Here’s a cool trick to see if a man actually respects you: try disagreeing with him

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Here’s a cool trick to see if a man actually respects you: try disagreeing with him

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To be outside a situation so violent as this is to find it inconceivable; to be inside it is to be unable to conceive its end.
Simone Weil, “The Iliad or The Poem of Force.”
To whoever loves me next, I’m sorry if I’m afraid of you or if days of flirting turn to radio silence, without warning. I’m sorry if I make you say the words over and over and over until I believe them. (I’m sorry if I don’t believe them.) I will probably spend more time worrying about losing you than I spend trying to keep you. Trouble is, every single time I’ve ever thought something was too good to be true– I’ve been right. Understand, I will know how to be vulnerable with you, but I won’t know how not to regret it. And I have no idea how deep we’ll be into this relationship before I admit I’ve never done this before. Not really. Not in any way that counts. Before I admit that I know how to put my body inside someone else’s but not how to make it beautiful. I probably won’t be easy to love. Too many people loved me badly, I’m not sure I know how to do it right.
Ashe Vernon
I will love me next
“The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.”
Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

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You cannot shame a woman who owns everything about herself. You cannot weaponize the truth against her.
T.James, writing prompt #54: write about self-love
I can’t see more than two feet ahead of me right now, but I don’t need to be able to see to feel the pain of the people. We all need so much love right now, and, though it might seem easier to taste bitterness or swallow anger, Love is the only medicine that will cure you and me and give neither one of us any side effects but joy. So as the beat grows more frenzied, become the calm in the chaos and rework the music. Let us be done with the days of solving pain with more pain, let us begin to heal with love.
And you are an alarmist. You are saying that this must lead to this, and you can't prove it. These are the beginnings, yes; but how do you know for sure when you don't know the end, and how do you know, or even surmise, the end? On the one hand, your enemies, the law, the regime, the Party, intimidate you. On the other, your colleagues pooh-pooh you as pessimistic or even neurotic. You are left with your close friends, who are, naturally, people who have always thought as you have....
But the one great shocking occasion, when tens or hundreds or thousands will join with you, never comes. That's the difficulty. If the last and worst act of the whole regime had come immediately after the first and smallest, thousands, yes, millions would have been sufficiently shocked-if, let us say, the gassing of the Jews in '43 had come immediately after the 'German Firm' stickers on the windows of non-Jewish shops in '33. But of course this isn't the way it happens. In between come all the hundreds of little steps, some of them imperceptible, each of them preparing you not to be shocked by the next. Step C is not so much worse than Step B, and, if you did not make a stand at Step B, why should you at Step C? And so on to Step D.
And one day, too late, your principles, if you were ever sensible of them, all rush in upon you. The burden of self-deception has grown too heavy, and some minor incident, in my case my little boy, hardly more than a baby, saying 'Jewish swine,' collapses it all at once, and you see that everything, everything, has changed and changed completely under your nose. The world you live in-your nation, your people-is not the world you were born in at all. The forms are all there, all untouched, all reassuring, the houses, the shops, the jobs, the mealtimes, the visits, the concerts, the cinema, the holidays. But the spirit, which you never noticed because you made the lifelong mistake of identifying it with the forms, is changed. Now you live in a world of hate and fear, and the people who hate and fear do not even know it themselves; when everyone is transformed, no one is transformed. Now you live in a system which rules without responsibility even to God. The system itself could not have intended this in the beginning, but in order to sustain itself it was compelled to go all the way."
Milton Mayer, They Thought They Were Free: The Germans 1933-1945
And there came a time when the elders gathered and sought to shackle the growing influence of the woman in the realms. So they wrote stories and made them laws and told the men to spread their seed for the good of the kingdom of god and turned blind eyes when resistance was met with force but ground up bones with rock when flesh met flesh outside the sacred margins. They made our house a temple of the god of man, a god of violence, of anger, of jealousy. But what of the goddess? What of her story? We’ve been trying to tell it our whole lives and now you will hear her through us.
All I ever wanted was for one person to understand me. The older I get, the more content I am to revel in my unique oddities on my own, in the divine presence of my own company. I and I alone only know what pits of fire were championed so that I may have some little ground on which to stand. There is no need to explain away the power. I’ll be my own best friend.

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I am learning how to forgive myself for missing all the signs, and I am so thankful you tried to show me the way. You lit the path so clearly, yet I had to turn my head. I wasn’t ready. I’d say you have no idea how hard he made it to see, but, I think, perhaps you are the only one who could know. I sit in secret forlorn longing, that I may never be able to tell you all these things that keep me up at night – and it is a mighty weight indeed, but it the weight I chose to wear when I dared believe those sweet sounding lies over the cacophonous clang so often uttered by those who tell the truth. I wish I had been the woman you thought I was back then when you trusted me with the shadows of the world. My unfortunate truth is too much to tell you now, but I hope one day you’ll come to me again, and let me show you all the ways in which I have softened and how I have been silently fighting for you all these years. I hope one day you’ll see I’ve just been trying to do my best, and I’ve failed so many times, but I’m still trying. I was young, and fooled, and a fool, and those are the tears that make my tea all the more sour in the morning, but, for you, I wish no more mourning, only sunrises and fireflies at midnight. You are a maker of magic and there is no containing all of the wonder spilling forth from your soul. I hope one day I can tell you of the love I have kept for you, of all the reasons why, but, until you call me back, I’ll keep it here.
You are the most beautiful person I have never met, and even this statement will surely never do your soul artistic justice. If you think this is about you, it is.
She said trauma is stored in our bodies, and I contemplated this fact since she first told me. How do I heal a body so permanently trapped beneath the weight of another? I started by lighting a candle. One candle turned to two, then, like magic, each room began filling with pillared sparks. I walk myself through the rooms every night. I light my candles, and I sing my body sweet songs that sound like Nina, like Hope. This is how I begin to teach my body, through rituals of illumination.
Why didn’t I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
In my youth, I was a fool who thought herself wise. Even yesterday I may not like who I was, but the goal is to always evolve. Seeking growth, I turn towards the sunlight, away from the shadows of yesterday, sinking the roots of past selves further down, allowing a newer bloom to rise.

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Woman, they will tell you only lies:
You are too much. You are not enough.
They only want you to waiver in false assumptions, never fully standing in your true inherent power.
Woman, they will tell you, you are nothing, but, my love, the real Secret is You are Everything.
People like pain. People like when you are in pain. Why can we not celebrate the little happinessses offered to us the same as we worship the pain? We dedicate our art to trauma but stay silent when smiles play with our lips. The wind laughs through me. There is a much greater natural joy in every instant. Let me fill my notebooks then with this sweeter song of how I fell down the mountain and the grasses cradled me all the way home.