being so fr when I say that transmisogyny has put feminism back like 50 years
what i thought we had distanced ourselves from was the reduction of women to vaginas and wombs and the ability to bear children. i thought we had progressed past ‘dresses are for women and pants are for men.’ i thought we progressed past the idea that someone is less of a woman if she does not adhere strictly to beauty standards. i thought we progressed past the idea that naturally being comfortable adhering to highly feminine standards is vulgar. but i (sarcastically) guess no one could have predicted that trans-exclusive feminism would be the downfall of all the progress we’ve made
babygirl I’m bothered by noises you wouldn’t even hear
wrote this about sensory issues but people relating because of hallucinations or tinnitus or anything else I am shaking your hand in solidarity if you are comfortable with that
fucking hate it when the stuff everybody says “actually works” does actually work.
hate exercising and realizing i’ve let go of a lot of anxiety and anger because i’ve overturned my fight-or-flight response.
hate eating right and eating enough and eating 3 times a day and realizing i’m less anxious and i have more energy
hate journaling in my stupid notebook with my stupid bic ballpoint and realizing that i’ve actually started healing about something once i’m able to externalize it
hate forgiving myself hate complimenting myself more often hate treating myself with kindness hate taking a gratitude inventory hate having patience hate talking to myself gently
hate turning my little face up to the sun and taking deep breaths and looking at nature and grounding myself and realizing that i feel less burdened and more hopeful, more actually-here, that i am able to see the good sides of myself more clearly, that i am able to see not only how far i have to grow - but also how much growth i have already done & how much of my life i truly fill with light and laughter and love
horrible horrible horrible. hate it but i’m gonna do it tho
We had a lot of rain this winter, more than what we’re used to. It brought water back to our waterfalls and flowers back to our hills. Southern California is covered in wildflowers. (taniainnature)
I am too alone in the world, and not alone enough to make every minute holy. I am too tiny in this world, and not tiny enough just to lie before you like a thing, shrewd and secretive. I want my own will, and I want simply to be with my will, as it goes toward action, and in the silent, sometimes hardly moving times when something is coming near, I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone. I want to be a mirror for your whole body, and I never want to be blind, or to be too old to hold up your heavy and swaying picture. I want to unfold. I don’t want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie. And I want my grasp of things true before you. I want to describe myself like a painting that I looked at closely for a long time, like a saying that I finally understood, like the pitcher I use every day, like the face of my mother, like a ship that took me safely through the wildest storm of all.
Ich bin auf der Welt zu allein und doch nicht allein genug, um jede Studen zu weihen. Ich bin auf der Welt zu gering und doch nicht klein genug, um vor dir zu sein wie ein Ding, dunkel und klug. Ich will meinen Willen und will meinen Willen begleiten die Wege zur Tat; und will in stillen, irgendwie zörgernden Zeiten, wenn etwas naht, unter den Wissenden sein oder allein. Ich will dich immer spiegeln in ganzer Gestalt, und will niemals blind sein oder zu alt, um dein schweres schwankendes Bild zu halten. Ich will mich entfalten. Nirgends will ich gebogen bleiben, denn dort bin ich gelogen, wo ich gebogen bin. Und ich will meinen Sinn wahr vor dir. Ich will mich beschreiben wie ein Bild, das ich sah, lange und nah, wie ein Wort, das ich begriff, wie meinen täglichen Krug, wie meiner Mutter Gesicht, wie ein Schiff, das mich trug durch den tödlichsten Sturm.
Ranier Maria Rilke in Book of Hours, 1905 trans. Robert Bly
My ancestors, watching me dump an entire stick of cinnamon, two cloves, an allspice berry, and a generous grating of nutmeg into my tea, sweetened with white sugar and loaded with cream, while I sit in my clean warm house surrounded by books, 25+ outfits for different occasions, and 6 pairs of shoes, in a building heated so well I have the windows open in mid-autumn:
Our daughter prospers. We are proud of her. She has never labored in a field but knows riches we could not have imagined.
