“People are dying from over thinking. They fill their brains with harsh thoughts and it brings the body down too. Chances are no one thinks as bad about you than you.”
— Unknown (via hinekosama)
— Unknown (via hinekosama)
— Vandana Shiva, “Women: The Custodians” (2004)
— Imam Ali (a.s.)
Men who want to flirt with women have to realize: Women live in a state of continual vigilance about sexual safety. It’s like having a mild case of hay fever that never goes away. It’s not debilitating. You’re not weak. You’re not afraid. You just suck it up and get on with your life. It’s nothing that’s going to stop you from making discoveries, or climbing mountains, or falling in love. Sometimes you can almost forget about it. It doesn’t mean it’s not there, subtly sucking your energy. You learn to avoid situations that make it worse and seek out conditions that make it better.
If a female stranger is wary around you, it is not because she suspects you are a rapist, or that all men are rapists. It’s because a general level of circumspection is what vigilance requires. Don’t take it personally.
If this frustrates you, try to remember that women are blamed for lapsed vigilance. If a woman does get raped, everyone rushes to see where she let her guard down. Was she drinking? Was she alone? Was she wearing a short skirt? Did she go to a strange man’s room for coffee at 4am?
A woman must be seen to be vigilant as well as be vigilant. If she is deemed insufficiently vigilant, she will be at least partly blamed for any sexual violence that befalls her. If she’s regarded as downright reckless, that “evidence” can be used to completely exonerate her rapist. If it comes down to a he said/she said dispute over whether sex was consensual, as so many rape cases do, the dispute becomes a referendum on whether the woman seems like the sort of reckless person who would have sex with a stranger.
If a woman does go back to a strange man’s hotel room at 4am, even if she only wants a coffee and conversation, she’s more or less given him the power to rape her. No jury is going to believe she went up there for anything but sex. So, don’t be surprised if a stranger reacts badly to that suggestion.”
— Steph Lawler - Identity: Sociological Perspectives (via sociolab)
Of course my brain is like - wait, how was being a research assistant helpful? How did that prepare me for grad school again?? Blanking.
— Brené Brown (via aufwaerts)
— Soren Kierkegaard, The Sickness unto Death (via lecollecteur)
— Unknown (via glitterskank)
Happy birthday, Hillary! (born October 26th 1947)
It has been a shitty week, and I’m fucking tired.
I’m tired from being sick. Like, more painfully sick than I usually am. Tired from getting less sleep than I usually can scrape together.
I’m tired from feeling things over Dustin. Tired from having these imaginary conversations in my head where I tell him its not cool to basically ignore me for two weeks. You’re fucking busy? Yeah, me too, I’m busy too, but I can still find the time to answer text messages. Tired from having debates in my head over whether it really is a problem.
I’m tired from studying and coming to terms with the fact I didn’t study early enough, hard enough, or well enough to get even a bad grade. I would’ve settled for ‘not what I was hoping for’. I’m tired from the weight of the expectations I put on myself and the distorted thoughts which tell me I will never get into a good grad school program.
I have to say it felt good to cry about it, and then run around and kick things for an hour (soccer), and now I’m home but I’m still exhausted and in pain. And while I’m trying to make contingency plans in my head, can I just be sad about things for one evening? Tomorrow I will put on my adult pants and tell myself not to be a self-fulfilling prophecy of predicted failure. But tonight I am sad and I am eating twinkies I bought from the gas station.