Category Archives: This is a Woman

Lady Links, This is a Woman

Lady Links 11.15

(Reusing an old image here because I'm out of time. Also because CAKE.)

(Reusing an old image here because I’m out of time. Also because CAKE.)

~TIAW on Tumblr and Pinterest.
~And you know? You may want to check out my personal Tumblr blog, too, today. There’s some interesting stuff that may not make it over to TIAW for one reason or another. Also I am adorable and you need more of me in your life.
~Sometimes I think Rainbow lives in my brain.
~I hate stretching. I’ve NEVER been flexible. In second grade I got in trouble for not sitting cross-legged because it was really uncomfortable for me. I must have come out of the womb and refused to ever do yoga again or something. And yet, I’ve been feeling very stiff lately. Probably because I am about to turn 80. So I happened across this and I think I’m going to start some stretching and see if I can’t start feeling a little more 35 years old.
~What no one tells you about losing lots of weight. Your skin doesn’t necessarily snap back. But no matter what? We are all beautiful.

Lady Links, This is a Woman

Lady Links! 11.8!

Thank you for being patient with me both in my extreme emoness and in the fact that I, like, totally forgot to throw an entry up last week. In my defense I wound up in urgent care that day with four prescriptions, including one for an inhaler because I have this STUPID COUGH.

Over all I am feeling much more emotionally stable, at least for the moment, but my goodness Life is just relentless, isn’t it? Between this cough and my ladybits issues (someday I will find time to write an update) I feel like I’m at least 100. I bought a new exercise bike as part of my Get!Happy! plan (phase two is to afford a dishwasher somehow) and I haven’t even had the lung capacity to use it yet. I am beyond ready to get back to a healthier place in my life, but my body isn’t quite there, yet. So frustrating.

Why, yes, I do believe I am going to be one of those old ladies who complains about every single body ache. In fact, I believe I already am.

So thank you for the kind words and support two weeks ago. You have no idea how much it helped me.

Onto the Lady Links! Have a motivational poster I designed myself!

something motivational

~TIAW on Pinterest and Tumblr.

~This is a really important talk on TED. It’s like 15 minutes long, but seriously. So. Worth it. It questions whether overweight is the cause of diabetes as current medical theory holds, or whether we might be finding out that it’s actually a normal physiological reaction to insulin-resistance. In other words, maybe fat people aren’t just lazy after all. Maybe their bodies are actually incredibly wise and doing something that needs to be done to protect them from this condition they have. Who would have thought? Oh right. Probably you. But the talk is also incredibly moving and the doctor giving it admits his previous errors in assuming certain things. And I’m a sucker for people being, like, mature n shit.
~”You know what’s not good for our mental health? Shame and hatred. So if you’re really worried about someone’s health, harassing them about their weight is not helping. Quite the opposite.” <-- From this post.
~Plus-sized models that are actually plus-sized. Lovely!
~Here’s another TED talk – this one came from my sexuality class last week. It’s given by a model who acknowledges the superficial side of the industry and who speaks frankly about her experiences and privilege.
~”The goal of this song is to reduce shame and embarrassment that women feel regarding their time of the month.” Also this song? Quite cute.

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.

Depression/Anxiety, Lady Links, This is a Woman

Lady Links 10.25

I’m sorry. I can’t win at life. I can’t even lose at life. I can only just barely life. I was to depressed last week to post Lady Links and pretty much too depressed today, too. But seeing as how my other option is studying, have some links.

I am the worst right now. I’m so sorry.

