#:-)) recovery is Happening

[toxungen]

guard dog

[blessedsage99]

i've been thinking about The Weeping Hearts like all week ungh

friendship w weiss and coco was so peak im literally never recovering

some implied whiterose and crosshares... as a treat ofc.... dies

[journal-from-the-heart]

i think, for trauma survivors, especially those who were emotionally abused, invalidated, or gaslit, it is really important not to underestimate the significance of speaking bluntly about what happened to you. Forcing yourself not to beat around the bush, not to downplay what you went through with your words. say what happened, without any caveats, without any “but it could’ve been worse”, “but i might just be being overdramatic”, “but it wasn’t really THAT bad,” and so forth. sit with the discomfort until you can begin to let yourself realize that it WAS that bad, you WERENT being overdramatic, and even if it could’ve been worse you still didn’t deserve it. It’s almost like a form of reclamation, taking back your memories, taking back your life, even the difficult or gross parts, and refusing to let anyone change the narrative or tell you how you should feel anymore, even yourself. and it hurts and it’s scary and it feels weird and awkward and sometimes you want to convince yourself you’re lying, but i think sitting in those weird feelings and letting yourself admit that you really did go through trauma puts the power back in your hands to process things and be compassionate to yourself while you heal

[thepeacefulgarden]

[werepuppy-steve]

woke up thinking about how we don't know if steve even lives at his house on loch nora anymore. what if part of his dad cutting him off was also kicking him out? he's got enough money from the government saves up from the previous two years, he could leave hawkins in the dust and get a place in indianapolis.

but he doesn't. two years of government hush money also means there's a chance of it coming back. so he stays. he temporarily moves in with dustin and claudia before dustin leaves for camp. they set up the spare bedroom for him and claudia helps him look in the paper for job listings. there's a flyer for starcourt in the inserts with "now hiring!" in bold yellow letters. he figures it wouldn't hurt.

he starts at scoops and meets robin, gets tortured a little. but it's fine because the kids are safe and his pockets end up being a little heavier this time around. an "apology" of sorts for being a casualty of the cold war, they said.

when his face is all healed and he can see out of his left eye again, claudia (who i hc to be in real estate) helps him look for properties. by the middle of october, steve is signing the papers for a mortgage on a little two bedroom (bc of course dustin is going to have a room there) tudor on the outskirts of hawkins. he doesn't have much in the means of decorating, but with the help of claudia, dustin, robin, and the rest of the party (including karen wheeler, which surprises steve a little), steve ends up with a cosy little home filled with knick knacks and furniture that were either thrifted or donated. absolutely none of it matches, but for the first time in what feels like his entire life, steve has something that is his.

[ed-recoverry]

Shoutout to people with trauma that is uncommon.

Shoutout to people with trauma that little people have experienced.

Shoutout to people who have had trauma from multiple sources, making their experience unique.

Shoutout to people with trauma who struggle to find anyone who went through what they went through.

[positivelyadhd]

please don't blame yourself not knowing you were neurodivergent sooner.

please don't blame yourself if you did know you were neurodivergent but your support needs weren't met for whatever reason.

everyone deserves to have access to disability aids and support if they need it.

you are not an inconvenience for wanting to be understood or supported. you are not broken.

it is not your fault that the systems you needed weren't there when you needed them.

no matter what anyone says, you deserve to live in a world where you can be happy and do the things that you want to do and exist how you want to.

I am so sorry that it's so difficult to get that sometimes, but it is not your fault. and you still deserve support now even if you *got by" without.

[stacytea]

Maedhros has learned the black speech in Angband, can speak it fluently & very much prefers death than ever admitting it to anyone

[sincerely-sofie]

A vent comic about listening to your younger self and taking the things that killed you and using them to come back stronger:

[buttdumplin]

One week post hysterectomy and you're ready to pull out your hair and theirs. Ale and Rudy can help.

cw: poly!141 x transmasc latine!reader, established relationship, mexican slang, spanish-speaking reader word count: 1620

You don’t often have to remind yourself how much you love your partners, how you cherish them, because it comes so naturally. But with the hovering and the near constant check-ins and the way they won’t let you even walk on your own, you have to recite a mantra about it so you don’t pull out your own hair.

“Yall realize that 6-8 weeks of recovery does not mean 6-8 weeks of being bed bound, right?”

John is almost too quick to answer, “Hasn’t even been a full week yet. You need to take it slow.”

“None of you ever take it this slow when you’re injured.”

“None of us have to deal with that major of a surgery usually.”

