me, I didn’t want it to be one or the other. ¿Porqué no los dos?

Don’t get me wrong, for the majority of the time I was writing, I loved it. I was able to meet a good set of people through the online sports world. The Dallas-Fort Worth sports community is really something special, and being able to live my life in it was a whirlwind at times. Events were frequent and usually so much fun, and I once embarrassed myself in front of Mark Followill by being way too excited to meet him. I was able to interview Don Welke, an MLB scout, for a podcast that was definitely my favorite part of the whole experience. The podcast, Girls of Summer, was a product of which I couldn’t be more proud. Creating something like that with another woman in sports was something I will never forget. Plus, my partner, Sarah, is a brilliant person who I am lucky to know.

However, I loved it until I didn’t. If you’ve followed me through my baseball experience, maybe you remember the “emotion is for women” debacle. Perhaps the first red flag, but it wasn’t enough to make me quit, even though I thought heavily about it. The website I was working for had a video podcast or discussion they’d do from time to time. Honestly, it was a really neat way to get writers together to talk through ideas and throw fun little arguments around, and I enjoyed doing them. During one episode, two of the men were discussing Mitch Moreland. His stats with the Texas Rangers were brought up to prove he had not been good so far. One of the men simply said he knew that, but he really liked watching Moreland play and wanted him to stay with the Rangers so he could root for him to be better. He truly just wanted this player to get better. Then a phrase was said that made my face hot. “Come on, man. That’s emotion. Emotion is for women.”

Maybe it’s just a joke. Maybe it seems harmless, but as a woman who was trying to change the way women are viewed especially in the world he was representing, it definitely didn’t sit well with me. Another man very clearly stated he had an emotional attachment to a player just because he did, and the response was that only women like players like that. Very heavily implied that women only like players for that reason.

Here are some basic problems with that statement, but I will reserve full discussion because that’s a whole separate conversation: 1. A man just admitted his emotional attachment, so already you are wrong. 2. Women have emotions, but men also have them. Men like to set things on fire when their sports team loses, but oftentimes we ignore anger in men as an emotion. 3. The website you represent has female staff members, and you used sexist language without apology or thought.

When I say “without apology,” I truly mean it. What happened after I called him out about it proved to me that women still have a long way to go in male-dominated spaces. It was abundantly clear that the only person who professionally had my back was me. The owner told me that I shouldn’t have publicly said anything about it and reprimanded me for starting an argument by tweeting how he shouldn’t have said it. And that was basically all he had to say. In all fairness, we were supposed to be on the same team, so I apologized for so publicly calling him out instead of coming to him first, but still not for actually calling him out. I asked that he address it, and he told me that I was proving his point by being so angry about the whole thing. Neither one ever publicly or privately apologized to me for the issue, and while it might seem like a small thing to some people, it felt alienating to me.

Eventually I let it go. The relationships between us definitely weren’t the same, but I continued writing for them because I loved baseball, and I love writing. Most other aspects were positive about the job, and I didn’t want them to get rid of me that easily. Although it never felt quite right after that moment.

It was a constant battle of why I liked Ian Kinsler so much, justified by all his stats because I couldn’t just like him because I did. Kinsler is a good baseball player, though, so I was happy to rattle off all his numbers and analyze his career. It was a constant battle of letting me be a fan and high-five players at appearances. Letting me appriciate the experience and get excited when I get to meet players, and how that somehow made me less of a writer. It was a constant battle of me making a very online social media joke about a player’s likeability, and people assuming I thought that player was good or better than everyone else. Trust me, I know Robbie Ross isn’t the best pitcher, but I want him to be because I like him as a person. Let me live my life.

Keep in mind this whole time I wasn’t getting paid, but none of my articles ever had anything to do with a player’s likeability or their face, for that matter. I kept my articles professional with a hint of funny and baseball wonder. It wasn’t until close to the end that I started feeling very unwelcome.

The website changed owners several times after the first year I wrote. Each one was seemingly worse than the last, and much of the structure got lost in the shuffle. There was one, in particular, who was not a fan of mine. To my face he was fine, but he thought I was too much of a fan-girl and couldn’t be taken seriously. In the interest of fairness, I am a fan-girl, but this wasn’t a real job. It was a hobby. A hobby I loved and wouldn’t be mad if it turned into a real job, but still a hobby.

There were new staff members, and people who took baseball way too seriously started popping up all over the sports community. Everything was persistently about which analytic was better and why each player was good or bad based on whatever obscure stat. I started to notice how everyone became exceedingly judgmental of everything and everyone. Baseball is truly unpredictable, but everyone kept insisting they were right. Who could talk louder? Who could laugh at someone else to make them feel dumb? The arrogance was suffocating. I enjoy analyzing players, but it’s nowhere near an exact science. People would scoff at the idea of a human element like each player was just a robot with consistent results with no life outside of the GAME they got to play for a living. If you weren’t always talking numbers, you weren’t good enough. If you didn’t listen to only this one radio station, you weren’t good enough. No one came out and said it, but the atmosphere had been created, not just for my website, but the whole sports world around me.

It wasn’t always that way, but on days when everyone was trying to talk over each other, it became exhausting. I lost most of my desire to write over this time. Taking on new positions at the job that actually paid me, and the pressures of keeping up appearances at the one that didn’t made me decide that I needed to stop. It was too draining to listen to men insist they were right at every turn without ever knowing if they were actually right. Too tedious to keep up with every opinion I was supposed to have. So I walked away.

I am in no way trying to say that I handled everything perfectly. I was young and stupid and abrasive at times. I made so many mistakes and did things the wrong way when trying to stand up for myself, but I needed my team around me to be supportive and constructive and a lot of the time, they weren’t. I could’ve done more to insert myself into the space or create my own lane, but I chose not to. I could’ve practiced more kindness and chose different words when I became defensive, but I didn’t. I don’t look back on any of it as a unfortunate experience, rather just something I tried to do but couldn’t quite figure out how to make it mine.

I’ve spent the last few years distancing myself. Mostly trying to find my way back to the comforts of baseball the way I once knew it. Game after game, I’d find players I wanted to root for, and I tried to go through the motions. Part of me still wanted to dive into the stats, but nothing ever really clicked the same way it had in the past. My favorite player had been traded from my favorite team, I’d stopped being so involved in the world I had once so desperately wanted to be in, and I started to feel left behind. Did I quit too soon? Should I have fought harder? Should I have just unapologetically created my own place? How did this fit into my life anymore?

Delino DeShields started playing for the Texas Rangers, and I took notice. I loved the energy he had as a young guy trying to make it. His speed was a great and unique asset, and made watching him a fun experience, whether it was a stolen base, a single stretched into a double, or a ball into the outfield he had to sprint to catch. He was an underdog, too. Not a minor league superstar everyone had been looking at for years, but I was pulling for him to be successful anyway. It started to remind me that everything in baseball doesn’t have to be so serious. Let them play.

