I want it, you want it, SHE wants it. Come on Marvel, make this happen!
people complain about people “faking disabilities”
you know what happens way more often than people faking disabilities?
people pretending not to be disabled so they won’t get treated like shit
You should be angry. You must not be bitter. Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. It doesn’t do anything to the object of its displeasure. So use that anger. You write it. You paint it. You dance it. You march it. You vote it. You do everything about it. You talk it. Never stop talking it.
Maya Angelou (via erkings)
"He has autism. I’m really surprised he was playing with you."
This happens sometimes at work, and I’m never sure how to react. A parent (or other adult) will come up to me after I’ve been playing with their child, and point out that the child’s current behavior is really unusual for them.
Sometimes it’s young kids who just seem overwhelmed by their surroundings, and we’ll just sit together for a little bit. I’ll talk about things—their shoes, the weather, the character on their shirt—for little while, and then listen when they start talking. If they start talking—often, they don’t,and that’s okay.
Sometimes it’s a copycat game. They’ll hide from me, and I’ll hide from them. They peek out, and I peek out. They put their hands up, and I put my hands up. When they realize that everything I do is copying them, their actions get more intentional, silly, fun.
Last week there was a young man in our new Thomas the Tank Engine gallery. I talked with him for a minute, and it was immediately clear that he a.) loved trains, and b.) hated eye contact. So I stopped trying to make eye contact, and we played in parallel, not facing each other, but talking about trains, Thomas, the toys he had at home.
And it happened again, the grown-up coming up afterwards and confessing “He’s autistic, he doesn’t usually talk to people.”
And I smiled and said, “Well, it seems like he’s having fun,” because I didn’t know what else to say. And it did seem that way, and that’s great.
But I never know how to react when parents say that to me. They always seem pleased, grateful, even, and I guess they must mean it as a compliment. And if I made their day brighter, and (more importantly) their child’s day brighter, good. That’s wonderful, and it’s what I try to do with everyone who comes to the museum.
But it’s also weird, because—it’s what I do with everyone who comes to the museum. I’m not a therapist, I’m not a specialist, I’m not some mysterious Autism Whisperer. I just try to connect with kids and make their days better. I don’t have special tactics for “dealing with” autistic kids. I don’t even work in an environment where autistic kids are identified as such, except by their parents, after the fact.
So I’m literally treating these children as I would any other human: with cheer, and with kindness, with gentleness, silliness, understanding.
So when the adult says to me, “he never plays this way!” I worry.
Because I am not an extraordinary person. I am not doing anything special—just paying attention to the child, offering lighthearted interaction, responding to their needs and desires as best as I understand them. It’s how I approach every child I work with—hell, it’s how I try to approach every person I know.
So when I hear, “He never plays like this!”
I don’t really know what to say. But I hope with all my heart that its not because he’s never treated like this.
I have learned that there are plenty of ways to show up at one’s work: incessant contemplation, research, and the unconscious mapping of structure that might come as the body moves in the world. For a while, I tried to forgive myself for not writing every day, but now that the work of my first memoir is complete, I realize that taking long breaks, pacing my work, and allowing for retreat is nothing that needs forgiveness: My brain was protecting itself as it turned traumatic memory into crafted prose.
Please be clingy with me. Get worried if I don’t text you back in ten minutes, blow up my phone, when were in public you better hold my hand and kiss me, get mad when other girls look at me, tell me that you miss me or love me all the time. But also I want you to trust me. If I’m dating you then it means that I’m all for you. I don’t want a relationship that will last a few days. I got into this because I saw something with you. I am yours, you are mine. End of story.
the worst thing you can say to someone is ‘you’re too sensitive’ because that’s basically saying ‘you feel things more deeply and fully than i do and this inconveniences me because now i have to be more mindful of my own actions’
you’re not too sensitive, the world is just callous and stubborn. sensitivity doesn’t make you weak and callousness doesn’t make you strong.
This “vintage” Kent State University sweatshirt briefly went on sale Sunday night at Urban Outfitters for just $129.
To the amateur fashionista, this may look like a unique take on the classic college sweatshirt. But to anyone with a cursory knowledge of American history, however, it looks more like a reference to the shooting massacre at Kent State on May 4, 1970, when four unarmed college students were killed and nine wounded by Ohio National Guardsmen during a Vietnam War protest at the university.
Understandably, people were pissed.
oh my God……
why is urbanoutfitters still a thing.
Experimental photography project exploring nature and femininity through self portraiture. #vscocam
What do you do when you don't feel like dressing super femme? School ended for me and I'm still in jeans&tee unable to dress or wash my hair.
I absolutely do this and certainly don’t always have the time/energy/motivation to do high femme.
For myself, I try to do little things, even if I’m busy, depressed, lazy, or just way more into being comfy that day. So, if I’m not washing my hair, I pull it back, make a little pompadour up front, and maybe add a bandana for a cute little 50s look.
Or if I’m wearing yoga pants (which are legitimate pants and I will fight to the death for that truth), I’ll put on a cute shirt in a favorite color, and maybe a hair flower.
Some days, I might just put on some mascara, which does wonders for making your eyes pop, and leave the rest of my make up alone. Or I’ll throw on - or, you know, take a half hour obsessing over - some cute nail polish in a fabulous color.
For me, it’s not even about “I hope someone else thinks I look good,” it’s about “how can I feel good about myself and my body and use these small rituals as self care?”
I was taught to hate my body. I was taught to hide it. I won’t do that any longer, so I use these small things to reenforce and recommit to loving myself and expressing myself.
But, you do you. Your femmeness is not controlled by your outfit or your make up or your hair. You are your femmeness. You are your strength and beauty. Jeans and a tee and unwashed hair is femme and it is fine. Don’t let your self-judgements make you feel lesser than.
There is no wrong way to be femme.
"There is no wrong way to be femme."