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Posts Tagged ‘acceptance’

The idea gave way to sudden capriciousness…whims work that way, I just fancied shorter hair…I’m getting there, an inch here, 2 inches there…serves a twofold purpose…I’m needing to feel lighter, and it seems cutting my hair is the only way I can feel lightness. I did manage to drop one pound, but I fear I will pick it up tomorrow…and change is good. Long hair can get very tired….always pulling it up, tying it, clipping it, having it fall, getting a headache, the tangles, the strands falling out….but the silver strands have multiplied exponentially and I like!

I don’t want to be one of those slaves to the bottle, a visible line of demarcation when new growth appears and no time or money to touch it up…nope, gonna just suck it up and age on as graceful as possible. Things are falling, sagging, wagging and lagging…..but I heard a sexy song in spanish where he was singing of the gracefulness and lovliness of the saggy boobies of his object of affection….so yeah there is hope for us old hags…not that I’m hoping for anything….just throwing it out there.

Well gots prep work to do for tomorrow. the Tia is coming over and cooking, got to clean here and there, or rearrange crap. Pot of beans is ready, just have to turn it on in the morning before I head off to work. The eats will be delish…hence the picking up the pound of flesh I lost…sigh…fatness sucks….but food is good. Fat girl sings the blues…
whim

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He made her feel like she wasn’t worth anything as her tears fell at his feet, she looked in the mirror and couldn’t see herself anymore, she only saw what he wanted her to be…and she was only what he wanted to see….from denying her for not accepting to do as he wanted. She had to accept his terms or be fucked, figuratively not literally.

So she let her hair down, made her face up, put on her heels, her prettiest dress and walked on out. she did what few will dare to do, some look at her with envy and others not so much….in the end it doesn’t matter… she will walk toward the door, walk out, face the night, whether it is dark or lit by a million stars and the world will be hers once again. She is at peace with finding herself.

The one thought she has come to find comfort in is that she is only herself when she is alone. She doesn’t have to give herself and who she is, who she can be for anyone that can’t accept her for her. No more insecure, immature and jealous anyone’s to hold her back and hold her down.

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Once upon a time, there was a 12-year-old girl. She had zits all over her face, and not the garden variety with a small bump that would be gone overnight, no they were the big ugly painful ones that could erupt like a volcano at any given time, the pulsing underneath the skin was painful and the eruption could almost be felt before it happened, on the Richter scale they were off the charts. Her hair was curly and always in a lame hairstyle, it was almost an uncontrollable mess of massive hair that had to be tamed daily with a hair dryer and an iron. She almost always wore the same outfits over and over again.  She was definitely not in the popular crowd.


 
Then the 12-year-old girl turned 14. Her zits didn’t completely disappeared, but they were working themselves into some manageability and the tons of caked on makeup helped to hide the horrific condition of the face that from one angle looked like a pizza that was dropped on the floor or a science project gone bad. She was smart; she kept her nose in a book or many books. The popular groups never talk to her, but she was finding her niche with a certain crowd of misfits, the other bookworms, the ugly kids, the smelly kids, those were their labels, but truthfully they were not ugly nor were they smelly, those were just their labels. She wore many labels that to this day still haunt her.
 
When this girl turned 17 she became a parent, still in high school, and while nobody noticed her, she noticed those around her. She moved to a different school, graduated and kept on trying to figure things out for herself and her new family. She managed to gain some much needed weight from this first experience at motherhood.  She did some living in the small town she had always known, but that was short lived, soon moving across a few state lines and living away from home would be the catalyst to new life changes.

She soon found herself a divorced and single parent, she waited on tables, she did some nursing, and she even modeled for a few months and then soon decided she needed to go to other work. Her skin once again became inflamed with cystic acne. There were zits all over her face, and she felt helpless, hopeless, and hideous.  She was the opposite of confident.
  
She stopped looking in the mirror and became introverted.  Her doctor prescribed strong medicine for her that made her terribly depressed. It dried her eyes, lips and nose out, and she couldn’t look anyone in the eye when talking to them because she was convinced they were disgusted by her face.

For six months she was alone with herself. She was 25 years old and felt worse than ever before in her life. But then, she decided to shift her self-esteem. She reminded herself that she had zits before and they went away. She accepted that it was up to her to build her self-esteem and self-confidence again. No one was going to do it for her.

This up-and-down, back-and-forth experience with having beauty or at least zit free skin and not having beauty or zit free skin led to some deep realizations for this woman.  She realized that beauty lives on the inside no matter what the outward appearance may be.  Zits come and go, fat comes and goes, acceptance by the popular group comes and goes, professional opportunities come and go. But how you feel about yourself…that can last forever. She has made a new vow, she will bite her tongue or try really, really hard to not demean herself, so if she is quiet…she is thinking she is fat, but it’s mostly all in her head, let her be, she’ll get over herself…those damn demons need to quashed, where in the heck is her fat stick?

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Chocolate is love

Chocolate is love

Sometimes it’s rich, sometimes nutty, sometimes dark, sometimess light, but always meant to be savored in it’s moment….

 “I really don’t trust love,” a woman had told me earlier in the day, and in listening to her heartbreak, I understood where she was coming from. She had been hurt by significant people in the perilous venture of loving and being loved~

“I tried love one time and got burned so bad that I’ll never try it again,” a man informed me. We talked a long time about how we humans get confused about the difference between needing a person and loving a person and how hard it is sometimes to know the difference between gift-love and need-love~

Love is like chocolate...

Love is like chocolate...

Maybe love – authentic love – is kind of like dark chocolate. Maybe people don’t trust love because they’ve never experienced healthy, nourishing love.

Maybe people who don’t believe in love have only tasted love contaminated with additives of power, stinginess and manipulation, control, selfishness and pettiness. Perhaps people who can’t love were abandoned or treated cruelly by the same person who said, “I love you.”

It would be nice to be able to go into a shop and purchase love that isn’t tainted by human imperfection, but love can’t be bought and you can’t demand it from others.


The way forward may be in deciding to be the kind of person who gives love that is healthy, honest and clean, full of acceptance and flavored with delight in who the other person is instead of who you think he ought to be or who you want him to be for you.

Authentic love really is like good dark chocolate. It does cost more and you may have to develop a taste for it, but it satisfies the palate and it’s good for your heart.

It may take a lifetime to learn how to give love and receive it, but maybe learning how to love is our assignment while we’re here.

In the meantime, I can enjoy the 3 for $1.00 treats given to me by my sweetie….

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But, you don’t tell me this. You don’t dare. You are afraid to. You are afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance and love. You are afraid I will think less of you, that I will laugh at you and that I will see this and reject you. So you play your game, your desperate game, with a facade of assurance without, and a trembling child within. And so begins the parade of masks, and you life becomes a front.

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