“As long as you think that the cause of your problem is “out there” — as long as you think that anyone or anything is responsible for your suffering — the situation is hopeless. It means that you are forever in the role of victim, that you’re suffering in paradise.”
In second grade I had a classmate who heard me speak Vietnamese for the first time. He went on to point out my Asianness every single day after, so I nearly broke his arm.
It was snack…
I am prone to unrest and occasionally like to invite chaos into my life. So when two of my girlfriends and I were simultaneously going through heartbreak, I devised a plan: we would cut and dye our hair, burn the scraps in a firepit, and speak our goals into existence over the flames while passing a bottle of Snoop Dogg’s 19 Crimes. Like phoenixes, we’d rise from the ashes as brand new women — or something like that.
When I look into the past to pinpoint where it all went wrong, hindsight brings me back to the floor of my ex-boyfriend’s bathroom.
I was a junior in high school who spent the bulk of my time on Tumblr when I wasn’t hanging out with my boyfriend. Like most teenagers, I didn’t understand my emotions nor did I have a healthy way of processing them — so I released my frustrations into the digital void with a private Tumblr account.
“No, stop! Give it back to me,” I pleaded repeatedly as my ex ripped my phone from my hands.
“I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.” — Maya Angelou
There are plenty of things I’ve done that I’m not proud of. Like most people, I carry the burden of mistakes I made when I didn’t know better. But for me, shame was more than a moment of embarrassment or guilt. Toxic shame attacked my sense of identity and poisoned my inner dialogue.
I learned at an early age that pursuing wants over needs was selfish. Putting yourself first is out of the question when your family is struggling to…
Days before I submitted my two-week notice, a coworker told me “I think you need to find yourself.” I was back at my parents’ house right after graduating college, working a job that had no relation to my degree. Meanwhile, all my friends were flourishing in new cities with the same morale as Emily in Paris — or so it seemed.
If we’re a combination of the people we surround ourselves with, I became a heterogeneous mixture of a middle-aged couple that escaped communism, an angsty teen with a newfound edge for defiance, and coworkers twice my age who reluctantly…
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