hi adult tumblrites paying for their own phone plan. which one is best when u need a new phone and are a single adult, but need it to be really cheap cuz ur on SSI lol. like the mint mobile type ones, are they any good?
i need to get my own phone plan and a new phone in order to go no contact with my abusive father and take financial burden off my mom (who i have a deeply complicated relationship with but she is a victim of him as well and financially trapped with him)
so. yeah! also. phone model suggestions are welcome. ugh. ironic that this is the exact question i would be asking my dad since hes a tech guy
Mostly for me but for anyone else that needs to hear it:
The holidays are really hard when you're low or no contact with your family. It's okay and valid to grieve for the relationship you wish you had with them. It's okay to feel sad or angry about it. It's also okay to have a fun, happy, joyful holiday season without them. You don't need to feel guilty for any of it.
If you're spending time with family you're low contact with during the holidays, it's okay to set boundaries. It's okay to keep boundaries. You can't control other people, you can only control yourself. Don't let them ruin your holidays. You don't need to let them close enough to do that. You don't have to feel guilty for protecting your heart and having a good holiday season.
I'm sending so much love to everyone who is going through this during the holidays. It's hard and it sucks, but you are strong and brave for putting your own needs first.
having a mom is like. you know me better than anyone. you never knew me for a second. I know you'd fight for me. you were going to let me die. you love when i get along with my siblings. you hate when im honest about why i don't. you're prouder of me than anyone. you have no idea what I've been through. you're scared to lose me. you're scared to parent me. i think I'd heal if you just hugged me and meant it. i think I'd heal if I never saw you again.
Yesterday, while trimming the wild hedge that grows like a green beast in our garden, I thought of my dad. Not in the usual heavy, tangled way—but because of the tool in my hands. A telescopic hedge trimmer. A birthday-Christmas combo gift (I’m a November baby—Scorpio sun, leaf-cruncher moon) from him, last year.
I was flooded with this unexpected gust of gratitude. If I didn’t have this exact tool, I’d have had to wobble on a ladder with the regular one, and my body would’ve howled in protest for days. And I nearly texted him. Something simple. Something true:
“I finally got to use the telescopic hedge trimmer—it’s a lifesaver. Thank you.”
But I didn’t.
Because I don’t talk to him much anymore.
Because talking to him hurts.
There’s a fault line between us. Quiet but sharp. Things unsaid that hum too loud to ignore. I know he might light up to hear from me. I know he might imagine it’s an opening, a bridge, a signal that the silence is lifting.
But I also know how it usually goes.
He might respond with guilt-laced words, or passive jabs wrapped in false warmth. He’ll probably act confused, hurt, dramatic. He might demand more than I have to give.
And so, I didn’t send the text.
I held the gratitude close like a stone in my pocket—warm, true, and mine.
Because I have boundaries now. Hard-won. Wobbly at times, but sacred.
Still, it aches. Keeping boundaries with people who were supposed to love us gently—that’s one of the most painful things I’ve ever done.
And I question myself. A lot.
Am I being selfish? Cold? What would people think of a daughter who doesn’t talk to her father?
But then I remember: A “good daughter” doesn’t have to bleed to prove her love.
I am not here to be consumed.
I get scared. I still flinch at the thought of him lashing out—his voice sharp, his love conditional. I wonder what he’d say, what stories he’d tell others. Will he twist things? Will he show up uninvited? (He has before.)
And then there’s the ache about my kids. Should they know their grandfather? But deep down, I know: keeping them safe means not handing them over to old patterns that hurt me. I’ve seen flickers of that same behavior already—and it breaks something open in me. No. I won’t let the cycle repeat.
All of this—the guilt, the fear, the ache—is the cost of boundaries. And it’s still worth it.
Because I’ve spent most of my life abandoning myself to keep the peace.
I’ve erased myself for the sake of fitting into a family mold carved out by fear, not love. And now, every boundary I place is a breadcrumb back to who I really am.
Sometimes, I think about going completely no-contact. I don’t know if I’ll ever get there. But I do know that dissociating through another empty conversation, pretending I’m fine, nodding along while my soul whispers “get out”—that’s not living. That’s slowly dying.
And I want to live.
I want to live fully, brightly, awkwardly, magically—like a sun-drenched dandelion in a field no one mows anymore. I want to know who I am without the noise of those who never saw me clearly.
I’m slowly learning—really learning—that just because someone is family, doesn’t mean they are entitled to me. Not my time, not my emotions, not my softest, truest self.
Especially if they harm that self.
My boundaries are not walls of anger. They are fences of flowers. They are wild and necessary. They say: “I love you. But I love me too. And I will not burn down my own meadow to keep your storm company.”
I’ve come to understand that this journey—of healing, of reclaiming—will cost me things. It might cost me people. Friends. Family. Familiarity. But I’ll gain me. And that is priceless.
I’m lucky to have a few people who understand. My mother, my husband, my aunt—they’ve seen me trying, growing, stumbling, rising. And their love has remained. Not dependent on me being small or agreeable or quiet. Just… present, real, human. And that means everything.
I’m reparenting myself now. Protecting the little girl who cried in dark corners. The one no one stood up for. The one who hid her magic just to be safe.
No more hiding.
No more dimming.
No more saying “it’s fine” when it’s breaking my bones inside.
That’s why I created this blog. That’s why I wrote my book. Because I believe we need to talk about the things that hurt us. The things that shaped us. The things we buried to survive.
And in naming them—we find each other. In naming them—we find healing.
You’re not alone. I’m not alone.
We are a garden of wild souls, learning to bloom past the thorns.
Tell me—what are boundaries like for you? Are they thorny? Tender? Easy? Excruciating? I’d love to hear your stories. Let’s talk about it in the comments or reblogs.
This is a rather uncommon gift we've been given as readers. Not a book, but a very long letter from Kafka to his father. A letter never read by the intended recipient. There's a lot of anguish, anxiety, and suffering to be found in what the letter broaches. A super in-depth look at the failings of their father-son relationship. Complex as only familial links can be. A relationship that at this stage could not be made right again. Really, this is the type of book that would be of interest mostly to Kafka scholars or those fans wishing to understand the writer better. And understand they will, because I think the father's gaslighting and double binds explain a lot of the bureaucratic nightmares that create anxiety so masterfully in Kafka's fiction. You can trace the origin readily. Without such a father, Kafka likely would've been an entirely different kind of writer. Or perhaps not a writer at all. The other reader who might find this work to be of interest would likely be someone who has father issues of their own. 5/5 stars.
Hi there! Our name is Mason, or Oliver. We are 19, and proship, fleur, and plural! also pro endo/willo/tulpa
This blog doesn’t really have a set theme. We shitpost, make moodboards, stimboards, talk to ourselves, etc. Things will be tagged accordingly though!
We’re into a number of things, such as, but not limited to; Hamilton, Smosh, Criminal Minds, TAWOG, Stranger Things, Starkid, MCYT, Hermitcraft, MLP, Ride The Cyclone, OHSHC, MLP:FiM, Squid Game, etc.
Minors, please, hide and/or don’t interact with my “nsfw tag” tag.
Our host is Eddie, and its tag is 🌈🩸🧛🎸.eddie’s. Others will post on here, though!
Our only dni is Zionists, Homophobes, Pro-contact (the big three paras), Trans/Cis/TrisNazi’s, Any kind of fascist, and Cruel/Mean antis.
if you recognize us from our main, no you don’t
Last updated on 1/19/26. Will be updated accordingly.
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