It’s not stupid. I promise. It’s not stupid to turn into your 5 year old self and get happy beyond measure for the little things. It’s not stupid to be proud of yourself for completing a load of laundry and washing the dishes. You aren’t lame for patting yourself on the back when you chose a salad over a burger. You’re taking care of yourself and each victory - no matter how small - is worth celebrating.
Cases of self-hate are worryingly increasing among adolescents. In addition to the bad body image that the media portrays and the social expectations of perfection, some unlikely culprits are also fuelling self-hate. Identifying the problem will be the first way of turning that car around, driving away from the self-hate and into a haven of respect and love for oneself.
Comparing yourself to another person is an act of violence. It is an act of self harm. Even if you compare yourself favorably to one person or group of people, you are building a house of cards that will collapse as you try to stand on it. Self-comparisons are hard to avoid. If we do not compare ourselves to others, others will compare themselves to us. They will lump us into categories, according to their particular expression of ignorance. Because comparing ourselves to each other is so common and so destructive, we have to learn how to use all the comparisons to expose our egos and set us free.
To be free from our ego we become humble. If we think we are big, we look at a mountain. If we think we are small we look at a mouse. If we think we are smart, we think about solving world hunger. If we think we are stupid, we have no business thinking at all. When we think about all the comparisons we can make, we see that it is a futile game that our ego plays, trying to figure out which is prettier, a flower or a sunset.
When we catch ourselves bringing ourselves down or building ourselves up by comparing ourselves to others, we can remember that we are playing an ego trick, trying to pretend that we are moonbeams or pimples. When we step out of the comparison game, we become humble. When people put us into their categories, we greet their confusion with compassion. We no longer have to pretend that we are something more or less that we are.
Humble is neutral. It is greatness, without being great. Understanding our basic humility, helps us to cut through our confusion. We don’t have to make ourselves out to be anything other than we are. What we are is beyond compare.
This is ridiculous, not gonna lie. Just a little Dean drabble that came to mind last night, when I was exhausted, and I literally gave myself the giggles. So imagine that Dean x reader are just as exhausted, and that things are just as stupid funny to them as they were to me when my mind came up with this…
I’m so sorry :D
You feel the
mattress give as he crawls beneath the covers, and you smile, still
mostly asleep. He’s home. He’s safe.
He’s warm and
solid behind you, one arm sneaking its way under your arm, angling up
across your body to your shoulder as he spoons up close behind you. A
contented sigh ruffles your hair a little as he drops a kiss to your
head. “Glad you’re home,” you murmur, and he gives you a
sweetheart,” he says, and you love the way his voice makes his
chest rumble against you. Something else is nudging against you, too,
and you can’t help smiling.
“Seems like Little
Dean is happy to see me, too,” you tease, and he chuckles.
“You know, I’ve
been meaning to talk to you about that,” he says, his voice rich
and lazy, sleepy.
“You always call
him Little Dean. Hurts his feelings.”
You giggle softly.
“I mean he’s little compared to – your whole self. You doof.”
“Well, he thinks
he deserves a better name. Something a little more – impressive.”
You turn to your
back, the silly grin on your face matching the one on his. “Oh,
really. Well, does he have any suggestions?”
enlighten me.” Dean’s eyes are shining with amusement, that fourteen-year-old self inside him that loves to be naughty is
just dying to come out and play, and you love that side of him.
“Well, he gave me
a list. Are you ready?”
sputter, almost giggling already.
“Well, these are
pretty – meh, if you ask me, but – The Boss. The Sniper Rifle.
The Specialist. Master Blaster. The Wench Wrench. But he’d prefer
one of the top two.”
You almost choke
trying to contain your laughter, you can barely speak. “Please,
tell me the top picks. I can’t wait.”
Dean turns to his
side to face you, both of you barely containing yourselves. Dean
starts talking twice before he manages to stifle his laughter enough
to continue. “Okay. Brace yourself. His favorites are: Mr. Happy
explosion of giggles spews out between your lips, and you clamp them
shut as your body shakes with laughter. Your voice is high-pitched
and forced as you ask, “And? The other one?”
Dean’s entire face
is twitching with the effort to contain himself, and you keep letting
out little whines, laughter that is leaking out despite your efforts
to stifle it for just one more minute.
ready for this?”
“The Jackhammer of
both done. Neither of you has laughed this hard in – well, you
can’t remember when. There are tears streaming down your face, your
stomach aches, and still you can’t stop. And hearing Dean laugh
like this, well – this is the best.
You both finally
calm down, panting for breath, an occasional giggle starting you up
again for a few moments here and there. Dean pulls you close for a
kiss, your lips smiling against his. “So – what’s the verdict?”
he asks, and you look into his eyes, still shining with mirth.
“Oh, I’m sorry –
but I’m gonna have to sleep on that one.”
He pulls you close,
letting out a big, exhausted sigh. “Fair enough. But I’m pretty
sure he’s gonna be expecting an answer in the morning.”