Self-criticism is common to us all, and if we’re constantly comparing ourselves to dubiously ‘perfect’ humans we’re only fueling that fire.
The pieces I read over the weekend and loved. Topics include: the NBA, badass women who work for the NBA, racism, introverts, the twisted ‘privileges’ of academia and why your family drives you insane.
Society has built up a problematic narrative where the ideal woman acts in a very particular way: she doesn’t care about superficial things (make-up, fashion), yet always manages to look and feel perfect despite that. Call it Jennifer Lawrence syndrome, if you will.
The pain felt when realizing someone only talks to you when they’re sad is quite specific. It comes on slowly, until, suddenly, you’re faced with weighty questions re: what is friendship, in the vein of Seneca (but with decidedly more estrogen).
Food is our first experience of love and comfort—quite literally, as we immediately bond with our mothers via breastfeeding or the like. I was once fully capable of feeding myself in a ‘normal’ manner, but then somewhere along the way I started to see myself as less deserving of that nourishment—which is to say, less deserving of love.
We all have individual hierarchies of beauty and hygiene importance, which often read as superficial. But leaving it at that is shortsighted–for my writerly ass, at least. If we really consider what it is that we privilege over the myriad other options, out choices tend to spell something out about our larger values or interests.
Sometimes I feel invigorated like this—the words of an author send me spiraling into a kind of blissful state where for once I’m not thinking about what I’m doing but simply doing it.
Women rethink the narrative they’re born into, laughing at Mean Girls rather than recreating their own version. They aim to bake a great, gooey pie, rather than merely perfecting one rigid, self-absorbed slice.