that kind of woman

Those broken women narratives, where a Black woman has gone through some kind of trauma and now just wants some time herself, but she must learn to open her heart for a man to be happy always irked the hell out of me, as someone who’s been emotionally, physically, sexually abused for as long as I remember.
The whole idea that a woman should try to find a relationship to fix her mental health problems is , one, misogynistic AF, two horrible terrible advice.
Me, and people like me don’t have a reference for what caring actually is. We’ve been subject to abuse our entire lives, it feels NORMAL. You feel like that’s just how your life is supposed to be. You feel like this is what you deserve and it won’t get any better. And we have a much harder time recognizing abusive behavior overall. This makes us EASY TARGETS for abusers and predatory people. And that’s not even touching on how women are socialized to take shit already.
Self preservation should be incouraged much more than “opening up and learning to trust people.” THATS the easy part. THAT Part comes naturally once you learn to trust your own judgement again which often means, taking time for your fixing stuff, focusing on yourself, learning the good things about yourself, spend time with yourself. Not jumping into a relationship with the first person who shows you genuine interest.
It’s like these broken women narratives don’t explore or even care about the actual heeling process, just how it effects the men who want them. We should be available to men at any given moment, regardless if what our needs are, what we’re going through.

how do you think, could janine be bi. everytime i see her on my dash i get my radar tingling. well, maybe it’s just a wishful thinking. but she is the most charming woman on sherlock for me. she’s kind-minded and fun and self-confident. and not stupid. still dunno what was in it for her to roll with sherlock’s weak-ass proposal lol. she knew sherlock was gay and she made john jealous on purpose. bless

anonymous asked:

♡ ♡

For every “♡” I get I’ll give a tip on how to win my muse’s heart.

This will be a two in one:

Strength show him you are capable, or in the words of Cowboy Bebop, Spike:

I love the kind of woman that can kick my ass.—  

Spike Spiegel,  Cowboy Bebop

Do not quickly interpret this some diseased fancy of women pummeling him, instead, he usually wishes to see if they are capable of their own. To assume a broadened outlook on this, he strongly believes if they are proficient to defeat him by any measure. That his fears or any, if they are developed, can dissolve rationally with little issues. This fact is also coupled with the want of independence and yet the dominant sensation of self-preservation that someone may prove admirable. How impressing him is exceedingly difficult.

Don’t get lost, I tell myself. Just pick up your knees and push. Push a little bit farther, a little bit harder. Don’t push other’s it’s not nice. Don’t push your heart, it won’t heal as fast. Push deeper, though. You could love again.

Remember how lovely it is to be looked at like you’re brand new to someone? Remember looking at someone and feeling the wanting familiarity that comes with holding someone’s face lightly between your palms and kissing them. Above the right eyebrow, scattering kisses across the bridge of their nose. On to their lips. Taste. Remember feeling the hair on the back of their neck against your fingertips for the first time, your how their shoulders square off towards yours and you feel content?

Remember car rides? Well, imagine new ones, and they squeeze your knee, or take your hand and kiss the back near your knuckles. Think about reaching out and brushing the fingers of your left hand against their ear. Sit back, and trust them to drive you where you need to be. 

Remember, not always where you must be, but where you need to be, a lookout, or the beach, or maybe just windows down with a good song on going around the block a couple times, or maybe just to the grocery store to pick up two ripe plums. Let the plum juice run down your fingers. Sit on the roof or hood or trunk of the car. Make sure your thigh brushes theirs. Kiss them. 

Think about a kitchen table where you share your mornings, and maybe nights. Think about your legs and feet brushing theirs. Think about lazy morning kisses, hand holding. Hugs. Think about the new ones you’ll share. Push yourself to think new, not compare to old. Think about what will make their day better. Your day better. Your day collectively better. 

Remember yoga at first, how you felt weak, detached, immovable, always trying to catch your breath? Well, that’s not you anymore, you are constantly focusing yourself for the next move, the next pose trusting that the sequence will play out, that eventually after deepening, lifting, trusting, a bit of a challenge you feel exhausted. Eventually you will lay still, quite, motionless, content. 

Eventually love will come again, you’re deepening though, the way you think, feel, the way you exist. Always learn more, challenge more, live more. Don’t get lost. Push, baby. Push. Your effort, that your result only need to effect you. Make yourself proud. Hold yourself to your standard. Don’t brag, explain. Let your passion show your liveliness. 

And don’t forget to savor the stretch, don’t forget to savor the kiss, don’t forget through the struggle, it’s a beautiful thing called existing. Revel at the moon, dance or run till your legs tire. Do deep, go fully. Trust yourself. Share that passion for the outer world with someone else. Don’t forget to fill every crack, crevice, hole in your heart… with affection, respect and love for yourself and the people who have made and continue to make you.