~TIAW on Tumblr and Pinterest.
~Maria Kang is the woman who posted a picture of herself with her three kids and her socially-accepted-idea-of-perfect body with the caption “What’s Your Excuse?” Now here’s the thing. GOOD FOR YOU, MARIA. Living a healthy life that makes you feel good. Awesome! I love it! However. By representing her happy life with pictures of her body she is, perhaps inadvertently, equating her body shape and size with happiness and insinuating that this is what we all strive for or should be striving for. By asking her readers what their excuse is, she is implying not only that we are making poor choices that are inferior to her choices, but that we all have the possibility of looking the way she does if we weren’t so lazy. Which is, of course, not true. But – and this is really the crux of everything related to fat-shaming – IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT EXCUSES THERE ARE. IT DOESN’T EVEN MATTER IF THERE ARE EXCUSES. It is none of anyone’s business what anyone else looks like. NONE. No. It’s not. Nope. Still not. Here’s a post I shared earlier this week with SOAM’s facebook page (which got me accused of fit-shaming and OH MY LORDY REALLY? If you think I am fit-shaming, you need to reread this until you, like, actually understand what I’m saying here). ANYWAY. This is the best response I’ve seen to Maria’s statement. Read it. Let it open your mind.
~I love this woman.
~On little girls and body image.
~This is the worst thing ever. Go find some bunnies to look at to cleanse your brain before you read it.

Maybe it’s all the dairy I’ve had lately, but I’m feeling like I’m not making much of a difference in the world here with these links. I don’t know. Let me know if there’s a point to me continuing or maybe I’ll focus on other things.

/emo (only, if I’m being honest, it’s probably not actually the end. I’m so sorry.)

Let's talk about prolapse. FOR FEMINISM!, This is a Woman

My Pelvic Floor’s Personal Soap Opera (In other words, avoid this if you don’t want to know about my ladybits.)

Awhile back I wrote this list.

Since then:
~I’ve had two cats sneezing blood all over the house (oh that kitty cold the kitten brought with her from the shelter? was calicivirus. Because of course.)
~I’ve had an injured wrist which hurt so badly I could not wash my hair (or anything else).
~I’ve been dealing with an unpleasant situation at my son’s school that wasn’t resolved the way I’d have hoped and resulted in his withdrawal of all but one short class.
~The cats both STILL have fleas. You know worms are coming next. FUCK YOU, FLEAS.
~And now my uterus is definitely falling out. Or maybe just my vagina. Hell if I know.

I was feeling so renewed and hopeful after I decided to start a new round of Happy Things, but now I’m super low again. Because of course that’s why.

I’m at the point where I am fairly certain life will never just be normal again. I’m not asking for it to be easy, even. Just possible.

But here’s the actual point of this entry: sometimes vaginas fall out.

My first thought when I realized what was happening was pretty extreme embarrassment. I didn’t want anyone to know ever. I felt almost like I was bad at being female. And I was glad I didn’t have a boyfriend right now. And then I realized how fucked up those thoughts and feelings were and that’s when I resolved to talk about it loudly and often.

You’re welcome.

Originally I was waiting to get it confirmed by a doctor (because it would be a little embarrassing to cry rogue vagina over nothing) but then I canceled the appointment I had scheduled last week. Partly for lack of a babysitter, partly for lack of money just at this moment (I should be covered by the Affordable Care Act in January to which I give a very legitimate THANK YOU, OBAMA!). And canceling that appointment is a decision that I made rationally and based on facts and that I completely regret today. Because I don’t know how long I will wait for another appointment at this point.

At this particular moment I am merely in mild discomfort unless you count my emotions which are hovering the edge of full blown breakdown at the moment. Not because of the prognosis – because I know I’ll live a long and happy life. But because I cannot handle bodies being broken. Anything beyond a simple cut and I lose my shit. I mean. A couple of days ago I posted a panicky picture of my injured wrist on Facebook because it looked weird. The idea that my body parts are not all in their right places is extremely upsetting to me. And that is an understatement.

I also feel extremely fragile right now. Like if I do strenuous things like standing up or coughing or pooping I might make it worse all of a sudden (because it did get worse all of a sudden). I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. Only I am also made of eggshells.

So now my uterus is trying to take a quick vacation. Maybe she’s not really understanding the ramifications of this, but if she leaves my body, she doesn’t really get to enjoy her vacation. The thing is, though, that I’d wish her good riddance if it were the best choice for me right now. I’m done with babies. I’m BEYOND ready to be done with having periods. And I know it’s not the “right” thing to say in hippie circles and that I should just be happy with her for doing her job so well all these years or whatever, but at this moment, my uterus and I are not really on speaking terms anyway so she can fuck right off. But surgery is the more invasive and expensive option with further health ramifications that might not outweigh my current situation. And also that thing about broken bodies. I would likely need some heavy psychotherapy to heal from surgery (pretty much any surgery, really).