I recently went to the Texas Rangers Fan Fest and had a moment of clarity. I love this sport. I love the superstars, but I love the underdogs, too. I love getting to know a team that I can root for professionally and personally. I’ve always enjoyed meeting players (and musicians) to be able to thank them for the small role they play in bringing joy to my life. I’m 31 years old, and it still makes me feel like that little kid looking at her heroes. I get nervous. I forget they’re just people trying to do their best, but I’m sure on some level, they still enjoy the fact that someone is rooting for them. I can’t speak for them, but I would hope it makes players happy to see fans invested in them.

Then I met Delino DeShields. I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t think it was going to happen, so I didn’t have time to think about it. I was a complete mess. I shakily told him how happy I was for the opportunity to say hi. I explained through watery eyes that he was currently my favorite player to watch, and I’m thankful they (and he) let us interact. I word vomitted all over because my brain was working too quickly, and my mouth couldn’t keep up. I apologized for being a mess, thanked him too many times to count, and asked for a high-five as I always do. After all of that, he still smiled and thanked me multiple times for coming out. He laughed at me while I laughed at myself because we could both tell I was struggling to remember how to be a person. Later on he gave me an unprompted hug and thanked me again. He didn’t have to do anything, because he owes me nothing, but those small gestures solidified his place as my favorite. The loveable, underdog who I just want to succeed no matter what any stat could possibly tell me. It snapped me back. This is why I started.

I’m not saying the sport should never be analyzed. I always want the best version of the team I’m rooting for to take the field. I understand why it needs to be discussed, but I don’t personally put the team together. That has never been nor ever will be my job. I still want certain guys to succeed so they can earn that place on the field. Delino became my favorite because I want to see him win. He became a favorite because guys like him deserve it. He became a favorite because he resonated with me. It’s fun to root for people you like.

I’m unbelievably fortunate to experience baseball during the Mike Trout era. I’m lucky that I’ve gotten to see guys like Pudge, Josh Hamilton, Clayton Kershaw, and Adrián Beltré play incredible careers. Believe me, I’m always in awe of high-caliber talet—the ones who step on the field, and everyone knows who they are and exactly what they can do. It’s great to watch, but I’m also lucky to see the guys who fight and work and claw their way up to the Majors. The ones who are young guys with potential they just haven’t figured out yet. The ones who have spent years in the Minors just for their one shot, even if it is just one game like Guilder Rodriguez. It’s equally as fun for me to be invested in them. When they succeed, it makes the moment that much sweeter. I’m always rooting for them.

The whole experience reminded me why I love baseball. These players work hard their whole lives for one shot to play the game for a living. No matter what stats predict what play, they’re just trying to put their best effort out there, and maybe inspire the community around them to do some good. A sports community can be a positive thing for a city or metro area. It brings people together, it provides an escape, and it gives everyone common ground. If these players weren’t personable or ethical or hardworking or sometimes underdogs, I suspect it would just become boring and unrelatable. I like my baseball with rules and emotion. I like my baseball with exact stats and unpredictability. I like my baseball weird and exciting. I like my baseball with big homeruns and little ground balls with eyes. I like my baseball loud and quiet. I like baseball.

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

Mom.

A lot of people try to say their mom is the best mom ever, but I am here to tell you there can only be one and it is mine. (I am mostly kidding. Your mom is probably cool as hell and really great, but I just want to talk about mine for minute.)

Full disclosure is that I’ve never been one of those children who is embarrassed by their parents, so maybe I am biased. My mom has always been someone I enjoyed being around. Even when I’ve been mad at my mom, I’d still go to Target with her, and she could always be the chaperone on my field trips. She always had this way of making sure I knew I was in trouble, but also telling me she loved me after she yelled at me or went and got a belt. You know, mom things. I know my mom isn’t special in that way. I know lots of moms do this, but this is such a great technique, right? So many moms out there have the ability to let you know that you royally messed the F up, but still hug you and tell you that you’re a good person. WE LEARNED THAT MISTAKES DON’T MAKE A PERSON FROM these women in our lives. Crazy, right? It’s such a good thing. She also knew that some things the school or maybe other people saw as behavioral problems or troublesome were actually just being a kid or being a bit sassy and headstrong. (Side note: She is the sassiest and most headstrong woman I know, so sometimes she had to pick her battles with the three girls she raised to be like her.) So, you see, she knew when we were doing too much, and when we were just being ourselves.

I am 29 years old, and I am still very close to my mom (and dad, but this isn’t his day). All three of her girls are grown. I am the youngest, and we all three talk to her very frequently. I rarely go more than 2 weeks without seeing her, The whole reason I am inspired to write this is a deep conversation my mother and I had over watching her kids grow in their own relationships and get along with one another as adults. She was telling me how proud she was that we are still such a close family because for her, it’s not always been that way. What shook me about her saying that is that she is the reason. My mom always produced a family first environment where it was okay to fight and disagree, but we also have to look out for each other. My mom is the reason for the compassion all three of us have deep in our cores. That sounds cheesy, right? But it’s true.

We didn’t have a lot when I was growing up. My mom never liked to talk about it, but I think it’s a very important detail in how we were raised. We didn’t struggle the way some people do. We always had food and a house, so I understand I was more fortunate in that way. A detail I love about my childhood is that one Christmas we all got one teddy bear. I love that Christmas because I always remember the feeling. While my mom was disappointed she couldn’t give us more, I always remember the fact that she tried. We still woke up early for breakfast. We still sat around the tree and talked to each other all morning. We still watched A Christmas Story, and none of us were sad. Obviously, everyone knows the “real meaning of Christmas isn’t the gifts,” but for children sometimes that’s a different concept to grasp. My mom still feels guilty about that Christmas, but the way she handled it made us all grateful and generous.

My mom has a big heart. She cries a lot, and we like to make fun of her for it, but honestly, it’s probably her best quality. She’s probably crying right now reading this, but she feels her feelings and isn’t scared of them. She cares deeply and showed us constantly what that looks like in a person. As a result, I cry a lot. My middle sister cries a lot. My oldest sister, however, didn’t get the crying gene, but don’t let that fool you into thinking she doesn’t have the biggest heart of all. She’s a nurse at a children’s hospital, and that takes some kind of strength. My mom wasn’t always afraid to show us when she wasn’t happy. Of course there were times she wished she could shield us from the stuff that was terrible, but sometimes that wasn’t possible. Everything wasn’t always fine, and that was okay, because in the end we ended up being exactly that. She cries when she’s happy too. Maybe it’s a tear duct deficiency. Who knows. She’s cute.

She gets overwhelmed when my sisters and I come see her, and we all have our significant others who get along and talk to each other. It makes her emotional because a sense of family is very important to her. She loves being around us and feeling the love. If it weren’t for my mom being the person she is, we wouldn’t do this. She created an entire environment based off of love and support. She made us want to come back to her. She built our family to be the way it is. She may not see that, but every time she gets emotional about our love, I like to remind her that she is the reason.

I’m thankful to have a mom like mine. I’m emotional like her. I’m strong like her. Sometimes maybe too quick to react to things like she is. Maybe a little too eager to prove my point sometimes, but also I am smart, compassionate, and progressive like she is. She raised me to be independent with my own thoughts and my own personality, but also passed on her greatness to me. I will forever be thankful that she is my mother, and I still can’t drop the F-bomb in front of her.

Love you, Momma.

