They don't know sh*t

reblog if ur mom is smart and beautiful

I scrolled passed then I felt guilty

We do this more than we think. Sometimes we reject those who have helped us the most. Other times, we help those who allow their egos to hide their humilities.

someONE FUCKING MAKE THAT TEDDY BEAR HAPPY BEFORE I CHOKE BECAUSE I HAVE TEARS BRIMMING MY EYES HELP ME

My tears

I’ve reblogged this already but I love it.

The first time I blogged this he was broken and alone. Now he has love :’)

So relatable 😩😩

Me in this teddy bear have something in common I’m waiting

reblog if ur mom is smart and beautiful

I scrolled passed then I felt guilty

Posting on Tumblr is like talking to your cat. You don’t know if they are listening, and you don’t know if they care, but for some reason, it still helps.

When people tell stories about how their parents beat them, it’s always interesting to see their face change because they expected me to say “me too lol” but I instead say “I’m really sorry. You didn’t deserve that” Last time a co worker who also has West Indian parents was telling me in a joking way how he remembers being beaten with a belt because lied about his report card. As he was laughing it off and saying he deserved it, I just said “wow that’s awful hun. You didn’t deserve that.” And his whole face changed. Like it hadn’t occurred to him that it’s messed up that a part of remembering his childhood is remembering how badly it hurt to be beaten so badly at such a young age. Another time I had a friend, non West Indian parents, who talked about how she made a mess on a dress that her parents got her. It was really expensive apparently and she spilled red juice on it. She talked about how she was ordered to take the dress of and was beaten with a belt too without any clothes on. And she was laughing and said “I was a bad ass kid lol” and I said “no hun you were just a kid”. And she looked at me and immediately stopped laughing and just sat there like “yea…I was just a kid. I don’t know why they did that to me” My mom was raised in a household where she was beaten so badly….I just don’t understand how she is so loving now growing up in a home where she got so little love. They called it discipline, but once she became a social worker she began to see that it was abuse. That she grew up terrified of her parents, although they thought it was respect that my mom felt. It was fear. We have to get comfortable challenging what is often seen as cultural norms. We have to be a generation of people who are not ashamed to say “I would never beat my child”.

anyone else fucking LOVE BEING IN BED???

bitch im in bed right now!! how did you know!!