i’m beginning to realize more and more that changes happen slowly and when they’re meant to happen. They happen unexpectedly and out of nowhere. They’re more like surprises rather than changes. Recently I’ve taken to walking around the house in nothing but a camisole and my underwear because of the heat and because I’m lazy as shit. I was walking to the kitchen and I caught a glimpse of my hips and butt in the hall mirror. And with the way the underwear curved around me and my shape and skin and the way I was walking…I just felt sexy for the first time in a while. It was unexpected and random and it made my day. There are some things in life that you just have to wait out. Loving yourself is so hard most of the time. But moments like that must be important to it…catching yourself looking sexy as hell and feeling sexy as hell. Now I fucking love how I look in a cami and underwear. I feel cozy and sexy and like I wanna cuddle with a really hot guy.
Early on I realized that wanting to love yourself and actually taking the steps to loving yourself are two different things. I know those steps include looking at yourself naked in the mirror, touching yourself, complimenting yourself…but how do those steps translate to being in public and seeing countless typically beautiful and thin women that you by default compare yourself to? How do I keep feeling sexy even when I’m in public? That’s something I haven’t mastered at all yet.
I spent the majority of last weekend with my grandmother. I had dinner with her on Saturday, and I took her to church on Sunday. On Sunday, I also helped her pick out a plant for her neighbor and find a pot for it, bring a huge umbrella up from her basement, and set it up on her deck. On Sunday – in 4 hours – I learned a lot about my grandmother and my mother. My grandmother casually told me stories about my mother and other things that I never would have known if I hadn’t spent that time with her.
One of the most remarkable stories she told me started when she told me I had nice eyebrows. She said they have a nice shape – and then she told me about her college days and about a time when she and her best friend danced with a bunch of sailors who told them they had nice eyebrows. It’s such a random thing to bring up, but it’s such a specific and cute story.
My grandmother can be critical to an unbelievable degree, but she is the best of my blood relatives, besides my mother. She is honest and stubborn and too compensating (my mom and I get it from her) and funny and down-to-earth. I love her and I am thankful for her.
Spending time with my grandmother last weekend also made me feel really useful, and I loved it. I moved things and set up things – I was sweating like crazy helping her. But the sweat felt really good on my skin.
Also, at church, I gave my contact information to the mother of two of the sweetest little girls that ever were, so I can hopefully babysit them. I’m really excited.
I feel like shit, and then I feel like shit for feeling like shit. I don’t know how to break out of this cycle.
One thing I like about myself is my skin.
It turns out procrastination is not typically a function of laziness, apathy or work ethic as it is often regarded to be. It’s a neurotic self-defense behavior that develops to protect a person’s sense of self-worth.
You see, procrastinators tend to be people who have, for whatever reason, developed to perceive an unusually strong association between their performance and their value as a person. This makes failure or criticism disproportionately painful, which leads naturally to hesitancy when it comes to the prospect of doing anything that reflects their ability — which is pretty much everything.
Procrastination Is Not Laziness | Thought Catalog
I’ve posted this before but I’m posting it again because it’s just so important and really gets at the heart of why so much advice about procrastination, much of it targeted at people who have ADHD but are just considered “lazy,” fails. Before you can tell someone to “just do it already,” you need to think about the reasons they’re NOT doing it, like all the meanings they’ve attached to vague terms like “success” and “failure.”
i can’t help but feel depressed whenever i leave brenda’s place. she’s so chill but we spent nearly the entire time in her room in the dark, with the exception of a very dim lamp. i love hanging out with her more than anything, and she is what keeps me grounded and sane, so leaving is just. depressing. and even being there…just because it was so dark…and we weren’t doing anything toward the end…it was just so depressing. and when i got home, somehow it got worse. a wave of depression and sadness and loneliness and hopelessness and despair just washed over me. i never feel more alone than when i’m up by myself late at night. it hurts. i don’t even know why.