Anyway. I will, against any sense of decency, be updating here about my pelvic floor’s personal soap opera. FOR FEMINISM!

Because when it rains, it rains internal body organs. From your body.

Happy Things, This is a Woman

Finding Happy 2013

Afternoon under the pines. #findinghappy2013 Adjusted in #snapseed.

A couple of years ago, when I foresaw a difficult year ahead, I decided to set myself up with a system to help keep me focused on the Happy when I knew the Sad would likely visit much of the year (and yet, how I underestimated the Sad of 2011!). I decided to take a photo each day of one thing, person, or moment that brought me some Happy. I kept them all saved in a set on Flickr so I could look through them whenever I needed a lift. And it did help. It was a daily moment to focus on the positive. It was a daily meditation or a prayer that I could do, even when my head was too foggy for meditation or prayer.

And since right now I’m facing some difficult times again, I thought it might be nice to revisit that idea of focusing on at least one Happy each day. If you’re also in need of some Happy, I hope you’ll join me. As we head back into the darker time of year (well, for those in the same hemisphere as I am, that is), and towards the stress of the holidays I know Happy may be harder to find for some. Happiness in numbers, I always say! (I don’t always say that. I never say that. It’s maybe kinda true, though.)

Just tag your Instagram photos this autumn with #findinghappy2013 and if you like, you can join the Flickr group as well. Let’s find Happy together!

(God. That’s the cheesiest ending to a blog post EVER.)

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.

Depression/Anxiety, Happy Things, I Own a Home. WTF?, This is a Woman

Happy Things: Round 2

Happy Thing: Heart-Shaped Coffee

Oh look! It’s me not blogging!

I hate being a broken record. When I have to work my way through something, I get sick and tired of hearing myself use the same words to describe it over and over again. I suppose that using certain words is a normal part of psychological growth and healing, but holy crap I wish I would just shut up.

And so here I am not blogging about where I’m at in my life. Because it’s fucking boring. Blah blah blah depression. Blah blah blah loneliness. Blah blah blah anxiety. Because I don’t want my blog to be everything I hate about me, and I don’t want it to be a broken record.

I’m also having a hard time talking about it because I’m supposed to be happy right now. I bought a home and it’s lovely (and it is) and that’s exciting (and it is) and this is a time full of new beginnings which are supposed to be happy things (and they are). I feel like so many people are so excited about this for me that I’d be letting them down if I feel anything different.

And to complicate things, I actually do feel all the things I’m “supposed” to be feeling, but I’m also feeling all those key words I’m so sick of writing about.

And so here I am. Struggling to get by. Some days are pretty good. Some days are cloudy and hard. Logic and instinct tell me that this will pass as I settle into a routine and get used to all the changes. And I know that they (the logic and the instinct) are right. But the depression and the anxiety are big fat liars that terrify me with thoughts of never recovering.

In the mean time I think I might get back to my Happy Things project. From now until the end of the year (at least). It was like a meditation for me. To take a moment and dedicate it to at least one thing that brought me joy. To photograph it and make art out of it made it my daily prayer.

Does anyone want to join me? I think I’ll do it all on Instagram this time (since I’m still avoiding my big camera since it’s broken and I’m afraid it’s broken forever). We could use one of those newfangled hashtag thingamajigs people use to find each other’s projects or something. What do you think? Are you in?
UPDATE: the tag will be #findinghappy2013 Hope to see you there!

This is a Woman

Don’t Slut-Shame. Just. Don’t.

I will start out by laying out some disclaimers.

1. I have not watched the Miley Cyrus twerking video. I have absolutely zero desire to and I don’t believe it’s necessary for me to have formed the particular opinions I’ve formed. However, if I’m missing some major point, such as if she threatened or acted on violence or some equal thing, feel free to enlighten me.
2. I am not condoning her act. See above where I noted my intense lack of desire to watch it. I care about how she danced just about as much as I care about football. Which is to say that I want to never have to sit down and watch it. In short, here are all the fucks I give about her performance last night:


See? Zero fucks given.