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

To those who get it and those who don’t:

To those who don’t get it:

We are obviously all entitled to think what we want to. It’s truly the beauty of America. You may not have thought this women’s march was important, and that’s okay for your life. It wasn’t okay for mine. I needed this march. I needed it to show so many women that they are not alone. i needed it to show them that they have fighters and protectors right alongside them. I needed it, and it worked for me.

Please don’t tell me it wasn’t important, because trust me, it was. You probably weren’t there, so you don’t know how great the experience was. You had your experience, and I had mine. Mine was good for me, and yours was what you wanted. I got to see my wonderful, beautiful friends and family feel like they weren’t lost anymore. I got to see women of color, women with disabilities, trans women, women from other countries, and even men of the same get together because we all wanted to support each other. So don’t say this wasn’t important. The love is real.

I keep seeing you bring up women’s rights in other countries, like we don’t understand our privileges in America. We do understand them, but we’re also being threatened by our government. We’re being shown that being gay, being a woman, being non-white, or being transgender could all become more difficult, when it’s not exactly easy to begin with. We’re being shown that sexual assault doesn’t matter if you’re powerful. We’re being shown that being Muslim or black is going to label you a threat. We’re being shown that women are going to lose the ability to choose what we can and cannot do with our bodies. We’re being shown that healthcare is only for the wealthy and healthy. We’re being shown that the LGBTQ community won’t get the same respect as the cis-gendered or straight people. We’re being shown that even if you’re working hard and been here your whole life, if you aren’t born here, you’ll be sent away. For some people this could cost their lives. A bully is in power, and it is only going to inspire more bullies, some who will use violence. So maybe you’re safe, and these other countries have it worse, but for some people in America, it’s going to be worse.

You also say Trump hasn’t taken away anyone’s rights yet, so protesting is stupid. The march was of a preventative nature. Everyone has heard what the new administration would like to do with healthcare, and how they have addressed women and minorities. We protested on his first day in office to show him that there will be a huge resistance to the laws and policies we feel are wrong for this country. We don’t want what he wants, and we intend to show him and his cabinet and his congress that we won’t take it lightly. We will be here. We are here. We were here.

To the anti-abortion group, you can be anti-abortion and also pro-choice. Maybe you can really say there is no circumstance that you’d ever get an abortion, and for you, that’s fine. However, a woman should have the right to choose what goes on in her own body. Be anti-abortion by fighting for better healthcare. Be anti-abortion by fighting for better ACCESS to healthcare for poor women. Be anti-abortion by fighting for better sex education so everyone understands how to properly prevent unwanted pregnancies. Be anti-abortion by supporting better birth control access and research. Be anti-abortion by preventing rape by advocating for true consequences no matter the status and teaching your sons (and daughters) not to rape. All of these things will make unwanted pregnancies and abortions decrease. Most of all, don’t tell a woman who is not yourself that her choice for her life is wrong. She is not you. Maybe her health or body can’t carry a baby. Maybe she was raped and cannot mentally or physically have the child. Maybe having a child results in her death. But most of all, maybe it’s none of your business because what goes on in her body is hers.

You also like to say you’re not a victim so you didn’t need a march. We had to march to show the people who want to hold us down and make us victims that, in fact, this is not the case. We are strong. We rise. They are trying to portray us as whiny and helpless, but we just empowered ourselves by coming together. We are not victims. Nothing about what we did, said, or showed was out of weakness or fear. We created our own strength when we were made to feel like we mattered less. We don’t matter less, and we just wanted to show them that. So we marched. 

For you, maybe there was no reason to march. Maybe you’ve never needed healthcare to an extreme extent. Maybe you haven’t watched your own people unjustifiably die at the hands of people you’re taught to trust. Maybe your parents were able to teach you that anything in possible. Be glad they taught you that. For some people, life isn’t always about being anything they want because they just need to make it to tomorrow. Sometimes people aren’t told they can be anything. Sometimes people are portrayed as the bad guys in life when really they’re just scapegoats for an underlying problem in a country who forgets the working class. Sometimes people are brought up in environments that aren’t supportive. Sometimes people have to start working when they’re 14 (or even younger) because food isn’t available regularly, and then their education suffers because they’re just trying to survive. Sometimes people don’t have access to hospitals or healthcare or mental institutions that actually diagnose what others are just calling crazy. Sometimes people come to another country because they need new opportunities to live a better life, but the true process of being accepted and becoming a citizen is expensive and difficult. Sometimes people grow up being told it is unacceptable to be who they are. Be very grateful and very happy that you lived a life where education and care were provided. Not everyone in America lives that way. We march for them.

We could all use some empathy in life. So maybe this isn’t about you. Maybe it’s about the DACA students who have their education threatened or the LGBTQ community who feels like their own government hates them. It’s about our Muslim sisters who are too often not included in the feminist mold. It’s about my sisters of color who still have to tell you their lives matter. You’ve probably never experienced what it’s like to be them, but what you should do is listen to them. Listen to their experiences and what they want in life. Your experience is your own, and there are millions of other people in the world with stories to tell. Just listen.

One day I hope you realize this women’s march was for you as well, regardless of if you were there or not.

To those who get it:

I’ll keep this part short. You understand why I marched. Most likely you were marching, too. At the very least, you were there in spirit or voicing your support as you watched the marchers across the world. To you, I want to say thank you. I want you to never give up.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you this wasn’t important. We came together in true solidarity. While the march wasn’t perfect, and maybe we had some of our own issues, guilt, and judgments we need to work on, we still came together to show our government that we will not stand for the policies that infringe on our rights. Don’t let someone tell you we didn’t do anything. This was important to me. It was important to you. It was important to nearly four million people in the United States. No one can tell you it didn’t matter.

I don’t know about you, but the MILLIONS of people getting involved (not to mention the rest of the world telling us they are with us) made me feel stronger than I have felt in quite some time, especially since November 8th. The election had me defeated and losing hope. I went to anti-Trump rallies. I’ve called and emailed my senators. I signed petitions, but nothing made me feel as powerful as marching alongside (figuratively and literally) all of you. You give me strength and hope. There are more of us than there are of them, and we will resist.

I am a straight, white, cis-gendered woman. I know that this presidency and the policies that are threatening our country are not going to affect me very much. I could lose my free women’s exams and my free birth control, which are not good things, but I will probably not fear for my safety. I will not fear for my life and whether or not I can step outside without judgment or hate. People won’t look at me differently. They won’t openly hate me just because they see my face or my skin. I don’t wear a hijab, so no one will scream hurtful and ignorant words into my face. I can hold my boyfriend’s hand in public and not even think twice about it. I don’t have to painfully deal with the fact that my president has bragged about sexual assault because I’m not a survivor. All I have is that I am a woman with a little meat on her bones who has been told many sexist things in her life about the way she looks and the way she thinks. I didn’t march for myself. I marched for you.

I want you to know that if you are forced to register under this administration, I will register with you. If you aren’t allowed to love who you want to love, I will fight with you. If you are shown and told that you don’t matter, I will tell them that you do. If you are being blamed for being a survivor, I will refocus the blame to the real problem. If you are being told this isn’t your country, I will open my heart and my arms to welcome you.

You inspired me deeply. You made me strong. I thank you from the bottom of my heart and everything that I am.