I like this so much better than the idea that our ancestors would be embarrassed or ashamed of us for being “soft” or some crap like that.
My ancestors, watching me stuff my face with fried chicken while studying: She eats like an imperial concubine and can afford to study like am imperial scholar. WE MADE IT
She eats like an imperial concubine and can afford to study like am imperial scholar
My ancestors watching me use my stand mixer while living in a small apartment and attending university: Thou hast kneadeth bread in FOUR hail marys??? FOUR??? And thou ist poor as a churchmouse, yet liveth in a fine cottage with four pounds butter and fresh berries in thy larder!! And two featherbeds! And thou attendeth the King’s college, as a lord!!
My ancestors being like:
Look at this fine young lady! She can paint she can sew and embrody, she sings and read
And without a wealthy father to pay for that, plus she is florid in the body! She doesn’t know hunger!
We did it!
Me: /wearily studying/
My Ancestors: TRULY SH— what? They? A little unorthodox, but reasonable I suppose. TRULY THEY PROSPER, FOR THEY LIVE IN A DWELLING WITH MANY ROOMS AND ONLY THEIR SPOUSE TO SHARE IT WITH! THEY HAVE DOGS WHO DO NOT PERFORM A FUNCTION! THEY HAVE MANY BOOKS AND DO NOT HAVE TO SPIN THEIR OWN YARN! THEY BATHE AT A WHIM WITH GENTLE SOAP FREE OF LYE! OUR DESCENDANT BRINGS HONOR AND PRIDE TO OUR LINEAGE!
Me: /yawns and sips my coffee/
My Ancestors: /cheer wildly/
Me: *hunched over at my desk nursing a headache.*
My Ancestors: “Truly, we prosper; see here, our infirm descendant need not even work on her poor days, but has the luxury to rest as she sees need! A doctor attends to her illnesses; her clothes are warm and free of pests; she cares for exotic and dangerous animals within her own home! We have found the height of luxury!”
Me: *treats myself to a pineapple and a bunch of bananas*
My Georgian ancestors: ZOOTH SHE HAS BOUGHT A PINEAPPLE! NOT MERELY BORROWED ONE! TRULY SHE HAS ACHIEVED FAR MORE THAN WE COULD KNOW!
me: [puts on warm socks and a blanket, is now warm regardless of the weather outside]
My ancestors: Our descendant, the heir to all our hopes and fears for a far-off future… She can buy fine clothes woven and knit by automatons, with but a fraction of a day’s earnings… and she does… she has so much free time to do as she pleases… and she uses some of that time to do what we did.
One woman from rural Poland, who died from smallpox in 1717 CE, a grandmother at 35: I knit roses and peonies into my and my children’s gloves… it wasn’t much extra work to dye the red, once I had already cleaned the wool and spun the yarn, and to knit in the designs… and I wasn’t a gifted knitter but I was a good knitter, and I thought, well, it might not make a difference to how warm the glove is, but it made the children happy and it made me happy. I liked to make things beautiful when I could.
Another woman, a peasant from what’s now France, who died from getting kicked by a mammoth in 8995 BCE:[Patting her on the back] I made my family’s clothes too. Every day my sister and I wove and wove and tended our children. We went out of our way to make the cloth lovely. Not a trace of it remains anywhere on earth now… But it mattered to us. And she might not know our names, or know it was us, but evidently, it matters to her too. She has so much beauty available to her, in every direction, and she wants to make it where we once made it.
[everyone sobbing and high-fiving each other.]
A man from Britain, 1104 CE, sitting at the trans-temporal telescope, reporting on my doings: She’s stopped knitting and now she’s playing minecraft.
The other ancestors: Ah, yes, the dream of building. We know this one well. What vision doth she design now?
Telescope man: Looks like… Some kind of floating temple?
reading a poem a recipe author wrote about her mother who passed and tearing up………. thank you bread recipe for the small dose of heart and tenderness 🥺💖