And let me follow those disclaimers with some observations about MTV. Because I like lists.

1. MTV has always been controversial. Their entire premise has been essentially about pushing the envelope. Remember Madonnna’s Like a Virgin performance at the very first MTV music video awards? (Me neither. I’m old, but I wasn’t yet watching MTV in 1984. But I did watch a crap ton of clip shows on MTV about MTV so I remember that it existed.) Nearly every year there’s some controversial act in the VMA’s. Almost 20 years later and I’m frankly kind of bored.
2. MTV is also known for really shitty shit. So I don’t care how many weird dancing teddy bears she had or what the hell was happening with her weird 3-inch-wide wedgie or if she was humping Beetlejuice for some reason*. It’s all stuff you expect to find on MTV. In other words, welcome home, Miley. You fit right in.

And now let’s consider some of the things I’ve heard about her in regards to her performance and why they are problematic things to say.

1. She’s struggling/unhealthy/crazy and I’m worried about her. Guess whose business it is to worry about Miley Cyrus? Not yours. Not mine. Not Will Smith’s. Don’t get me wrong – I wish her well. I hope she isn’t struggling in any way and if she is, I hope she finds peace soon. But the thing is that I don’t know her. I don’t know what is going on in her personal life (and if I ever cared to read the celeb gossip I still wouldn’t know). I don’t know what led her to make the decisions she made about that performance. I will say this, though. Many, many young female musicians go through a wild phase like this and I have to wonder why. Is it confusion on their part over what growing up means? Is it part of their personal search for self? Is it because it is the only way for a female in the music industry to take charge of her sexuality? Because if you look at it, every woman in the industry is being sold to us as a sex symbol. But people only start to complain when the sexiness is not controlled by men. When it is powerful female sex. That is when audiences shit their pants.
2. She’s dead to me. What even the fuck? I have this image of Lawrence Olivier tearing his clothes when his son Neil Diamond refuses to come back to New York to become a cantor (shut up. I love Neil Diamond). I think disowning someone is, like, reserved for a) really actually bad situations like murder or violence, and/or b) people you actually know. You can’t just go disowning people you don’t even know, and you sure as hell can’t do it just because you don’t like the way they dance. Because if you look at this, you’ll find, I think that no one ever disowned Madonna over her Like a Virgin shit back in 1984. (And as a child of the 80’s I am required to clarify here that by “shit” I mean “fucking awesomest dance ever”.) Because no one ever saw Madonna grow up. She came onto the scene pushing the envelope. She never tried to be anyone’s role model. But these bubblegum teenagers who go on to have adult careers in very female-powerful sexy ways are given shit at every turn.

It all boils down to slut-shaming. 99% of what I’ve heard about Miley’s performance last night is slut-shaming. Sometimes it’s underneath genuine worry for her, but that doesn’t make it any more ok. Because the fact is that she is an adult who has no responsibility to any of us to either be a role model or to remain virginal forever and who has the right and responsibility to make her own decisions. And if we take that away from her, we are effectively supporting rape culture. If we degrade her or claim that she is degrading herself because she is sexy and powerful about it, we are boldly making the same claim for all women. That we must not take charge of our sex-power. That if we do, we must be taught our rightful place by being shamed into submission. It is, at its very core, the same argument as “she was asking for it”.

So don’t. Just don’t. Critique her on her dance technique if you know things about dance techniques, call her out on lame use of giant dancing teddy bears (Bjork did giant teddy bears way better) if you think that’s worthwhile. But don’t slut-shame her. Because that only keeps all of us held back.

*Because I refuse to watch the video itself, I’m gathering all my information from gifs on Tumblr that just happen to be on my dash. So I cannot guarantee the validity of any of the claims I made there, but you know what? I kind of appreciate the idea that Beetlejuice was there so let’s just let me live in my own little dream world.