#women's march #sister march #feminist #women

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

First of all, I want to say that I am sorry. As a white person, I am sorry. So much of the majority wants Black people to take responsibility for every other Black person, and they want Muslims to take responsibility for the extremists. So I will take responsibility for all these white people. I am sorry we haven't embraced diversity. I am sorry we failed you.

I have been crying on and off for two days because my heart is breaking.

I do believe you can say the DNC picked the wrong candidate, but I don't feel like that's an excuse. I voted for Bernie. (Don't get me wrong. I like Hillary Clinton.) I don't feel like that justfies a Donald Trump presidency. We've always had the establishment. We've always had presidents like what people hated in Hillary, so how do we justify voting for hate because we were tired of it? Trump is different and dangerous. I am disappointed in the people who sat out this election because they couldn't justify a hard working woman. Even after the primary when she adopted some of Bernie's ideals and listened to what her people wanted. They listened to Bernie, and they wanted his policies, so she listened and she changed for her people. Even Bernie was on her side, and you still thought she wasn't good enough. I can understand the disconnect. I can understand still feeling let down, but I can't understand sitting out an election where someone who is vehemently and loudly so terrible toward everyone is the opponent. You still decided that she wasn't good enough to beat a man who is openly racist and very misogynistic AND whose running mate has actively worked on anti-gay and anti-women activities. She wasn't good enough to vote for even to stop them? It blows my mind. 

Not to mention the people who actually supported. This majority white base thought he was fit to run the country because he promised to take the country back. Back from whom? News flash, white people, you're obviously still in control. I do believe that not all Trump supporters are racist terribly offensive people. I believe a lot of people felt disconnected with a government they felt like they were losing their voice. While it's clear that there are terribly racist, sexist, homophobic people who did support him, his whole base wasn't that way. However, the people who don't carry the hatred were able to overcome or look past the severe consequences a Trump presidency would have because they are lucky enough to be unaffected. They don't hate--they just don't care. That is institutionalized racism. That is what we want to fight against, and it won. Instead of creating a more cohesive country where we look out for the basic well-being of others, we made it okay to hate. Even in the first day of President-Elect Trump, hateful stories have come out from people yelling, degrading, and harming people of color and women, because the person who ran a campaign based on fears won. He encouraged​ violence at his rallies, he perpetuated awful exaggerated stereotypes about Muslims and immigrants, he tried to pass off bragging about sexual assault as boys being boys, among other things. And then he won and it gives power to people who do harbor hate, because the highest position in the country has encouraged​ it.

 I still cry because I feel it on many different levels. I feel this on a personal level because Hillary Clinton is a woman who was deemed not good enough to stop a terrible campaign that will set us back. I am not suggesting that her gender was the only factor in her loss, but I think delusion has a strong hold on you if you think it was not a factor at all. I feel this for my close set of friends who happen to be a diverse set of people. I feel it for my two closest friends who are Black and gay, because hatred exists everywhere but now it will be louder. I feel it for my mom who has grown a lot from her Arkansas roots and raised three freethinkers because she wanted us to create our own futures. I feel it for the millions of people i don't know because we really do grow stronger together. No good comes from tearing others down and never listening. Your pain should be everyone's pain. We have to build a world where everyone is valued because people are people no matter where they live. Hate and fear cannot be the answer.

This hurts more than I imagined it would, and I feel disappointed in humanity for the moment. We should expect human decency from everyone, but especially the person we choose to represent our country. I think America has a lot of work to do, so I promise to pull myself together and work with them. Hope and love are what we have to combat this so lets use all that we can. Let us get up, dust ourselves off and actively be kind to one another. Don't forget to fight for others and yourself daily. I promise to love every day. I promise to get stronger.

To Hillary Clinton: as you gave your speech, I watched you push back the tears. I want to thank you for everything you have tried to do. You were inspiring to many, and my favorite thing about you is your strength. I know you are disappointed, but I am not disappointed in you. 

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

Stuff and thangs.

I'm going to spare you the details of what I've been going through in the past month. Just know my emotions are at an all time high, and I cry at least once a day. Sometimes all day. Sometimes only for a minute or so.

What I've learned is that sometimes things don't make sense. Not every problem in life comes with an explanation to make it feel better. And not everything is fair, and there is no way to make it fair no matter how hard you try. As much as something can hurt you, sometimes that's all you're going to get. It's not going to magically get better with an explanation because there isn't one. It's going to make absolutely no sense, and you're never going to be able to figure it out, but it happened. It happened because humans make mistakes. That's the best explanation anyone can give you.

Sometimes I put too much faith in people. Only I don't really know it's too much faith until they let me down. I assume that the people I hold closest to me will never betray my trust or hurt me, but listen up, everyone is going to hurt you. They may not do it intentionally or maliciously, but people make mistakes. People do terrible things. And this isn't to say people are bad, because I still believe most people are inherently good, but they aren't only good.

I can think of a thousand excuses for the person who hurt me and why they did it. I can think of any reason in the book to explain away the pain, but they're not real reasons. The truth is that this person hurt me because of selfish reasons, and because he could and because I let him. I believed in so much good in him that I never thought he could use me the way he did. I was wrong. Too much faith.

This person is absolutely without a doubt the best person I've ever known. People make mistakes. People don't think about things sometimes before they act on them. And sometimes people are just stupid. He's not a bad person. He just made a bad decision. And now I have to live with the sad consequences while he gets to pretend like nothing happened. Because sometimes nothing makes sense, and sometimes situations aren't fair.

I'm angry. I'm sad. And sometimes I feel so empowered that I tell people off for doing the simplest of things. It'll take some time to wrap my head around it, and trust people's intentions. But at least I've learned something from it. There's the beginning.

#my name is Emily #blog #personal blog #blogging

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

#YesAllWomen

Recently on twitter, I've been involved with the hashtag #YesAllWomen, because of course I think it's important.

The message is simple, "Here are all these women telling stories of how they've been treated by some men and society. Here are these women telling their stories. And yes, all women go through this."

The fellas I follow/who follow me on Twitter were not exactly the best at responding. Instead of saying "Hey, wow. I didn't realize that women go through this kind of stuff every day. I must not be paying close enough attention. Let me better myself and those around me by educating myself and other men to not be that guy," they reverted straight to, "BUT NOT ALL MEN ARE LIKE THAT. YOU'RE GENERALIZING. I CAN'T BE LUMPED IN WITH SEXISTS AND RAPISTS." Thank you. You just turned a movement about the awareness of harassment against women about you. You got defensive of how you might be perceived in the eyes of a few people immediately instead of appalled at the experiences so many women have had.

For one, we are not strictly talking about rape and violence. I'm glad you're not a rapist. I'm not going to give you a cookie for not being one, though. You're supposed to not be one. Can you say you've never made a woman feel uncomfortable in her own body? Have you ever dismissed a woman's opinion because of how she looked? Have you ever told a guy to quit acting like a pussy or "quit being such a girl, bro"? Have you ever assumed a woman didn't know about something (ie. sports, cars, business) just because she was simply a woman?

