I’ve been thinking a bit about two issues lately, and I figured I’d put them into words on this blog.
Am I the only person who is convinced that I could never adequately love, care for, and be a good mother to a human that has grown inside of me for nine months? Who changes your life forever, and your body too? Someone who can never repay you for the things that you do for them?
Perhaps I sound awful, and I truly don’t intend to. But sometimes I just wonder how moms put up with these kids I see running around in playgrounds, grocery stores, and the like, making a whole bunch of noise and causing bystanders to roll their eyes. “Can’t this woman control her kid?”
Dirty diapers, post-pregnancy body, sleepless nights, chauffeur runs in minivans, and Cheerios? Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a mother.
Tonight, a small spat between myself and another sorority sister communicated something that I hadn’t realised before. I don’t think a lot of people trust me. Granted, I am not a transparent person whatsoever. I don’t believe in social media breaking news updates, or telling everyone and their mother who I may be seeing at any given time. However, perhaps my introversion, and at times my deliberate non-participation in certain events, tells people that since they don’t know all that much about me, I must not be very trustworthy.
This is not the case at all.
My mother’s side of the family is Japanese. Growing up Asian, you learn to keep “family matters private”, taking a laissez-faire stance in other people’s matters, and keep your emotions in check. Few people have ever seen me cry outside of my family, and to this day I see it as a sign of weakness in myself. I don’t get caught up in the day-to-day drama and what have you that so often takes place within an organisation of 100+ girls, and for this reason I am often the last person to know about “pressing matters”. And I certainly have been instilled with the importance of maintaining family honour. You don’t spread your family’s dirty laundry where it doesn’t need to be. Ever.
Perhaps these principles have affected my ability to relate to others more than I’ve realised. I’m quite blunt, and I’ve always found it difficult to express my feelings (especially intense ones) in a docile, quiet fashion. Maybe it’s something I will struggle with for the rest of my life.
But I digress. I am a work in progress, and I will never achieve perfection. However, I do everything I do with the intent of serving others, never working to their detriment. Truly I consider myself the least of these and it is an honour to wake up every day and provide a helping hand to anyone who may need it.
Do not touch your body with bad intentions. Rub your belly when it is full. Stroke your soft skin. Hug yourself, even if it’s silly, because it feels nice. Pleasure yourself. Do not touch your body with bad intentions. Do not pinch at the fat on your stomach. Do not scratch at your skin. Do not hate the shell you’re encased in.
HOLY FUCK THE NOTES.
reblog EVERY TIME THIS IS ON YOUR DASH .
If you follow me and you don’t reblog this, we’re gonna have a little issue.
I will 500% judge you if you don’t Reblog
More people reblogged this than there are in my state??
More people reblogged this than there are in my COUNTRY??
Omg let’s make this to 9 million ++ !!
one time in sixth grade this kid shouted “urethra” instead of “eureka”