This isn't going to be anywhere near one of the happiest or most optimistic things I've written. This is probably going to be the closest I'll come to the polar opposite. This is also where I'd usually apologize for that, but I refuse to do that. I'm no longer apologizing for anything involving my writing or my art, because this is my space and this is my freedom. In a lot of ways, this is the only real home I've ever known. This is where I can breathe instead of feeling suffocated by people around me and deadlines and the disturbing things I deal with on a far more frequent basis than I hope you'll ever have to. This is not my job. This is not where I owe anything to you or to anyone else. This is not where you're supposed to have expectations of me and I'm supposed to push myself to my breaking point just to meet them. This is where I'm supposed to be able to be me. I'm supposed to be able to do that through all my art.
Through my blogs, through my photography, through the poetry I write, all of it. I've made a point to practice vulnerability through every artistic medium I use. I've made a conscious effort in the recent years to share not necessarily more of myself or my life, but different parts of it all. Deeper parts. I've opened up emotionally more in the last year alone than I ever had before. I've had higher highs and lower lows in the last two years than I ever imagined would be possible for someone my age. I've shared most of that with you in writing, in photographs, and in a much higher number of 3 a.m. phone calls than I care to admit, to be honest.
I wrote about how scared I was that I'd never make it out of the abusive relationship that consumed me for several months on end. If you were a part of my life while that was happening, you saw the worst of me. You were there when my phone would be 100% charged and still be dead in an hour because he was calling me, texting me, threatening me, threatening to turn you against me so I'd have no one to talk to, making fake social media accounts to stalk me, everything. If you were there through all of that and you're still in my life, you'll probably never understand how important you are.
I was criticized a lot for writing about that. A LOT.
"You shouldn't write about stuff that personal," people told me.
"That's between you and him, the world doesn't need to know," other people said.
"How do you think he feels since you wrote that?" some asked me.
And my favorite: "You aren't any less abusive than he is if you're making this public."
Because okay, I've said this before and I'll say it again. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY ENTITLED TO WRITE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU. The other person may not like or appreciate it, but it is not abuse if it is honest. As my mother has told me my whole life, "If you don't want someone to write about it, don't do it." Simple. I've had enough of people shaming me for writing about the most personal parts of my life as if those things were something I should be ashamed of.
I shared unfiltered, untouched images of myself on social media while I was dealing with depressive episodes regularly and got to a point where I'd even.. like a few of them. As a girl in today's world, and especially as one who struggles with things like depression, confidence, anxiety, etc., that felt like a win. Especially because that came after the story I'm about to tell you.
If you've read my writing for long enough, you probably remember reading about the time I made plans to meet up with a friend who spent AT LEAST 3/4 of the time on her phone editing her own selfies and asking me which ones I liked best.... while I was in the middle of trying to talk to her.
"Why are you so focused on that?" I asked her.
"I want your opinion of which one you think is prettiest so I know which one I should post," she responded. "I'm not like you, you clearly don't care," she said, laughing. "I want to look perfect in all the pics I post."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked her, knowing damn well what was coming.
"You know!" she laughed again. "You'll post a picture even if it's not good, like the one you posted the other day."
She was referring to the first natural, unfiltered, unedited, no makeup, hair down selfie I'd EVER had the confidence to share on any social platform. I remember very little about what happened later that night other than telling her we were done being friends, deleting that picture, and whispering to myself, "lesson learned."
If you're one of those people who wonders why I hate taking pictures, there you go. You know now. You're welcome.
Granted, this was in high school. This was when girls are at the peak of competing with one another, and I recognize that. But this is still relevant. This did damage to me, psychologically, that I can't accurately explain. I've devoted the past five years of my life to my #selflovejourney because of that moment, and I've come a long way but I'm not where I want to be. I'm growing. I'm learning. I'm healing. I'm finding myself again. Let me fucking do it.
I've had enough of people telling me I shouldn't put filters on my pictures, whether they're of me or not. I've had enough of justifying why I just genuinely enjoy the artistic process of editing photos even if I'm happy with the natural versions. I've had enough of people criticizing what I choose to do with my face or my body or the art I'm producing as if their preferences mean more to me than my own. I've just had enough.
Today a stranger came up to me and told me I'd be prettier if I smiled more. If explicit language bothers you, stop here.
I told him I don't give a fuck. And to the (probably) 4 or 5 dozen people who have told me similar things in the past, I didn't give a fuck then either.
But let me address something real quick.
To you, when you're telling me to smile more or that you think I'd be prettier if I smiled, it seems like a good thing. It seems like a compliment. It seems like you're telling me I have a pretty smile and should show it more often. It seems like you're telling me something I haven't heard from a ton of other people my whole life, right? Right.
Here's what it's doing in my head.
When you're telling me to smile more, you're telling me to force an emotion. You're telling me to smile even if that's not how I'm feeling, and I'm not a fake person. I can't bullshit my feelings like that. You're making me feel like that's what I should be doing. Smiling at the world even if I'm not wanting to. You also shoot down any confidence I have in that moment. You're making me feel like my natural face, without me faking or forcing anything, isn't good enough. You're making me question my worth. You're making me wish I was just one of those people who never has to hear this. You're making me (and this is going to sound dramatic, but I promise this is what it does) HATE myself. Does it make sense now?
That disconnect, that concept of you thinking you're encouraging me while you're actually making me hate myself more and more when I'm trying my best to heal from shit you don't even know about... that's what I needed to call your attention to.