Better yet, have you ever experienced these things, and fear that it could happen again at any moment. Things like a guy coming up to you while you're pumping gas to tell you how great you look in those jeans. He gets closer and asks you if you have a boyfriend. You politely tell him yes. He asks if it's serious. You reply with yes. He says, "man he's lucky. You sure it's serious?" The whole time trying to grab your hand. You stop pumping gas early and get in your car, because a stranger thinks it's okay to touch you. He thinks you're supposed to take the complete invasion of personal space as a compliment because he said "You sure do look good in those jeans." Or a guy who comes up to you to talk to you, and he gets so close to you that you can feel his breath on your neck. And you can't go anywhere because there's a wall behind you. You're just thankful that your friends are standing about five feet away. Then he kisses your neck like that's just acceptable after knowing him for all of about twenty minutes, and you have to physically and forcefully remove yourself from the situation because he tried again after you said "stop it."

Have you ever been used because a guy thought he'd get some? Or because you told him you were a virgin, and that was, for some odd reason, some sort of sacred thing they wanted to take from you? Have you ever been told to dress up more because otherwise guys will never like you? Or lose weight, because "fat chicks" aren't allowed to have opinions? Because my only worth is in my body. If you go look at the YouTube comments from a women's video, all the comments are about her appearance and whether or not someone would have sex with her. If you look at a man's video, there are very few comments like this. Are you still not that guy? Good. You still shouldn't be. You still don't get a cookie.

Were you taught as a young person to hold your keys between your fingers while walking to your car at night? Or that you can't go anywhere alone? Does your mom worry about you when you go out at night because of what might end up in your drink, or if you'll even make it home?

Of course not all men do it. We know that. I know that. But the worst guys still say "I'm not like that," and it's nearly impossible to tell who is being honest, so women have to protect themselves from men initially. When someone close to me was sexually violated, she told me that she asked her friends not to leave her alone with this guy because he was creeping her out. They left her alone because "not all men do it" and "she's probably overreacting." She wasn't overreacting. And just because not all men do it, doesn't mean a man standing right in front of you wouldn't.

When you take a hashtag or movement that is supposed to create awareness about women and get angry, and twist all the words around so it affects men again, you become that guy. You're doing it again. You're telling women that they aren't allowed to speak out, because it offends men. Too many men offended? This is unacceptable! Too many women offended, assaulted, don't feel comfortable in their own skin? Well, as long as you make sure you don't offend the men. The women who truly are generalizing all men probably haven't had a man prove to them that they aren't like that. You say you don't believe these things happen, and that's part of the problem. Some women truly have no reason to trust men. The fact that some don't believe it makes it no less true. This is how we raise awareness.

Stop telling me how you're not that guy. And how not all men do it. Let your actions speak. Teach your sons that no absolutely means no. Teach your daughters to love and respect themselves no matter what. Teach your sons that they aren't entitled to a be with a woman by being nice, but that they fall in love and earn a relationship by being kind and understanding. You're supposed to be nice. Teach your daughters to be kind, but strong. Teach the guys around you better ways to joke around than using derogatory terms that pertain to women. Stop stereotyping women as the weaker gender. Stop ignoring the concerns and fears of women. Teach everyone around you to be better.

#yes all women #yesallwomen #my name is emily #blog #blogging

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

I'm Fat

I guess I am. I don’t really ever like to admit it, because there’s a stigma to that word. There shouldn’t be a stigma, but there is.

The main thing is that I’m a healthy person. Sure, there are things I could change, but my anxiety and my crazy desire to eat my feelings when I’m nervous, angry, upset, or sometimes even happy is kind of ridiculous. However, I spend every day at a job where I am on my feet for 8+ hours. My one hour break feels way too long unless I’m doing something active, even if it means walking around with no real reason. I’m not a truly lazy person. I have my moments, and sometimes I enjoy a day to do absolutely nothing, but more than one of those days makes me go crazy. In other words, I’m an active contributor to society in the best way I know how to be. I don’t do anything differently than most people I know, but my body is different. I am different. The fact is, no one is the same. Bodies digest food differently, and some store weight in different areas than others. Basically, even if I tried harder, I’d still have these wide hips and this butt that is extremely disproportionate to my body. It is what it is.

Over the last few months, I’ve been called fat in different ways at three different sporting events. Two were from opposing team’s fans when there’s some rivalry banter going on, and one was from some guy who thought it’d be fun to drunkenly call me a “BBW.” If you don’t know, “BBW” means “big, beautiful woman,” which in theory could be a compliment, but I’m not a fucking novelty. I’m a person. I don’t have to be big or small to be beautiful. I’m beautiful because I’m a person. I digress.

The two from the opposing fans were strange to me, because we were talking about sports and discussing each other’s teams, but as soon as they saw the opportunity, they decided calling me fat was more effective than just enjoying some sports rivalry. Just so you know, it’s irrelevant. The fact that I told you the Seattle Mariners won’t make it to the post season doesn’t automatically mean you should tell me to “take the taco out of my mouth.” 1) I had garlic fries, and they were delicious, and 2) I could really use a taco… oh wait, and 3) we’re talking about sports here. Also, when I ask you if you are from Boston because you’re a Bruins fan, and I assume you’re a bandwagon fan, your next response shouldn’t be “if I wanted to see a cow, I’d go to a pasture.” Mostly because I will moo at you for the next two hours. Irrelevant.

I decided I’d had enough of the superficial, and how much random strangers focused on my physical appearance. I set out on social media and asked Twitter and Facebook the first word they thought of when they thought of me. The results were fun.

Baseball, Rangers, and Kinsler. These were the top three answers, which I found seriously great and kind of hilarious.

Passionate. this was next. And probably my favorite answer. Fiesty. I do what I do. heh. Puerile. I gotta be honest. I had to look up what this meant. It means childish or immature. This is the only negative one I received. Although, I enjoy having a child-like nature. Never lose that wonder in your life. Elsa. This. Is. Amazing. Kind.  One of the best words used to describe anyone. Sensible. I wonder how this person came to this conclusion. It's great, though. Real. Thank you. Evaluative. This person follows me because of baseball. So I enjoy this. Partner. My podcasting co-host. I love her. Friendly. Good. I aim for this. Interesting. One of the best ones. Brave. This probably isn't too accurate. But I appreciate it anyway. Opinionated. Yes. Smile. She said because she loved mine. How sweet. Open-minded. I try to be. Silly. Good, good. Adorable. My cousin said this, but it counts just the same.

That's the list.

The point here is that I focused too much on what three random people thought of my physical appearance when I asked people who knew me what they thought of me, and they gave me these words. I received one negative answer. I'm apt to believe that they were just being too nice, but regardless, they thought highly enough of me to not say bad things about me, and that means something. I am a sister, woman, daughter, writer, and most importantly, a person. I'm funny, brave, adorable, fiesty, and passionate. I am all of these things before I am "fat." And sure, I am fat. But fat is that extra stuff in my stomach or a hint of a double chin. I can handle that. That previous list of words is how I made people feel. It's mostly positive, and I don't want it to be any other way. In the end, how I make people feel is much more important than the number on the tag of my jeans.

#my name is emily #blogging #personal blog #blog #fat

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

Hello.

