Mia

'Rule your mind or it will rule you'

[motherbychoice]

Care to debate abortion?

Nah

[reproductivejusticeandliberty]

Mood. -V

[kiwianaroha]

This reminds me of a party I went to last year. I was standing with some friends, chatting, and someone said something that indirectly implied that sexism exists. Some trivial recounting of the basic facts of daily life for most women. Something so mild, so uncontroversial, so mundane that I don’t even remember what it was. 

Suddenly, this man standing on the outskirts of our conversational circle piped up with “actually, I think men are more discriminated against than women these days.”

 All conversation died.

I turned to look at him and he had this smug, insufferable grin on his face, relishing this moment, expecting us to waste our time and energy refuting this ridiculous thing he had just said.

The Devil’s Advocate was among us.

And, in my mind, I saw the next 15+ minutes playing out. The parade of facts and statistics in a vain attempt to defend ourselves, our gender, and to prove that misogyny is real. The glib, snide denials from some shithead who is getting off on our pain and frustration. The Gish Gallop of bullshit that would take a whole evening to properly dismantle. It was depressing and overwhelming. I hated it. I had to kill it before it began.

So I looked him dead in the eye and I said “OK,“ shrugged, and just walked away. 

Nothing I have ever said to another human being has ever been so crushing. As I walked away, I watched the smug grin vanish and confusion and anxiety set in. The rest of the group turned their backs to him and carried on as if he had never spoken - as if he was invisible. He was still staring at me when I walked over to another friend and told her what he had said. I pointed him out for her and made direct eye contact with him while we both laughed.

tl;dr: Don’t feed the troll. Let it perish, cold and hungry, in the wasteland of your indifference. It is weak and you are strong. Live your best life.

[i-wanna-b-yours]

Don’t feed the troll. Let it perish, cold and hungry, in the wasteland of your indifference. It is weak and you are strong. Live your best life.

- Tumblr user @/kiwianaroha

[quotemadness]

“Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but ‘Mom’s’ probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.”

— Kalyn RoseAnne

[bioillogically]

therapist: how are you? me: fine how are you

[wychelm]

is this something

[aridante]

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.”

[midvalkyrie]

On the 50th Anniversary of Scooby-Doo let us celebrate the musical group of goddesses known as the Hex Girls (x)

[veruneedy]

“I’ve got this tiny pang of regret when I think of how much I have probably missed out on in the last few years because I was too scared to take a risk, or too shy to speak up, or too worried to be bold.”

—

[whatever-is-pxre]

When I was 13 years old and curious about sex and love, I asked my mom if she had had sex before marrying my father (of whom she is still married to, and has been since before I was born). She said that that wasn’t really a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. I said ‘sure it is, you’ve either had sex before him, or you haven’t’. She brought me onto the couch and sat me down and told me about the boy she liked when she was young and how one night she snuck into his house while his parents were gone and they were kissing and he said they should have sex and she said that she wanted to save sex for marriage and he laughed and basically took all her clothes off and he raped her and as my mom was telling the story she cried and this was the second time I had ever seen my mom cry. She was 12 when it happened.

In grade 8 I got a call from my friend in the middle of the night and she was drunk in the park crying and told me that she went out that night with some other friends and they drank a little and her guy “friend” starting flirting and yes she laughed at first but then he tried to pull her shirt over her head and she pulled away and he ripped her shirt and it was her favourite shirt and then he pushed her to her knees and HIS BEST FRIEND HELD HER JAW OPEN WHILE HE FACE FUCKED HER. And so I went to the park and picked her up and took her home and slept in her bed with her except we didn’t sleep because she just cried and her mouth bled and this was four years ago but I still have to be the one to bring her items to the till it the cashier is a man, and she still has anxiety attacks and she’ll get a rash all over her body and I just want to kill those boys but instead they are still walking around. And I’m in the bathroom with her, dabbing at her skin with a warm cloth until it returns to its regular colour.

And in grade 9 one of my closest friends was kinda seeing this boy and so they hung out one night and then she said that she really had to be getting back home and he said that she wasn’t going anywhere until she gave him what he wanted and he parked the car and took off her clothes and she said no and he ignored her and so she laid in the backseat totally limp and just cried and it wasn’t even sex, he just masterbated by using her body instead of his hand and she came to school the next day with vodka in her water bottle and she drank all day and I had to fight her to get the alcohol away from her and she just cried and threw up and I skipped class while I held her hair back and that same boy texted me a month later, asking if I ever wanted to hangout sometime.

And in that same year my very best friend who has never even kissed a boy, confessed to me that when she was 9 years old, her 12 year old cousin made her give him a hand job and he told her that was what cousins do and he gave her a chocolate bar afterwards and she told me that he probably doesn’t even remember it but that it’s something that she’ll never have the luxury of forgetting.

And in grade 10 I knew a girl who invited her best friend over to watch Disney movies and then he started to put his hands down her pants and she said no but she is 130lbs and he is 220lbs and he called her a tease while she tried to fight him but he used one hand to hold her down, and the other to put inside of her and i was the one to push her inside of a classroom and stand in front of her while calling the police when he showed up at our school looking for her and she was so damn scared.

And a few months later I skipped class and was in the car with a guy who i had had unprotected sex with in the past while under the influence of cocaine but this time I was sober and I insisted we use a condom but he told me he couldn’t feel anything while the condom was on so he ripped it off and I said I refused to have unprotected sex again and so he just grabbed me and forced himself into my mouth and I was crying and he pulled me onto him and I just came saying “stop” over and over like a broken record but he must’ve heard something different because he went until he came and I just sat naked in the backseat while he drove me back to the school and said “we should do this again sometime”. And I had five showers that night and I scratched at my skin so hard to try and rip his fingerprints off of me, I still have the scars.

