[lolagrungebunny]

🌌 Raised in Her Wreckage

"Her Shadows in Me"

I was raised in the quiet cracks of a woman who never healed, shaped by silence, and smiles that knew how to disappear.

I became the balm to her bruises, her anchor in storms she wouldn’t name. The child turned therapist, listening for love between sighs and slammed doors.

For a while, that was enough. For a while, I didn’t know better. And for far too long, that became my place in everyone’s world.

But I don’t blame her. Blame is easy. Empathy is harder.

I know the weight she carries— not all of it, but enough to explain the sharp edges and the cold absence that sometimes wore her name.

Still, here I am, unlearning the idea that I only matter when I’m breaking for someone else. Still stitching myself together from the pieces I gave away freely.

Healing isn’t pretty. It’s not a quote on a wall. It’s a war in slow motion, a mirror you don’t always want to look into.

Some days, I wonder— when do we stop surviving? When do we stop pretending and start becoming?

I love her. Unconditionally. But the truth I whisper when no one’s listening is this:

I’m not sure I like who she is. And maybe, that’s the first step toward finally becoming who I am.

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

Stop just asking "is it normal?" and start asking "is it harming anyone?" Lots of harmful things are normalized in this society and lots of things considered weird or rare are completely harmless. Whether something is considered normal or common shouldn't be the deciding factor in whether it's okay

[butch--dan]

once these 15 million different stressful situations resolve themselves I’m gonna be so normal again. I can be normal and not exhausted

[lucenorthstar]

Karaoke Night with the Depressed Millennial Gang

[lolagrungebunny]

ok but like I love it bad....

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Richard Siken, Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[lolagrungebunny]

this made my brain tingle

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[lolagrungebunny]

🌌 not just tired, but worn

Unfiltered thoughts from the edge of healing 🖤🩸💫

"I’m not stuck in the past. The past is still inside me."

I got a long message this week — the kind that isn’t meant to start a conversation, but to end one.

It said everything had already been said. That it’s time to move on. That I was dangerously close to being loved “from a distance.”

And I get that. I really do. But even “loving from a distance” still feels like losing — especially when you’re already grieving the version of yourself you’ll never be again.

It said my pain was sharp. That I crossed a line. That I went for the jugular.

But what do you do when your whole body is already a battlefield? When you’re still healing from things that other people think are over?

They said I was trying to hurt them. But I wasn’t trying anything. I was just bleeding in front of someone who couldn’t take it anymore.

They listed all the things they’ve done for me. The time. The money. The late nights in hospital chairs. They said that’s real love.

And I believe it.

But when love sounds like a résumé, it starts to feel like something you owe — not something you can rest in.

They said I’ve let cancer become my whole identity. That they’ve seen people get stuck like this. That they’re afraid I’m becoming one of them.

But here’s the thing:

I didn’t choose this identity. I just had to survive inside it. And I’m still learning how to be something more than a diagnosis.

They want peace. I want peace too.

But I also want someone to say:

“You’re not too much. Even like this. Even now.”

They said I need purpose. That I need to look outside this pain. And they’re probably right. But I’m still looking for that place where purpose doesn’t mean pretending I’m not still hurting.

They said I’m more than what happened to me. I want to believe that. I really do.

But right now, I’m just trying to show up for my son with one kidney and a heart that keeps breaking open.

This isn’t bitterness. This isn’t blame. This is just a page out of the survival journal.

A place to put it down so I don’t have to keep carrying all of it alone.

🖤 “Sometimes people say ‘boundaries’ when what they mean is ‘distance.’” 🖤 “Sometimes we shrink our pain just to keep the people we love from walking away.”

—

[makingsenseofwhathappened]

The Cost of Staying

Sometimes it’s not that you didn’t want the job.

It’s that you wanted it too much. And now you're floating down some corporate river. Toward the wrong end of The Waterfall (TM).

You worked too hard. Put up with too much. Got good at things you never thought you’d be good at. Found your rhythm. Found your people. Maybe even started to believe you belonged there.

And then it changed.

Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was always like this and you just finally let yourself admit that the cost was too high.

That staying meant watching someone else get away with it. That staying meant shrinking a little bit each day. That staying meant carrying your own silence like it was professionalism. Like it was maturity. Like it was strength.

But here’s the truth no one wants to put on a poster: Sometimes leaving is the only way to protect yourself.

And that doesn’t mean you failed. It doesn’t mean you weren’t strong enough. It means the place wasn’t safe enough.

And maybe that’s not the ending you deserved, but it’s not the end of your story either (the waterfall).

[lolagrungebunny]

so beautifully put.

[bitesizedpoetry]

Sylvia Plath, aged 29, after discovering her husband's affair, in a letter to Ruth Tiffany Barnhouse Beuscher, her former psychiatrist (dated Friday, 20 July 1962)

[homunculus-argument]

Many new parents are delighted to discover that if left to their own devices for long enough, their children will just go ahead and raise themselves. Later on, the same parents are shocked and dismayed to find that their children didn't raise themselves to obey and respect their parents.