Edumacation, Geek, Onwards, The Zebra, This is a Woman

On Ravenclaw, Pottermore, and Self Esteem

RavenclawRavenclaw manicure. I knew if I looked far enough back in my photostream I’d find a relevant picture for this entry.

I remember being probably about three years old, spending the afternoons laying on my grandma’s bed in her red bedroom, working through a learn-to-read series. I loved the books, but often I’d wind up daydreaming instead of paying attention (this was to be a theme in my life). But I do remember that when she spelled out “A-P-P-L-E” I just heard the phrase “pee-pee” and giggled at the bathroom humor (which was also to be a theme in my life).

When I was about to enter kindergarten I took a test, I guess it was basically so my teacher could see what things I already knew. This is just my assumption. Anyway, in this test, apparently, I was told to count as high as I could go and I had to be stopped somewhere after the 70’s.

In third grade, I was tested for my school’s GATE program (they called it CORE) and despite the fact that the only question I still remember today, I got embarrassingly wrong, I was entered into the program. Four days a week I’d leave my classroom and spend an hour doing cool language arts stuff (cause my school was a kickass language arts magnet).

While I loved being a part of CORE, and I’m so glad I had that opportunity (especially as school got harder for me), it also saddled me with certain self-esteem issues. Because being a CORE kid came with expectations. My teachers would regularly point out to the whole class (which. wtf were they thinking? WHO benefits from that?) that the CORE kids were super fast workers, while I was still only halfway done with the assignment. I often frustrated teachers with my daydreaming because they felt that if I just stayed focused I’d reach my potential. I never seemed to meet the expectations that the “smart” kids were supposed to.

Please understand that I am not – absolutely not – knocking teachers. Teachers are some of the most important people in our culture and I highly respect them. And nearly all of my elementary school teachers were not only good at their job, but I remember them as people who I loved very much, and I know they loved me back. Overall I was blessed with mostly good teachers.

Maybe it’s because things were just different back in the dark ages 30 years ago, or maybe it’s because we know so much more now, and I’m sure it’s because my attention issues are really mild and probably not diagnosable as anything even by today’s more comprehensive standards, but I was left alone to come to the conclusion that I wasn’t actually as smart as the other CORE kids, or as smart as everyone seemed to think I was. It was a sort of weird place to be. It was obviously considered a high honor in my world to be considered smart – to have been labeled “gifted” – and I was proud of that just as much as it made me feel like shit. I don’t think I ever talked about this as a kid. Maybe I was too ashamed of myself and afraid people would figure out they were wrong about me or maybe because I just couldn’t find the words to express it. I don’t know. But the seed was planted.

And then when I was in fourth grade my mom suffered her nervous breakdown and my life went to shit. I was absent more days than not and tardy on the days I showed up at all. The kids around me would ask why and I didn’t know what to tell them. Teachers would scold me for not going to bed earlier (not that easy to do when your mom keeps you out until midnight, you know?) and I felt ashamed of all the mistakes I was making. I began to hate school when I’d always loved it before. My grades started suffering and everything fed into those insecurities that had already been planted in me.

And that’s just how it was. I did OK in English classes, usually getting B’s, sometimes C’s. Math classes were nearly always D’s if I was lucky. I didn’t understand how to study, and I had no interest in grades at all, except to hate myself when they weren’t good. I feel like in many ways I slept through my education, wandering bewildered through where I was told to go, only vaguely aware of the goal at the end.

In ninth grade something happened where I was suddenly able to gain control of small parts of my life and I suddenly stopped having all those absences and tardies. I cannot tell you what changed in me that year, but it was not the only major change I made in my life. I suppose it was my Oak Tree calling me to the next step of growth.

Even after that, though, I was still only a mediocre student in high school. I didn’t take it seriously. In fact, in my first go at biology I wound up with a 17% in the class. That’s, like, not even an F. But it wasn’t because it was a hard subject for me. It was because I just never did any work. In fact the next year when I retook the class, they put me in an honors-level course (as is per the custom when someone flunks a class?) and I wound up with a B.