It's been a long time, I suppose. There is a combination of things that made me abandon this for a few weeks. The first thing is that Tumblr hated me, and I couldn't log in. The second thing is that my feelings were in a terrible twist, and as much as I wanted to share, I couldn't.

I started this blog to be painfully honest with myself and you in order to work through anxiety. However, there are two things that were itching at me that I was unable to share in order to save friendships. It wouldn't hurt anyone's feelings, but both issues would have made things awkward. I'm not sure I am ready for that. So eventually, I might be comfortable enough to be painfully honest about everything, but right now is just not the time. You may ask me about them privately, and I might tell you about them. One issue has since been mostly resolved. The other issue will probably never go away. But c'est la vie.

On that note, I would like to talk about something that is good. Good things. I spent months stressing about things I don't like or would like to get over, but on March 31st, I started stressing about something I like more than pretty much anything. Baseball is back, my friends.

In just three games, I've spent about 11 hours at the ballpark, ate way too many calories, drank 8 beers, screamed obscenities at my TV, and almost cried tears of happiness. I met a pitcher, ran into some familiar faces, witnessed a walk off in person, witnessed a walk off walk on the TV, almost had a nervous breakdown for Robbie Ross' first start, and watched him have a decent outing. For the first time in months, I felt completely okay. During those few hours, during every game, I feel calm and content. Even during opening day when pitcher after pitcher was falling apart and all the runs were being scored, I could lose myself in a game, and I was okay.

It becomes awkward for people around me during baseball season. Most of the time people tell me I'm too into it, and they can't talk to me about it. That's fine, I guess. Other people tell me they love my passion. I even had an old boss tell me I needed to have the same passion for my job that I have for baseball. I'm sorry, but I'm not passionate about selling chocolate, and you just can't make me.

Even through that awkwardness, the six months of baseball are the best of the year. It sounds cheesy and cliche and ridiculous, doesn't it? I can't tell you how true it is.

This doesn't mean I won't have bad days. It just means I'll have a better way to get over the bad days.

Love you all.

#baseball #blog #blogging #personal #my name is Emily

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

Exploration and explanation

Today is the day I look back at the not so great history of my love life, and realize why I now have little desire to have one. Don't worry. It's not a pity party, because I, in no way, feel sorry for myself. Okay, maybe in some ways sometimes. But not right now.

I've only ever been in one actual relationship. From the ages of 17 to 19, I dated a handsome, insane, narcissistic human being named Ryan. If he just read that sentence, he would've been really happy because I called him "handsome" and paid zero attention to the fact that I also called him insane and narcissistic. He was very caught up in his problems, and cared very little about anyone else's. To be fair, I guess, he did have some pretty monster problems ranging from family issues to sexuality confusion. I tried to help, but most of the time that ended in tears and rage yelling. I would have tears, he would rage yell, we'd make out feverishly after. This is not a joke. We would spend the majority of our days fighting. Fighting over why the sun was shining so brightly, which he would somehow relate to his father being a jerk and the sun was rising up against him because it was working intently with his father to ruin his life. That's not exactly true, but it's scary how close it is to being accurate. Nothing was ever, ever his fault if you ask him. Ever. One night during one of his really dumb tantrums where he locked himself in the bathroom crying and yelling, I just walked home. Luckily home was less than a mile away, but it was also midnight, and I was a teenager. I mistook the passion in the anger for real passion in a relationship, and I stayed for much, much longer than I should have. We were passionate people who fought and touched each other too much. He made me feel absolutely crazy, and then he'd have random moments of greatness, and I loved him. We broke up three times in total. He never cheated that I know of, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out that he actually did. He never physically hurt me, aside from accidentally throwing a shoe in my direction, but he had severe anger issues, and he yelled more than I liked. He also told me that I'd gained too much weight, and he wasn't attracted to me at one point. He was honest. I will give him that. Sometimes too honest. He ended up coming out and admitting that he is gay, but I don't like to mix that in, because it wasn't the reason we broke up. He struggled with his sexuality while we were dating, but that never bothered me. We tried being friends after about six or so months of being broken up, but I quickly found out he hadn't changed, and I had no desire for that arrogance in my life.

I suppose the next guy of note was Nick the FedEx guy. In reality, he was a guy I'd had a slight crush on since the 8th grade, but things all came together when I was 20 years old and worked at a women's clothing store. You might've already guessed he was the FedEx delivery man for the store, and we reconnected. I don't like to talk about this whole experience, because it is truly my weakest moment. We all have them, I suppose, so I'll discuss it a bit. I will preface with this: I can't remember what I ever saw in this guy. Maybe it was his blonde scruffy face and green eyes that completely allowed me to block out the fact that he was dumb as a box of rocks. He was also a cowboy-type. I have nothing against cowboy-types. If country music, truck driving, cigarette smoking, boot-wearing is your thing, that is totally fine. I'm just not overly attracted to that type. Did I mention that he was dumb? I could not have a decent conversation with that boy. I still managed to go out of my way to "have a cigarette" with him at least 3 times a week after work. He once told me he would go see a movie with me when I got off work at 9:30, and since I worked at the mall, he'd meet me there. What he meant was, "I'll meet you there because this girl I am talking to also gets off work at 9:30, and I've invited her." That set off the crazy in me. We hung out several nights per week, we talked on the phone almost every day. Our nights were spent texting each other until he fell asleep. He lead me on. I was furious when this other girl showed up (I immediately left), so I called him the next day to talk to him, and when he didn't answer, I called him again. And again. And texted him a few times. In my mind, I deserved a valid explanation. He gave me one. "I never told you we were anything. We aren't together. I don't know what you want from me." And now I realize that's a sad fact. I was the one that thought we had something. I was the one who made the fact that we talked every day into something bigger. He never made that commitment. At 20, I didn't see it that way. I saw it as he was scared, a jerk, a liar, a pig, etc. I won't say he isn't any of those things, because he did lead me on, but I let myself be led. He knew how I felt, but my feelings weren't a priority for him, and they didn't have to be. He made me feel crazy. He made me feel like I was making everything up because he never committed to me. In a way, he was right. And I will never let someone make me feel that way again. My feelings are a priority to me. So now I've learned that if another person doesn't commit to your feelings, he/she isn't worth it. If another person makes you feel crazy instead of talking to you about why you feel a certain way, he/she IS NOT worth it. It took me about three months after that movie night to realize that with him. It also helps if you're talking to him on the phone at midnight, and he says something so stupid you immediately hang up the phone and never call him again. He might call you three months later wanting a explanation, but you don't owe him one. You don't owe it to yourself to bring all that anger back when you're over it.

