• Professional Lovergirl, Amateur Human

    I was hardly 8 when my mom first began labelling me as “Emotional.”

    So, I was 8 years old when I started to become hyper aware of my emotions – intellectualizing them, considering my thought process behind said intellectualization.
    I had to know my feelings were valid in order to express them, because she had to listen to me if my feelings were valid!

    lol.

    Studies show that if a child’s emotions are consistently invalidated, they learn to become invisible – They keep themselves small, burying their needs and passions to avoid further invalidation.

    There’s an obscene amount of us, our parents included, who suffered emotional neglect but didn’t have the language for it.
    Emotional neglect? Don’t be a little bitch. You’re fine.

    From the outside, I’ve had a relatively privileged life.
    My parents had good jobs, a nice house. I always had the newest trendiest everything and went on annual holidays.
    A “happy” looking nuclear family – because the kids had learned to suck it up.
    All in the name of FAMILY.

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  • HERE WE GO, BABY.

    IMAGINE BEING WELL INTO YOUR THIRD DECADE AND ONLY JUST NOW SEEING YOURSELF FOR THE GIRL YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN??

    The girl I’ve spent my life doubting because APPARENTLY I’VE SECRETLY HATED MYSELF?

    Which ew, never.
    I don’t hate anyone – as if I’d waste the energy on myself.

    But the opposite of love isn’t hate. 
    It’s indifference. 

    I NEVER HATED MYSELF. 
    I JUST DIDN’T CONSIDER MYSELF. 
    WHICH IS BASICALLY INDIFFERENCE.

    WHICH IN LAYMAN TERMS MEANS THAT, YES.
    I HATED MYSELF. 

    Aww! Comment c’est possible???
    I LOVE to love.
    I’m SO good at it. 

    I learned it’s ‘cause I grew up never feeling loved so I crave connection SO DEEPLY that I give everything I have to everyone around me in hopes of finding said connection – which like. Neat, ok! 

    But I’m her now, so?? Just let me love??

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  • Queen of new beginnings

    My life imploded almost 6 years ago.

    The string of borderline irrational and irresponsible decisions that followed led me to the best version of me yet, though.
    A version I didn’t know could exist.

    It’s ironic, because at the start of Covid, early 2020, I told my friends I was the happiest girl in the world.
    I have everything I need!
    My cozy condo.
    My baby and his daddy.
    A long-term role as an Assistant Controller I could coast into retirement with.
    I was beyond comfortable.

    Comfort can be dangerous, though. 

    By summer 2020, the fires had started.
    It was as though the universe heard me and said nah girl, this ain’t it.

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