“Dear future child
If it’s 3am and you find yourself in a world of complete despair
Please do not turn to strangers on the internet for solace as I did
Please climb onto my bed
And I will hold you until the demons sleep
If it is Thursday morning and you are too sad to move
I won’t force you
I will buy ice cream and we will watch your favourite tv show and I will remind you of your importance
If you feel as if you have no purpose
I will remind you that you were created entirely with love and every pain you feel, I feel too
When you’re sure you can’t go on anymore
I will tell you that when I was 21 I searched for peace at the bottom of a vodka bottle chased by a bottle of pain killers
But that five years later
When you were placed in my arms in the delivery room
I realised that you were why I had been holding on
Without realising it, you saved me, do you know how amazing that is?
So if you ever feel like grabbing that vodka bottle, put it down, we will get in the car and I will drive until the sky turns magenta
I will show you how the sun rises every morning to encourage you to rise too
Sweetheart I refuse to be unaware of your sufferings
As my mother was to mine.”—Your mental health is my priority. (via be-fearless-brave-and-kind)
Why are everyone so disappointed with How I Met Your Mother? I don't watch the show, but I'm curious.
Imagine watching a show that you love for nine years. Imagine having those characters become so apart of you. You feel like you are apart of the gang. You laugh with them, cry with them, experience their joys and their pain. Imagine growing up with them, learning lessons of life and loss and love and everything life can throw at them and you. Imagine watching those characters grow exponentially. Imagine watching a man who was a womanizer grow into a man who has come to understand the value of love and do anything for the girl he loves, a man who is a hopeless romantic go through trails and tribulations of heartbreak but never giving up because he knew there was the perfect one out there for him, watching a woman who isolated herself because she was afraid of getting hurt let people in and love. Imagine a couple who were their own separate people but still maintained a happy balance of being together. Now imagine all that building up for 9 seasons, their growth as people because of the things they have gone through. For NINE seasons. Then imagine wiping the slate clean from their character growth and starting back at the first episode. Because that’s what seemed to happened. The womanizer reverted back to his ways because the girl who he loved began to isolate herself again and more so after the divorce. Imagine the hopeless romantic telling a story of an epic love. The one everyone dreams about. Telling his kids a story of how he met their mother. One we have anxiously been awaiting for so long. Imagine that. Now imagine learning that the mother was dead all along and that her death was a stone to skip to the woman who had crushed his heart over and over again because they were and always would be two different people. Imagine your most favourite characters having all their layers peeled away and skinned to the bone. The worst part? There are no more episodes, hence no more chances to put the layers back.
“There are times when you have no clue what to say to someone, and you have no clue how to end their pain, but you can give them a hug. It won’t take away the pain, and it won’t make the problem go away, but it’ll give them a little bit of hope that will make it all okay, at least for that single moment.”—(via mols)
“You can’t find intimacy—you can’t find home—when you’re always hiding behind masks. Intimacy requires a certain level of vulnerability. It requires a certain level of you exposing your fragmented, contradictory self to someone else. You running the risk of having your core self rejected and hurt and misunderstood.”—Junot Diaz (via creatingaquietmind)
“The capacity to be alone is the capacity to love. It may look paradoxical to you, but it is not. It is an existential truth: only those people who are capable of being alone are capable of love, of sharing, of going into the deepest core of the other person—without possessing the other, without becoming dependent on the other, without reducing the other to a thing, and without becoming addicted to the other.”—Osho (via self-exxpression)
“I can over think everything and find a million ways to doubt myself. And I’ve been really thinking about that part of myself and, I’ve just come to realize that, we’re only here briefly. And while I’m here, I wanna allow myself joy. So fuck it.”—Amy in Spike Jonze’s “Her” (via thenicestthng)
“We have all hurt someone tremendously, whether by intent or accident. We have all loved someone tremendously, whether by intent or accident. It is an intrinsic human trait, and a deep responsibility, I think, to be an organ and a blade. But, learning to forgive ourselves and others because we have not chosen wisely is what makes us most human. We make horrible mistakes. It’s how we learn. We breathe love. It’s how we learn. And it is inevitable.”—Nayyirah Waheed (via butterbeerz)
“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over again.”— F. Scott Fitzgerald (via princess)
“You don’t need another human being to make your life complete, but let’s be honest. Having your wounds kissed by someone who doesn’t see them as disasters in your soul but cracks to put their love into is the most calming thing in this world.”—Emery Allen (via gebeine)
How to talk to your daughter about her body, step one: don’t talk to your daughter about her body, except to teach her how it works.
Don’t say anything if she’s lost weight. Don’t say anything if she’s gained weight.
If you think your daughter’s body looks amazing, don’t say that. Here are some things you can say instead:
“You look so healthy!” is a great one.
Or how about, “you’re looking so strong.”
“I can see how happy you are – you’re glowing.”
Better yet, compliment her on something that has nothing to do with her body.
Don’t comment on other women’s bodies either. Nope. Not a single comment, not a nice one or a mean one.
Teach her about kindness towards others, but also kindness towards yourself.
Don’t you dare talk about how much you hate your body in front of your daughter, or talk about your new diet. In fact, don’t go on a diet in front of your daughter. Buy healthy food. Cook healthy meals. But don’t say “I’m not eating carbs right now.” Your daughter should never think that carbs are evil, because shame over what you eat only leads to shame about yourself.
Encourage your daughter to run because it makes her feel less stressed. Encourage your daughter to climb mountains because there is nowhere better to explore your spirituality than the peak of the universe. Encourage your daughter to surf, or rock climb, or mountain bike because it scares her and that’s a good thing sometimes.
Help your daughter love soccer or rowing or hockey because sports make her a better leader and a more confident woman. Explain that no matter how old you get, you’ll never stop needing good teamwork. Never make her play a sport she isn’t absolutely in love with.
Prove to your daughter that women don’t need men to move their furniture.
Teach your daughter how to cook kale.
Teach your daughter how to bake chocolate cake made with six sticks of butter.
Pass on your own mom’s recipe for Christmas morning coffee cake. Pass on your love of being outside.
Maybe you and your daughter both have thick thighs or wide ribcages. It’s easy to hate these non-size zero body parts. Don’t. Tell your daughter that with her legs she can run a marathon if she wants to, and her ribcage is nothing but a carrying case for strong lungs. She can scream and she can sing and she can lift up the world, if she wants.
Remind your daughter that the best thing she can do with her body is to use it to mobilize her beautiful soul.
“I forgive myself for how I marinated in hate for these women, how it made us the same. How I breastfed this anger like my only child. How I expected it to nurse me back. How I considered the gun before the white flag. How an olive branch almost became a bat. I am melting my brass knuckles down to tiny trumpets. I am singing this forgiveness song over and over, until I believe it.”—MEGAN FALLEY, “Shoot Her” (via headupandholy)