don't know who needs to hear this, but start living. the days are flying by, and all you do is work, pay bills, and stress. enjoy what you can - walks, sunsets, music, laughter and nature. joy doesn't have to be expensive. you deserve it.
Your job is important but, so are your workouts, your lunch breaks, vacation days, hobbies, the people waiting for you when you get home.
Works pays for your life. It isn't supposed to replace it.
the fact that women could have their nudes leaked and their whole career could potentially be destroyed but men could have a whole ass R@PE ALLEGATION but still be the president of the US... i never wanna hear y'all argue that gender inequality doesn't exist
A girl who hangs around with “hoes” is automatically a “hoe” but men who hang around with abusing, manipulative, rapist friends & all of a sudden it’s “not their business”
Pick a script and stick to it.
Women
- are 51% of the population
- but 60% of the poor
- and 83% of single parents
- doing 66% of the work
- producing 50% of the food
- but earn just 11% of the pay
- and own only 20% of the land.
- All while giving birth to 100% of the population.
In case you wondered why we still need feminism.
“I don’t understand why women don’t just report it if it really happened.”
When I was 19, I reported mine. I had bruises. Hospital photos. Text messages of him apologizing the next morning. My friends drove me to the station because I could barely stop shaking. I thought evidence would make it simple. I thought truth would be enough.
Months later, I was the one on trial. His lawyer printed my Instagram photos and held them up in court. Asked why I wore crop tops. Asked why I drank that night. Asked why I didn’t scream louder. He replayed my police interview and pointed out every time I hesitated, every time I cried, every time my timeline wasn’t perfectly linear. “If it was traumatic,” he said, “why can’t she remember clearly?”
Sitting there while strangers debated my pain like it was a group project felt like being stripped again. My messages were projected on a screen. My body was described in detail. My character was picked apart like that was the real crime.
He walked out on bail. I walked out with panic attacks.
That’s why some women don’t report. Because even with bruises. Even with screenshots. Even when you do everything “right.” You still have to survive the assault twice, once in private, and once in public, just to maybe be believed.
I don't know why we always have to say "what if it was your mother, sister, or daughter?" just to make a man understand basic empathy.
Why does a woman have to be related to you for her pain to matter?
The bar isn't low — it's buried.
And if it takes blood ties for you to care, you were never raised, just trained.
dating someone who knows you're a work in progress, but still adores you for the absolute fucking masterpiece that you already are is extremely important