I'm writing about it now because I've had enough of trying to find new and better ways to explain it to each person each time it happens. I've had enough of it happening, period.
There's so much more I could write about and need to write about that will have to wait until it isn't 1 a.m. on a school night.
If you've read this far, you know a lot more about me than anyone else. I've told you things tonight I've kept in my head since my freshman year of high school. Thank you for listening. Thank you for being here. I'll never get enough of you.
Through my blogs, through my photography, through the poetry I write, all of it. I've made a point to practice vulnerability through every artistic medium I use. I've made a conscious effort in the recent years to share not necessarily more of myself or my life, but different parts of it all. Deeper parts. I've opened up emotionally more in the last year alone than I ever had before. I've had higher highs and lower lows in the last two years than I ever imagined would be possible for someone my age. I've shared most of that with you in writing, in photographs, and in a much higher number of 3 a.m. phone calls than I care to admit, to be honest.
I wrote about how scared I was that I'd never make it out of the abusive relationship that consumed me for several months on end. If you were a part of my life while that was happening, you saw the worst of me. You were there when my phone would be 100% charged and still be dead in an hour because he was calling me, texting me, threatening me, threatening to turn you against me so I'd have no one to talk to, making fake social media accounts to stalk me, everything. If you were there through all of that and you're still in my life, you'll probably never understand how important you are.
I was criticized a lot for writing about that. A LOT.
"You shouldn't write about stuff that personal," people told me.
"That's between you and him, the world doesn't need to know," other people said.
"How do you think he feels since you wrote that?" some asked me.
And my favorite: "You aren't any less abusive than he is if you're making this public."
Because okay, I've said this before and I'll say it again. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY ENTITLED TO WRITE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU. The other person may not like or appreciate it, but it is not abuse if it is honest. As my mother has told me my whole life, "If you don't want someone to write about it, don't do it." Simple. I've had enough of people shaming me for writing about the most personal parts of my life as if those things were something I should be ashamed of.
I shared unfiltered, untouched images of myself on social media while I was dealing with depressive episodes regularly and got to a point where I'd even.. like a few of them. As a girl in today's world, and especially as one who struggles with things like depression, confidence, anxiety, etc., that felt like a win. Especially because that came after the story I'm about to tell you.
If you've read my writing for long enough, you probably remember reading about the time I made plans to meet up with a friend who spent AT LEAST 3/4 of the time on her phone editing her own selfies and asking me which ones I liked best.... while I was in the middle of trying to talk to her.
"Why are you so focused on that?" I asked her.
"I want your opinion of which one you think is prettiest so I know which one I should post," she responded. "I'm not like you, you clearly don't care," she said, laughing. "I want to look perfect in all the pics I post."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked her, knowing damn well what was coming.
"You know!" she laughed again. "You'll post a picture even if it's not good, like the one you posted the other day."
She was referring to the first natural, unfiltered, unedited, no makeup, hair down selfie I'd EVER had the confidence to share on any social platform. I remember very little about what happened later that night other than telling her we were done being friends, deleting that picture, and whispering to myself, "lesson learned."
If you're one of those people who wonders why I hate taking pictures, there you go. You know now. You're welcome.
I've had enough of people telling me I shouldn't put filters on my pictures, whether they're of me or not. I've had enough of justifying why I just genuinely enjoy the artistic process of editing photos even if I'm happy with the natural versions. I've had enough of people criticizing what I choose to do with my face or my body or the art I'm producing as if their preferences mean more to me than my own. I've just had enough.
Today a stranger came up to me and told me I'd be prettier if I smiled more. If explicit language bothers you, stop here.
I told him I don't give a fuck. And to the (probably) 4 or 5 dozen people who have told me similar things in the past, I didn't give a fuck then either.
But let me address something real quick.
To you, when you're telling me to smile more or that you think I'd be prettier if I smiled, it seems like a good thing. It seems like a compliment. It seems like you're telling me I have a pretty smile and should show it more often. It seems like you're telling me something I haven't heard from a ton of other people my whole life, right? Right.
Here's what it's doing in my head.
When you're telling me to smile more, you're telling me to force an emotion. You're telling me to smile even if that's not how I'm feeling, and I'm not a fake person. I can't bullshit my feelings like that. You're making me feel like that's what I should be doing. Smiling at the world even if I'm not wanting to. You also shoot down any confidence I have in that moment. You're making me feel like my natural face, without me faking or forcing anything, isn't good enough. You're making me question my worth. You're making me wish I was just one of those people who never has to hear this. You're making me (and this is going to sound dramatic, but I promise this is what it does) HATE myself. Does it make sense now?
That disconnect, that concept of you thinking you're encouraging me while you're actually making me hate myself more and more when I'm trying my best to heal from shit you don't even know about... that's what I needed to call your attention to.
I'm writing about it now because I've had enough of trying to find new and better ways to explain it to each person each time it happens. I've had enough of it happening, period.
There's so much more I could write about and need to write about that will have to wait until it isn't 1 a.m. on a school night.
If you've read this far, you know a lot more about me than anyone else. I've told you things tonight I've kept in my head since my freshman year of high school. Thank you for listening. Thank you for being here. I'll never get enough of you.
make art the way you want
smile when you feel like it
speak your mind
write honestly
love yourself
breathe
xox
see you around.
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