[inkskinned]

i miss when "don't normalize this" actually meant something. i miss when we would point out toxic thought patterns and note "you're romanticizing something tragic". i miss when you could actually call something antifeminist and you'd be taken seriously. what actually happened.

no, it isn't fucking normal we have teen girls saying "tee hee girl math girl dinner i'm just a girl." no it's not fucking romantic that your man lured you away from your hobbies and your career so you could raise his children and rely on his financial support. yes it's fucking antifeminist for you to say "i'll explain this mathematical concept so the girls can understand it". just because you put it in pink and make it wear a bow doesn't mean it's a safe little doll. it's still the same wolf.

you are being taught to casually accept gender essentialism and bigotry as the natural rule of order! you are being taught to self-admonish and self-control! you are not just being boiled! the water has practically evaporated! this is no longer a thought experiment, my love. this is a genuine problem.

[paperchits]

the entire discourse that therapy, and by extension all healthcare, should be accessible is valid. it should be.

however, we must not forget that these are services in the end. and the people who provide these services are real people who need money to survive too.

therefore, these services can't be free.

nothing is free, tbh. someone is always paying for something, directly or indirectly. with money or without money. (don't give me the sunlight, wind, rain are free bs. we're talking about commodities and services here. and naturally resources being "free" is a whole other debate for later.)

so instead of asking healthcare workers like doctors, therapists, etc. to work for free, or charge as minimal a fee as one can, the real people we need to be holding accountable are the governments and the public institutions whose job it is to make things accessible so that people from all walks of life can avail essential and non-essential services.

also, to all those who question the credibility of services like therapy, and "what does it even do?", "it's just talking", etc. - you're allowed to have skepticism. you can question it, and not believe in it. and if you've had poor experiences with therapy and therapists, I'm really sorry that you had to go through that. it is quite painful and damaging.

but that doesn't take away from the fact that ethical, and evidence-based therapy has scientifically proven to be beneficial for many people and has even saved and transformed lives.

generalizing your own experience (or the lack of) onto everyone and every situation can be misleading :)

[lolagrungebunny]

🌌 An Open Letter to My Therapist inspired by insomnia, introspection, and obviously emo vibes

💔 Mother’s Day Gift to Myself: No Contact (x2) Because protecting my peace is the only love I can count on right now.

Dear [redacted],

This year, my Mother’s Day gift to myself is simple: no contact.

Actually, scratch that— It’s my gift to myself this year and next. Two years in a row. Because one year of boundaries just isn’t enough when you’re healing from being chronically misunderstood.

I know. It sounds so millennial. So emo. But honestly? Parents just don’t understand.

Not in the cliché “get out of my room” way— But in the deep, aching, “do you even know who I am?” way.

Our therapy sessions are always a little magical. But this last one? It felt like a spiritual awakening. (Or a panic attack.) Or maybe both.

The wild part? I was aware of it while it was happening. Couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t breathe it away. Just watched it unfold in real time while you held space for me like I was still worthy in the chaos.

That’s a kind of love I don’t get everywhere.

Back to boundaries.

There are people in my life I can’t just drop. They are my sole support system. But also— my sole source of depression.

So this is my vow: I’m going no contact. Spiritually. Emotionally. Right now. Physically? Maybe next year. We’ll see.

Why? Because I don’t feel seen. Not fully. Not deeply.

I feel like my words are twisted. My intentions doubted. My love… misread.

Love feels like something that’s earned. Conditional. Performance-based. And when we fight? I start doing it too. Trauma spinning like a scratched CD from 2002.

A life-altering event hit our family recently. I won’t spill the details here— But it cracked me open.

I saw myself differently. And more importantly— I saw them differently.

The truth is: We don’t understand each other. Not on the level that matters.

And maybe that’s okay.

I know they love me. But they don’t know how to show love in a way I can receive.

That’s not hate. That’s reality.

I feel things differently. I need things they don’t know how to give. And they don’t have the emotional space to carry my real feelings.

So our relationship? It’ll stay surface-level. Weather talk and vague texts. Because I need more to go deeper— And right now, that more isn’t available.

But what’s not okay is this:

My boundaries are always being pushed.

And for my own survival, my boundaries have to become non-negotiable. Not forever. Not unmovable. But respected.

Until there’s genuine love and genuine effort to understand me… We can keep things light. Surface. Safe.

Thank you—for holding space for all of this. For seeing the version of me even I didn’t know how to love yet.

This is my truth. And I needed to say it out loud.

🖤 —Me

[lolagrungebunny]

"The Weight of All My Pauses"

I paused the music, but my thoughts kept screaming. Dishes in the sink, ghosts in my chest. I meant to clean, but sat down instead, and the silence said more than any checklist could. They call it a break— but it's just me arguing with my brain about what deserves my energy. I am stretched between grief I can't name and guilt I can't shake. How do you explain you’re not angry—just tired? Not bitter—just breaking? I want to love loud, but everything feels loud. Even kindness. Even air. So I shut the door, lower my voice, and raise a boundary. It doesn’t mean I don’t care. It means I finally do.

sometimes being strong means choosing quiet over conflict. sometimes love sounds like “i need space.” this one’s for the overstimulated, the overextended, and the ones learning to say “no” without guilt. 🖤

[lolagrungebunny]

What parts of you did you feel you had to hide in order to be loved?

[lolagrungebunny]

Send 'UNSEEN.REFLECTIONS' anonymous questions on Tellonym!

I think this is how I can interact easier?.. Idk Y'all I'm a southern millennial can ya believe it?!

[lolagrungebunny]

"Make America Work Again!!" -Unknown Guardian