…if the inspiration to write never hits?
…the first person to break your heart.
Know the difference between what’s right and what’s easy, and choose to do what’s right anyway.
Do the thing that scares you. Stop thinking, just do it.
Have the guts to tell someone the truth when something’s bothering you.
Don’t fear your emotions. Let them in instead of pushing them a way.
Put other’s needs before your own when you can.
Take care of yourself, even when that’s a hard choice to make.
Let it go.
Try your best, even when you honestly don’t know if you’ll succeed. Try anyway. Who knows, you might do something fantastic.
Decide to stop running, and face your fears head-on.
Take a stand on something that means a lot to you. Don’t be afraid to have an opinion.
Don’t discount your successes. Yes, you did that thing. And it was awesome. Be proud.
Stop apologizing for everything.
Fight for what you deserve.
Tell someone you love them. Stop being afraid of the word.
In fact stop being afraid of words in general. Especially the ones people use to label you.
Stop feeling like everyone is watching you and waiting for you to mess up. You’re human. and they don’t actually care.
Let the anxiety in instead of pushing it away.
Take time for yourself. You deserve it.
And always remember there’s someone out there who’s proud of you, they just might never find the words to say it. You mean the world to someone. So relax and be yourself. You’re enough.
I wish I could say that I’m a fighter. You know, the kind of person who reacts to problems by rolling up their sleeves and finding a solution. The kind of person you want looking out for you because you know they will never give in to the pressures of the world. The kind of person you’d be proud to call your friend because they show strength even in the hardest times, resilience even when everything is going wrong, and are still somehow in one piece even when their world is falling apart.
Unfortunately, I’m the exact opposite. When the pressure starts to build, or even when I suspect the pressure will at some point build, I run. I run fast, I run far, and I don’t question it until I’m far enough away to wonder if maybe that wasn’t the best way to deal with things. When my parents tried to control my future, I moved to a different province. When things aren’t perfect in my relationships, I tend to just let them go and move on. When things aren’t working out the way I expected, I give up and look for a better use of my energy. Why would I keep trying if it only leads to failure?
One day something is going to happen that I can’t run away from. It’s going to be a rough day when my maturity isn’t enough, and I go back to being a scared child who can’t get away fast enough to avoid what’s going to come. And as I let it take over me, I wonder if I’m going to turn weak and give in, or summon the courage to fight back.
I was 10 years old when I first decided I was too fat.
I was 12 when I decided I needed to lose weight or else no boy would ever like me.
I was 13 when my friend suggested we do workouts together when we hang out. That was also when I started restricting my food intake in an attempt to shrink my butt.
I was 15 when my best friend made a comment behind my back that compared me to a pig. I never forgave her. She never found out that I knew.
I was 17 when I started exercising vigorously every day. I still wasn’t happy, hated my body, and still didn’t have a boyfriend, which at the time seemed like the only goal worth achieving.
I was 18 when I kissed a boy for the first time. I was so happy to finally be the subject of male attention that I did things I wasn’t comfortable with. He turned out to be an asshole.
I was 19 when I fell in love for the first time. I lost my virginity to him. After he finished he rolled off of me and told me he loved me. My first thought when he said it was “no you don’t”.
I was 21 when I started pole dancing. It sounds counter-intuitive, but pole has given me a sense of freedom I was never able to find. I am strong. I am sexy. I can lift my whole body off of the ground and do impressive spins while I’m up there. I can climb. I can dangle upside down by just my ankles.
I’m just a girl who grew up hating herself, and every day has to remind herself to focus on the good things instead of the bad. I don’t diet anymore, I just eat right. I don’t punish myself for making mistakes or not achieving the ridiculous goals I set for myself.
I’m happy in my own skin in ways I’ve never been before. And it didn’t take weight loss or a thigh gap or a team of Photoshop experts to get me here.
I just wish girls didn’t have to go through those years of self-hatred like I did to make it to a place of self-love.
As you may have found out by now, actor Phillip Seymour Hoffman died yesterday. His death has been regarded as tragic, as he was a very talented actor. He left behind his partner and three children.
I’ve got a bit of a newsflash for everyone: Phillip Seymour Hoffman was a fat white guy, and a heroin addict.
I know this sounds harsh, but it’s true. I’m sad that he won’t be around to finish filming the Hunger Games movies, which I am hooked on. Still, I believe that there’s something wrong with our society and how we treat celebrities. We treat them like when they die, their lives somehow meant more for society than that of a police officer, or nurse, or schoolteacher. Why does acting turn you into some sort of god to be stalked and speculated and praised, then mourned when you die as if we all knew you personally? Why are the children of a dead singer more of a tragedy than the children of people who died in traffic accidents or from cancer? We act like their lives are our personal business. We follow them around and comment on their appearances, constantly speculating on the quality of their lives and trying to predict the next big scandal. We praise them like their gifts are more important than scientists and technology buffs and single moms. Like their lives mean more.
I, for one, think we need to re-evaluate our value system.