There was this boy named Ben who I worked with at a new job. I was 23, he was 23. He was average height, on the skinny side with bright brown eyes, great teeth, and a laugh that made me blush. We were work friends, and I had a little crush on him. I called him "Unmarried boy" because I worked with two attractive men, and he was the one who wasn't married. It's not rocket science. I'd also learned from growing up in a terrible society obsessed with beauty and rules that a chubby plain-looking girl like me doesn't get to be with boys who look like him. So my crush remained small until he expressed reciprocated feelings. I didn't even realize that was possible. When he asked me for my number, my exact response was, "Why?" And not in a sweet, coy "aww, whyyyy?" way either. It was abrasive and defensive. "BACK UP. YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE. WHY!?" That was the way I said it. We went through some struggles when we first started talking when he said he never told me he liked me, and when I told him that he did in fact say those words to me, he said he meant as a friend. And then when he "dropped his phone in the toilet" and couldn't let me know that he would be completely bailing on me one night. One Tuesday, he asked me to come over that weekend to watch movies and have dinner. Finally. Then I had an anxiety attack in a closet at work. It'd been four years since I had been in a relationship, and longer than that since I had been on any sort of thing that was considered a date or close to it. I was scared. So scared. My best friend told me to talk to Ben about my worries. I did. After that conversation, he never called me that weekend. After weeks of him apologizing to me to get my attention back, I caved. We started talking again, and about a week after that, I logged on Facebook to a freshly posted picture of him and another girl all cuddly. I immediately unfriended him from my life.

Then there was the married guy that got weird, and I fell too hard, too fast. And words were exchanged that shouldn't have been. And I showed up at a bar one night to find him having sex in a car with someone who wasn't his wife. I realize this doesn't make me look good, and I could try to explain it away by telling you that nothing physical ever happened, but the emotions were real, and that's really what matters. This wasn't a shining moment in my life, but I still maintain Nick the FedEx guy was a weaker moment. I was able to stand up to this guy. I never was able to do that with Nick.

That brings me to the last guy I talked to. We had a mutual friend that introduced us to each other over the internet. We both knew the friend, but we didn't know each other. We knew OF each other, but had never spoken. It took him about a month to send me a picture of his penis, which I laughed off, because whatever, it's just one picture. If you keep talking to him, ladies, it's never just one picture. My mistake. I talked to this guy for 10 months over text, and it was never serious. I have only ever seen him in person one time where approximately ten words were exchanged. He told me he wasn't looking for serious. I wasn't worried about serious. But for some reason, people think you have to marry someone if you want to hang out with them to get to know them better and see where things go. I asked him to hang out with me and promptly had another anxiety attack. I talked to him about what I was feeling, and he told me that we were just friends and that it was "just conversation." Oh sure, because guys just randomly show their dicks in conversations that mean absolutely nothing. (Oh, they do? Sometimes they really do.) He later forgot he told me all of that when he told me that his feelings might have changed, and proceeded to ask why I wasn't talking to him anymore. Then one day I told him I didn't know what he wanted from me and he #bye'd me. Recently he texted me at about one in the morning. I still don't know why because the conversation was very short. I'm just thankful that it didn't involve a picture of his manly parts. People who know this guy always tell me how great of a guy he is. They don't know we were involved, but the words "greatest guy you'll ever know" always come up. I guess they knew a different version of this guy, because I cannot speak well of him. After all the dick pics and weird conversations, the thing that bothered me the most was that he always talked to me like there was something wrong with me. I am an emotional person, and he consistently made me feel bad about that. He always used to tell me how to fix that issue. He'd feign this self-deprecation about how he kept himself motivated by never letting himself be satisfied, while tooting his own horn about how he quit drinking "cold turkey," even though he never had a problem, or how he was emotionally level-headed, and I should aspire to be the same. I would tell him being emotional is just who I am, and he told me I could change if I wanted to. WELL GUESS WHAT BUDDY? I don't want to. #bye

And here we are. I'm single, not talking to anyone, and enjoying it for the first time in way too long. The thing about relationships is that they involve too much trial and error. I've erred too many times. I'm tired of being made to feel bad about my feelings. I'm tired of feeling crazy because I actually had the audacity to be honest about my emotions. You can ask me on any day if there is a boy I'm crushing on, and I'll say yes. There is one. However, I'm in no rush to mess everything up in my life by having anxiety attacks, and wondering if he's going to judge the jiggle in my thighs if he sees me up close, or if my laugh is too loud, or if my sense of humor is terribly dry. If someone focuses on your flaws more than your strengths, or makes too many excuses, or leaves, you are better off without them. I will never feel like I cannot live or breathe without a person, because if a person puts me in a situation to feel that way in the first place, they cared less about me than I gave them credit for. I don't trust anyone to ever make me feel that secure except myself. I'm not jaded or bitter. I just know that the most important person in my life is me. So I am in no rush to make that move. I'm not blocked off from the idea, but I'm not actively pursuing it either. I do hope one day, someone will ask me to hang out, and I'll inevitably have an anxiety attack. However, instead of telling me it's nothing serious, and I'm overreacting, he'll work through it with me. He'll calm me down and prove to me that I have no reason to be scared. No one will ever make me feel crazy again. Not unless I am actually being crazy.

#blog #blogging #personal blogging #my name is emiy #relationships

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

Some things to think about when you're sitting there thinking about how you're not good enough for anything.

The only person you have to make happy on a daily basis is yourself

Being single isn't a personality flaw. It's not something that makes you weird or wrong.

The sooner you realize that societal or familial pressures of finding a partner aren't worth forcing yourself to look for one, the happier you'll be.

Sometimes you think you want to do something. Then you do it. Then you don't enjoy doing it. That's okay. Don't stick with something because you think you should.

If something stresses you out to the point of exhaustion, it's probably not worth your time.

Sometimes you won't belong. Sometimes you will. You can't be everything. But you can be great where you do belong.

Absolutely no one can tell you about your feelings. If someone makes you feel uncomfortable, they cannot make you feel bad about feeling that way. They don't know your feelings. They don't know how you work. You do.

Just because someone is better at something than you are, that doesn't mean that you aren't good at it. Miguel Cabrera has the title, but Mike Trout had better stats. It's all about perspective.

You have someone to talk to. And if you feel like you don't, take a breath and ask someone. Feeling alone doesn't make you alone.

Your life doesn't have to be in the same place as someone else your same age. Everything happens at different times for people. Not everyone is the same.

Be proud of what you have accomplished so far. Think about what you'd like to be proud of in the future. Accomplish that, too.

When someone calls you a cow, moo at them. You are not your weight or the names other people call you. You are who YOU say you are. Cows are functional, beautiful animals.

Someone will take a chance on you. Eventually. If you try hard enough. If you're kind. If you're understanding. If you're the best version of yourself. In a job, relationship, friendship, someone will say hi and accept you.

YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE MISTAKES. YOU ARE GOING TO FAIL. YOU ARE GOING TO CRY. YOU ARE GOING TO SAY SOMETHING INCREDIBLY OFFENSIVE TO SOMEONE ONE DAY. You're going to slip up. Recognizing when you do is important.

It's okay to be selfish. Love yourself.

At least you can pet your dog whenever you want to.

I hope that feeling never lasts long for you. I hope you don't dwell on it at night, and I hope you don't get scared of being a failure. Sometimes being strong is recognizing the ways you aren't. Sometimes being strong is just never apologizing for being exactly who you are. Some things in your life you can fix, some things you can try to work on, and some things are just not changing. You can fight and fight for something and still not come out on top. You can be the best version of yourself, and still fail. That doesn't make you a failure.

#blog #blogging #my name is emily #anxiety

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

Growing as a feminist.

