Write Your Name

Post Originally Published: April 4th, 2018


How annoying is it that when you open either the Facebook or Instagram app, both show content for just two seconds before the feed immediately refreshes?

So you get just a glimpse of something you might have actually wanted to comment on before it’s gone forever, down the predetermined zuckerberg algorithm tunnel of time, interest, and proximity – like a Russian bot’s identity, never to be found again…

When I woke up this morning I saw a FB status posted to IG that asked why men wait until they’ve destroyed a good girl [in order] to be good to her.

Survey says:

Boys only want love if it’s torture.

But it takes two to tango. Outside of gender and race (and all the imaginary ways we’ve separated ourselves) – human to human – people who don’t know how to treat others with compassion and respect will mistreat those closest to them for as long as they’re allowed to.

Fuckboys may or may not be aware that they’re punishing good, strong women because of their issues with a confident/controlling mother. They might not even mean to punish their lovers at all.

Because they’re attracted to strength in women, and afraid of it at the same time. So they rebel. Like teenage boys. Fuckboys are underdeveloped men because they can only see their interactions through one lense. They have only the perspective of fear of their own attraction, fear of being smothered or swallowed by love.

But… They’re not the only ones who’ve got it twisted.

For some reason women are accustomed to suffering.

We’re accustomed to adjusting, to conforming, to suppressing our comfort and desires for the idealized end goal: Mister Right (because we know by now Prince Charming definitely isn’t real).

Mr. Right though, he’s got potential. He could exist. If we don’t press him too hard. If we don’t push him. If we give into his bullshit, he will materialize one day. He will realize that our pain is love. He will come back to us after we’ve sat very still in our wedding dress of filth for days or weeks; he will return and wash our pain away and love us the way we deserve.

It’s warped. We’re warped.

Maya Angelou said in a meme once, that when people show you who they are believe them.

I think it’s so confusing for women when men treat us badly because as little girls we’re cherished and held and protected and fawned over. So our initial perception of the world is that it loves us and we are special. Later on we struggle to reconcile that love of little girls with overwhelming evidence of the world’s hatred and resentment of women. (But let’s talk about the burying of the Divine Feminine later, kay?)

If you know you’re a good woman in every way that counts – smart, loyal, compassionate, employed, ambitious – then don’t let yourself be destroyed. Yes, I said “let” because people will treat you the way you let them.

Admittedly that’s a lot easier said than done. It took me a long time to really believe I was a good woman. It took years to see and own my strength and wonder and power.

Sometimes we put on so well that the whole world is convinced of what we still haven’t learned. Sometimes what we put on is armor and it takes time to know that armor actually came from within and it’s made of us – of who we really are.

There is always going to be a part of me that’s like a kicked dog, who will do whatever it takes for love because that’s what abuse did to me. And not having a father at home; having a father who literally could not be bothered to see me will always leave me susceptible to men who dismiss me. It’s just a fucking thing I have. And there will always be a part of me that wants to fight about it.

You have to recognize your own bullshit

You have to look at yourself and find the reasons behind why you pick losers. Then you have to try and stay away from them. It’s hard because our brains love patterns and our hearts love drama. Bad men are bad but most of the time it’s actually on us for letting them into our lives. We get accustomed to turmoil, to the torture, to the illusion of a fairytale ending with a toad transformed by our kiss.

Listen, bitch. Transformation is the magic that happens after the heavy lifting of learning fucking alchemy. You want to change someone, change yourself. Do that work. Fix your own lens. Write your name in the blank space. Karma will handle all the rest.


Thanks for reading, Love!
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