Self-acceptance is the new kale, and although it’s just as good for you, it’s really uncomfortable. The books and TEDTalks preach mindfulness and compassion, but they gloss over the parts of the process that are more a slap in the face than meditative.
Authenticity is bright, my loves. It’s a hot, white, brilliant light that will scorch your eyes like the sun. It refuses to go unnoticed.
Pain was supposed to make me strong, But all I feel is weakness now that you’re gone
You cry your eyes out, trying to appear apologetic for your faux corruption, because it makes you feel all the more toxic, destructively powerful.
I wish you knew that if it were possible, and if it were how it was supposed to be, I would keep you.
Despite nearing my thirties, this week I felt like a six year old child again, begging and desperate for my mom to heal this raw wound of mine.
Feeling guilty about feeling happy.
It is my comfort zone, a barrier to keep me sane. While I live for stepping out of it, I’m very particular of those who step in.
Love is choosing to love them, even when they aren’t so lovable, especially then.
You are the definition of epic and wonderful. You lit up the world.