Sometimes I really hate using the word feminist because most people don't really understand what that word means. People hear that word and think, "She hates men!" or "She's hairy!" or "She's a bitch!" What they should be thinking is, "this person thinks women are people, too!" I've already digressed here, but I've grown as a person and as a feminist.

When I was in high school, I wasn't very "girly." And I mean that in the very extremely stereotypical way women are labeled. Because, after all, I was a girl, and for me that's all it takes to be girly. I wore minimal amounts of makeup. I rarely wore a dress or skirt. Most of my friends were guys, and I preferred it to be that way. I took pride in "not being like other girls," and being "one of the guys" on a daily basis. It made me feel good to not be associated with all the other girls who were considered crazy and over dramatic.

Somewhere between high school and ripe age of 26, I realized all of that is wrong. IT'S WRONG. If you are a young girl reading this, please know that high school me was so wrong. What I've learned now is that women are people, everyone is crazy, and everyone is dramatic when you discuss things they are interested in.

The reason I thought it was cool to be considered one of the guys is that our whole lives we are taught that women are inferior. I didn't want to be a girl, because girls were seen as stupid.

But let me tell you something, once you realize that women are people, not all of them are the same, they are beautiful human beings, and that you are one of them, being considered one of the guys really isn't fun at all.

I hung out with a bunch of friends from high school about a week ago. Naturally, they were all males, and for the most part, everything was good. We had a few drinks, told stories of how our lives had panned out since high school, laughed a lot, and had a good time. But then came the stories of hooking up with girls. Obviously, as a straight female, I have no stories like that, so I just sat back and listened.

One story in particular really stood out to me, because it made me incredibly uncomfortable. This one guy, who I actually didn't know before that night, described how he was the wingman for his friend so his friend could hook up. He got drunk, and when he woke up, he was in bed with a, and I quote, "2. She had sunken in eyes. She looked like a gargoyle, and she was nearing 300 pounds. It was gross." There were laughs all across the table, and talks about how much he had to sacrifice so his buddy could hook up with this gargoyle's friend, all while awkward glances were shot in my direction as I sat quietly. I should have spoken up, and I didn't. I didn't know this guy from Adam before that night, and I didn't want to make the whole table awkward because the fact is, every guy there thought that was gross.

I regret that now. I didn't want to make them feel awkward, but they sure didn't care about me. I'm not nearing 300 pounds, but I'm not thin either. And when a guy calls a girl "fat," it really could mean anything from a size 6 up, because society is funny that way. This girl doesn't know that they are sitting around a table making fun of her, but I know it. I'm also a girl who has been called fat and ugly and any slew of names under the sun by guys. And here's what I should have said:

"I'm sorry, but what exactly did you sacrifice that night?"

His answer would have been a stuttering mess, I'm sure. "Did you have to sleep with her? Did you have to get drunk? Did she hold any sort of weapon on you? Do you even know her name? Was she a nice person? Was she even a person? Because by the way you're talking about her, I feel like she's not?"

Sitting around guys while they discuss hooking up with girls makes a girl feel like all she is to men is a target. And sometimes it makes girls want to be that target because they're taught that they need love from a guy to be whole. I used to want so badly for guys to call me pretty or hot, or want to pick me to hook up with because I used to think that's what made you worth something. THAT IS WRONG. THAT IS MESSED UP. Sitting around with guys now, and hearing the way they talk about women like they're prizes is disgusting.

I still struggle with wanting to be a certain way to get a guy's attention. I really do. I struggle with what I am supposed to be as a female from time to time. I do. But the difference between me now and me in high school is that I can recognize when I am part of the problem, not part of the solution. I don't take pride in being one of the guys anymore because I am not a guy. I am a woman. I want to share positive things about being a woman. I want to show everyone that women aren't rankings, prizes, or challenges. I want to connect with people because of who they are not what their stereotype says they're supposed to be.

#blog #blogging #i am female #hear me rant

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

Update

For an update on how my life is going, I'll give you this short post.

I submitted my first article. It was shot back at me for not being long enough, but I did some editing, and hopefully it should be up soon. Then I await the reactions. However, I am feeling better about this now. I just need a topic for my next one. And to take a few deep breaths.

I have a job interview on Friday!

And I'm no longer sick.

I'm doing okay, I'd say.

#blog #blogging #personal blogging

[youcanrantifyouwantto]

Let's take a crack at this...

Here it is. The reason this exists. I'll explain in a second. First, I want to say that I don't know how long this will stick around. I don't know how often I'll update it, and I don't have a theme. Whatever sparks the creativity in my brain will come out here, because I need this. At least I think I do.

So. Recently, the website I write for was bought out by a larger company. I went from a local, unpaid, wonderful little position to a national, possibly paid, larger scale position. I also work in retail where it is no longer holiday season, which means my hours are slim to none. I also signed up for healthcare. Don't get me wrong, I think it's a good thing, but thinking its a good thing, and having the monetary availability for it are not one and the same. This all means I must look for a new job. Well, not the website part, but the rest of it. And for the last month or so, I've been sick. Sinus infection for two weeks, bronchitis after that, then something that was either a really bad cold or the flu, but I'll never know because my healthcare didn't kick in until the 1st, and I was already on the mend by that point.

There was pressure from everywhere. There still is. Most of it is from myself. No one is telling me I have to be perfect. I was always the smart kid while growing up. I always thought I'd be in and out of college in no time because I was smart. But what they don't tell you in high school is that being smart isn't good enough. Oh, and hahahahah, college is so expensive.

But I digress. Anyway, I can probably count the times I've gotten a failing grade on an assignment on one hand. That was always unacceptable for me. Failing anything scares me. Sometimes it scares me to the point of just not wanting to do anything at all.

This is what happened. This new larger scale writing position I have scares me so much. I don't think I'm ready, and it's hard to feel like I am good enough. Especially when I have the fellow writers that I have around me. They blow me away every article. I'm constantly amazed by their deep knowledge, and I feel like I'm barely hanging on. I don't feel like I will succeed in the slightest, so I shut down.

That's not the only reason I shut down, but it was the start. I added a new bill to my stack. I added $108 a month, which is a really great price, but not something I can afford. Right after I signed up for that, I got the news that the holiday employee that we hired is sticking around, so next week I work 14 hours. How's that supposed to pay for anything? So again, I begin yet another job search, which is one of the most stressful things for me, but you do what you have to do. Money. Money sucks.

Being 26 and being crippled by anxiety is less than ideal. Most people tell you to just grow up. Get over it. Put your big girl panties on. I'm trying. I really am. My anxiety is less than most people I know, but it just wiped me out. I got overwhelmed and disappeared into a world where I didn't have to deal. I have to deal, though. So I'm pushing on.

This is it. I'll write here sometimes when I need to clear my head. I'll throw this on when I can't get anything to feel right. Tomorrow I finish my first article for the new website, and I'd be lying to you if I told you I'm happy about it. I have to try though. I have to make the commitment to myself to put it out there and see what happens. Because maybe that first hump is what I need to get going.

I also paid my first healthcare bill today. And I heard from an old coworker about a job opening. So, things are moving again. Things I avoided for two weeks cannot be avoided anymore.

You're all lovely people. Thank you.

#blog #blogging #new blog #My name is Emily