Senior year something clicked and I worked really hard all year and received my first (and so far only) 4.0. But when I entered college things started sliding back downhill quickly.

In high school I took all the AP courses, but never took the AP tests. I think I was too afraid. While I wasn’t consciously aware of it, I think I believed I’d fail them. And I couldn’t handle failing. So I just didn’t try. I think the college-choosing process went similarly. I wound up going to the community college for lack of aiming for anything else.

It’s a strange loop to be stuck in. Too afraid to fail, desperately wanting to be a smart as everyone acted like I was, and unwilling to try because I was too fragile to handle failing.

And being at the community college, instead of a four-year school, just confirmed for me that I wasn’t smart. High school counselors and teachers acted like community college was for the people too stupid to go directly to university (or maybe that was just my perception). So, basically, I failed before I ever began. And since I didn’t really have any actual goals in mind for transfer or career, I just sort of dropped out.

And I struggled with this for years. Well, to be honest, I still sort of do. I definitely have some insecurities that I am still working on.

But there came a time when Harry Potter came into my life. Don’t laugh. Harry Potter is real, man. Of the four houses, I’d wonder which one I’d get sorted into. I knew I wasn’t Gryffindor material. I’m not that brave and I certainly don’t want the glory. None of the glory. That’s my motto. (I’m OK with recognition. Just not glory.) (And by “recognition” I mean that I’d prefer it if it’s given discreetly and that no one looks at me all at once and we just move on with things quickly, please.) And I didn’t relate to any of the Slytherins at.all.ever. Which left Ravenclaw, renowned for their intellect, and Hufflepuff, described in the books as “for everyone else.” (I paraphrase because I am too lazy to go look it up right now. Don’t judge. Those books are all the way across the room. And I can’t even accio them. Stupid muggle genes.) Since I assumed I wasn’t smart enough for Ravenclaw, I figured I must belong in the catch-all house intended for people who are just leftovers, not good enough to be sorted anywhere else.


I don’t know why Hufflepuffs aren’t more celebrated in the books, but I think that’s why the house is so generally disrespected. It wasn’t until I got deeper into the lore of the Wizarding World that I began to really understand the complexities of the different houses, and to understand what Hufflepuffs actually are. They aren’t leftovers at all. They are characterized by being loving and loyal. By operating on feelings rather than glory or knowledge. And I began to see that Hufflepuff is, really, possibly the best house (aside from it’s unfortunate bumblebee colors, I mean). I mean. Helga Hufflepuff took everyone into her house because she saw that everyone is amazing. Because you don’t need to be brave or smart or driven to be important. That’s what Hufflepuff is. And I’d be proud if I were in Hufflepuff House.

And I do think I’m sort of on the cusp of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. A lot of my social anxieties are based in my intense desire to want to make people happy and know that they are loved (of course, one can also be loving and loyal without the anxiety part). But if there is one character who I most relate to in the Harry Potter stories it is by far Luna. She was flighty and dreamy, she was fiercely loyal, she believed in unbelievable things, and she was a Ravenclaw.

And then when I was sorted into my Pottermore house, I was sorted into Ravenclaw. And it might sound crazy, or fanatical, or childish, but that changed me. It gave me the confidence to begin to be able to see that I am not stupid. That I can get good grades and that I can finish college. That I had the ability all along, I was just missing the support, and the sane life, and the help to find my strengths among my weaknesses.

And so a few weeks ago I finished my first college course in something like 16 years and I got an A. And now I’m a week into a physiological psychology class which is challenging. Parts of it are fascinating to me (and therefore easier), but parts are more abstract (hello, molecular biology!) and things that are less tangible are sometimes harder for me to comprehend (when my son was born and my midwife handed him to me I said, “Oh! A baby!” cause I was legit a little surprised). But I’ve learned so much about myself, and I was given the confidence to believe that I can that now I’m able to see the parts that are challenging for me, and work harder at them. Because I know that I can understand this subject. I have the capacity and I will. It’s only taken me 30 years to get to this point.

Religion is probably not genetic. This shit is FASCINATING, people.
This is the fascinating part of physiological psychology