:: Image via Overdrive ::
Love this, from Emotional Geographic (and also, what a heck of a name for a site!): the letter your teenager can’t write you.
This fight we are in right now. I need it. I need this fight. I can’t tell you this because I don’t have the language for it and it wouldn’t make sense anyway. But I need this fight. Badly. I need to hate you right now and I need you to survive it. I need you to survive my hating you and you hating me. I need this fight even though I hate it too. It doesn’t matter what this fight is even about: curfew, homework, laundry, my messy room, going out, staying in, leaving, not leaving, boyfriend, girlfriend, no friends, bad friends. It doesn’t matter. I need to fight you on it and I need you to fight me back.
I love this post so much, both for its commentary on female bodies and sexuality on social media and also its larger implications about female bodies and sexualities in real life.
Because while I can’t control your imagination, I can do my damnedest to control the narrative around it by creating my own, by using captions that speak of celebration and space-taking, by focusing on self-love and adoration first and foremost.
I empathize with you. But I will not cater to you.
I want so much to have this as a mantra: I empathize with you. But I will not cater to you.
Our bodies do not forget.
They remember, repeating their cries until we listen.
All past crimes recorded and listed, awaiting reckoning, a court house over flowing way past its hearing date.
To commune with our bodies has become a courageous act, because of the sheer magnitude of unaddressed pain stored within.
You see it’s become much easier to be out of your body rather than in it.
When I get old, please send me to the Babayagas’ house.