Tag Archives: self-esteem

Edumacation, Geek, The Zebra

Where I say the word “literary” too many times in one paragraph.

Happy Thing: Reading Harry Potter to Margie

I sometimes get frustrated with my daughter when I recommend a book to her knowing she’ll like it, but she brushes me off or otherwise ignores the suggestion. Have I mentioned my daughter is an ornery Taurus?

But then, if I’m being honest, I have to admit she gets this trait from me (and I’m not even a Taurus). It took me at least 25 years to finally read Anne of Green Gables even though I knew I’d love it. Instead I reread The Ghost at Dawn’s House 647 times.

The interesting thing about the internet is the impressive nerd community. We are in our element here. We can connect with other nerds and correct the grammar of non-nerds while bonding over our intense and sometimes life-destroying love of fictional characters. This is accomplished via various means such as Tumblr, or image posts on Facebook, or Tumblr posts made into image posts and then posted on Facebook. It was through these that I gradually became aware of the fact that normal people, apparently, don’t get overly attached to fictional characters. I assume this must be true based on these posts themselves loudly proclaiming they’re sorry-not-sorry about loving fictional characters. In my personal life most of the people I know have just been like, “Oh you have a crush on Ford Prefect? What? That’s normal.” But I assume that if an entire community online has to support each other in this sense, then we must be alone in this trait.

And so I started examining why I sometimes avoid reading new books and it finally hit me: I have enough fictional friends already. My heart can’t always take the vulnerability of meeting new people who might get hurt and will, at the very least, definitely leave me by the end of the book. And I know I can always reread the book, but that is a different experience which is wonderful in its own way. In any case, that is sort of the point, isn’t it? That I keep rereading the old ones rather than new ones. This isn’t to say I’ve been reading the same six books my whole life – I do read new ones, quite often even. This is just the reason that I find myself magnetically repelled from books I know I’ll love.

When I was in high school (during the 90’s when everyone was a shitty beat poet in Doc Martens and thrift store flannels) my favorite English teacher sort of crushed my soul a little by declaring that you can tell a literary person because they are always in the middle of a bunch of books at once. But I never was. I’m extremely monogamous with books. I think it’s due to my attention issues. And maybe loyalty. I can’t cheat on a book, you know. So I assumed I must not be literary and my occasional hesitancy to avoid good literature reinforced that opinion. Now that I’m an adult I know better (although my inner self needs constant reminders). Literary people can read however the fuck many books they want at once. And the reason I avoid new books sometimes is, I think, an incredibly literary reason. After all, who else by shitty beat poets in Doc Martens and thrift store flannels becomes so attached to fictional characters that they literally cry at the words “the end”?

I mean. Except I don’t write shitty poetry anymore. I mean my inner 90’s grunge hipster teen. And yours, too. You know you have one.

This is a Woman

Size is Irrelevant. Love is Real.

I read a comment tonight where a woman lamented the fact that she will never be skinny. And I wanted to tell her, “So let that desire go. If you know right now with 100% positivity that you will never be skinny, let that desire just go all the way. Now that it’s gone you can stop and think about what you want most from your life. A satisfying career? To raise children? To focus on your personal growth? To travel the world? At the end of your life, where do you want to have been?”

A year or so ago I was having a conversation with a friend who was frustrated with her weight. I was reminding her that size is the least important measure of actual health but she kept throwing excuses my way, trying to dodge my actual logic with things like, “But this isn’t the size I know I can be.” And I wanted to say, “OK. But what if your body won’t be that size ever again? What if something is different now and that body size is gone? Then what?”

I see this so often in women. Yes, I just want to be healthy, but I know I need to be smaller. Yes, I just want to be healthy but I’ll feel better at a different size.

And you know? They might.

But what if they never do? What if, at the end of their life, they’ve chased this ideal skinny body, this particular smaller size, always unsatisfied, always trying. And what if they just never get there?

Because that size – even if it IS attainable – is unattainable. That size? It’s a metaphor. It’s irrelevant. It’s imaginary. It’s bullshit.

Tying your life, your health, your mental health to a number (be it dress size, weight, or just the idea of “skinny”) is such a waste.

And to clarify, because I know there will be people out there accusing me of saying being unhealthy is OK: BEING HEALTHY IS THE GOAL HERE, OK?

Be healthy. Eat whole foods. Exercise. Feed your psyche and nourish her. Do your fucking kegels, apparently. But don’t do any of it to get to a number of some sort. Do it because nourishing your body makes you feel good. Because exercising makes you feel strong. Fuck whatever size you think you need to be and just be you. Because living today and loving you today is better than waiting for even a day to love you.

Lady Links, This is a Woman


Happy Thing: Leaves Crunching
Why a picture of my feet and leaves? WHY NOT?

I commit to nothing at this time in my life because right now things are kind of hard. Actually. I guess it’s more correct to say that I commit to raising my kids and getting good grades and maybe washing some dishes once in awhile. So I don’t want to commit yet to being back here just yet, but my plan is to be back here.


~TIAW on Tumblr (which I will get back to next week! I hope!) and Pinterest.
~Join us in Finding some Happy on Instagram this year.

~New York City is working on a project that promises not to fat-shame girls, but to teach them that they are beautiful just as they are.
~This one is powerful. Trigger warning for rape. It features lyrics to “Blurred Lines” next to men and women holding signs with things their rapists said to them. Not surprisingly, the signs match up with the lyrics. Ugh.
~Need a boost after that one? Here you go: 30 Days of Redefining Beauty.
~I don’t know, but CAN I MARRY THIS GUY RIGHT NOW? He not only went as “Slave Leo” to the conventions this year (and he made the entire costume himself! from leather and metal!) but he has really well-considered and humblr reasons for doing so.