And I found out soon afterwards that that same guy had raped a classmate of mine, 5 months earlier and she told me about how he brought her McDonald’s first, and how he said they could take things slow and she told me about how he didn’t listen to her either. And he goes to our school and so after she told me about her incident and I told her about mine, we decided to report it to the police and the trial is currently still going on and he told people about it, except in his version we are just “asking for attention” and all his friends talk about how bad they feel for him. As if HE is the one that still wakes up screaming. As if HE felt like his skin no longer was beautiful, no longer belonged to him. And I held her in my arms as she bawled after giving the police her statement. And she did the same for me.

And I met a woman a year ago in a paint store and she had a service dog and I asked what the dog was for and it turns out that she had been so brutally raped and abused in her life, that the dog is literally trained to keep men away from her.

And I’m so FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF THIS WORLD WE ARE LIVING IN. How many rape victims eyes have I already looked into? How many more will I? And how many more friends will I hold while they shake? Because I don’t know how many more I can take. And who the fuck still has the nerve to make rape jokes? And… Something just has to change. Please, someone just start being that change.

-16 year old girl

[lesnians-deactivated20210730]

Did I reblog this already I dont care

[edisorderedd]

Reposting this a a victim of sexual abuse from my brother

[annarose-exe]

Reblogging as a victim of rape by a close friend.

Reblogging because my sister, mother, and friends have all been used without permission.

[sk1nandbones]

Reblogging because it’s not just men. I was assaulted by a girl when I was 12.

Reblogging because no one deserves to have their innocence or self worth dragged out of them like that.

[wannabeskeletongirl]

Reblogging because I was assaulted by my best friend when I was 11 and now I can’t even deal with people being to close to me. But also reblogging because this can happen to anyone. I love you all and if anyone wants to talk, my DMs are open.

[bitchelixiir]

Reblogging for my best friend friend who was drugged and raped in her house by her “friend” and who has since found two other victims and was able to encourage them to come forward to build a case against him. Reblogging for the fact that his friends post on social media that they can’t wait for justice to be served and for their rapist friend to walk free.

Reblogging for all Rape victims

[ultralazycreatorfan]

*

[violetwolfraven]

Reblogging for my friend who was raped by a guy when we were 14.

[javid4life123]

Reblogging for every rape victim out there. 

[fernlom]

Reblogging because the fact that this happens so often is absolutely unacceptable

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

Your impact on other people is bigger than you think. Someone still giggles when they think of that funny thing you said. Someone still smiles when they think of the compliment you gave them. Someone silently admires you. The advice you give has made a difference for people. The support and love you've offered others has made someone's day. Your input and opinions have made someone think twice. You're not insignificant and forgotten. Your existence makes a positive difference, whether you see it or not.

[crybabyddl]

please just p*nch me in the f*ce and c*** ** a ****.

[jackfrostftw]

what time is it

tumblr time

procrastination

[rosecrystal]

would love to be in a period drama. wearing those dresses half titty out acting shy 

[guerrillatech]

[leatherwingsinc-deactivated2015]

[caluummhood-deactivated20140506]

HOLY SHIT, IT WAS THE ORIGINAL ONE

MAKE A WISH

[jamesjoeboyleeeee-deactivated20]

the first post ever on tumblr

[powerpuffsposts-deactivated2025]

I WAS EXPECTING IT TO BE A REMAKE OF SOME SORT HOLY FUCK

[kpopdotexe-blog]

WHO THE FUCK KEEPS BRINGING THIS BACK

[worldheritagepostorganization]

World Heritage Post

[adulthoodisokay]

like actually though. i’m in AWE of the notecount.

[onlyherc-deactivated20221222]

if i bite my lips it’s not to flirt, i’m just ripping the skin off my lips because of stress

[sodamnaesthetic]

By X.Lan

[dreamilychocolatesoul]

Where the fuck is that person, just asking

[tiktoksthataregood-ish]

[carrionthird]

“Stop scrolling and please help me spread the word, because if I’ve landed on your page you’re most likely either a black woman or someone who cares about black women and the simple phrase I’m about to share could help save a black woman’s life.

Doctors are to black women what police officers are to black men. That may seem controversial but I believe it to be true and I speak from personal experience.

If you’ve seen this TikTok you know that a 2016 study showed that 50% of medical students and residents thought that black people couldn’t feel pain the same as white people.

And we learned from this video that because of a 1999 study, to this day, there’s a black correction factor for the creatinin levels in black people’s kidneys, meaning we’re less likely to recieve a kidney transplant if needed.

So if you go to a doctor, feel you aren’t getting proper treatment or they refuse the treatment you’ve requested, say to them the following:

I will need you to document on record that you are refusing the treatment (or medicine) I’ve requested, and the reason you are doing so.”

[dovewithscales]

This works. I have used it in other situations. If medical staff have to document and take responsibility and be on the hook legally for doing shady shit they behave much differently.

If you weren’t already going to spread this advice because black women are at risk, then spread it because it’s applicable to everyone else as well, including you reading this.

But particularly women, and especially black women.

[dressed-in-rain]

There was a moment (embarrassingly recently) in a medical anthropology class where it was explaining that NONE of the diseases for which being BIPOC is considered a risk factor (like diabetes, high blood pressure, etc.) has to do with any genetic or biological predisposition. IT’S ALL JUST RACISM. That’s it. The ACTUAL thing that’s making these people sick and killing them is structural racism. And while medical bias isn’t ALL of it, it is a SUCH a major component of the problem, and is generally the ultimate failure of the system. All women suffer potentially life-threatening bias/negligence from medical providers and black women get the absolute worst of it. 

And it’s horrific that in the face of this, THEY are the ones who are being forced to look out/advocate for themselves. That they have to scare their medical providers with the threat of liability to even get the most basic level of care.