There’s plenty of pillows around you, you can chuck one at his head without it affecting your posture. You spend a second looking for the right one to throw, but the pillows John bought you are slightly bigger than what you can currently lift. Motherfucker has the gall to grin at you, proud of himself.

Needing to at least exit the room, you wiggle around in the nest of pillows as much as you can without hurting yourself. A too hard lunge makes you gasp and Simon appears at your side, reaching in with strong arms to pull you free from the tender trap. You sit him down once you’re on your feet, motioning for him to stay there. You can make the walk to the bathroom. You should make the walk to the bathroom. You need to make the walk to the bathroom.

“Remember not to strain yourself,” he calls from the bed, edge in his voice making it clear that he’s only barely able to stay where you left him.

Any other time, any other one of them, you’d be turning and mocking them with an “okay mom.” In fact, you still want to with all the careful tiptoeing, but when you turn and find those big brown eyes full of soft concern, the anger dissipates. Simon is in uncharted waters, feeling helpless and clinging to what he can do for you. His hands clutch the bedding under him, knuckles turned white.

You answer him softly, “I will Moncho, thank you.”

As silent as he is, you know he’s standing outside the door the moment you close it, waiting for your call should you need him. It’s usually not a problem, but having to swear to no locked doors for the foreseeable future makes you move carefully in the bathroom. The last thing you need right now is to grunt a little too loudly and scare Simon. 

“You know you don’t all have to stay housebound, right?” you try to keep your tone friendly as you open the door. “Yall can take turns stepping out for groceries or snacks.”

“Everything delivers now, love,” Kyle sounds a little too smiley for your liking right now.

“I just don’t want yall to get bored, cooped up.”

Johnny’s laughter drifts in from the kitchen, “Please, we’d stay home every day if we could. Delighted we can now.”

There has to be fucking something. They’re sweet, they’re lovely. The surgery and recovery would be impossible without them. But there has the be some fucking way to not have all eyes on you every minute of every day. You ease back into the plush nest made for you, trying to drum something up. Thankfully, the sound of the doorbell saves you from spiraling deeper into your frustration.

“Damn, yall really did order everything for delivery.”

Johnny sprints for the door, excitement in his eyes, “This might be one of the things we ordered for you specifically.”

Swear to god, if they ordered more of those impossible compression socks, they’re never gonna hear the end of it. At least it’s been a good day. You’ve got clean sheets and bedding, you showered with little to no pain (Simon insisted on joining you to help), and the incision sites are healing well. The bladder pain you could do without, though. 

“Special delivery,” a new voice sings. Two?

“Ale! Fito!” you surge forward to stand, but too many men shouting in protest sits you back down. “What are yall doing here?”

They make their way through the pillows to greet you properly, facial hair rasping against your cheek. Thank fuck for that shower earlier. Can’t be too mad about this being orchestrated now. 

Ale smiles bright, plopping down next to you, “Un pajarito medio nalgón-”

“Cuatro,” Rudy interrupts, taking a seat much more gently, “Cuatro pajaritos bastante nalgones.” 

“Simón, Simón. Cuatro nos pidieron un favor.”

“We did say ‘special delivery’.”

They each place a white box in front of you. No labels or tape, just folded closed gently. The folded pieces bloom open in their hands, revealing a giant ziploc bag full of lots of little somethings in each. You can make out little star and flower shapes, all coated in a clumping white powder.

“Are these my tía’s cookies?” 

Ale sucks his teeth, wrapping an arm around you, “Clarín cornetas, mi niño.”

“Which of you did she flirt with?”

“Both,” Rudy chuckles, “We got that bordertown charm.”

It’s then that you remember your tía’s bordertown and their bordertown are on opposite sides of Texas. Not only did they have to deal with her shameless flirting for who knows how long, sweet fools must have gone so far out of their way to get these. And the sheer care they must have put into the transportation. These cookies are frail and yet so few of them are broken. They even accounted for the lard used in them, little ice packs peek out from underneath the large ziploc bags. Tears blur your vision, their voices going out of focus as they give you updates on your family.

“There is one condition though,” Rudy hands you a tissue. “One bag is for you, and the other is for them to share.”

Johnny comes running in from the kitchen again, “Wait, just one for all four of us?”

“That’s what Tití said.”

“Fuck, I really thought she liked us,” Johnny stands completely still for a minute, clearly reviewing the interactions they’ve had with your tía in his mind, cookies forgotten. 

Kyle takes their bag, diving into it immediately and coating his chin in the powdered sugar falling from the cookie. It doesn’t take long for the other 3 to converge around the bag after that. They’ve only had these cookies once before, at your youngest cousin’s quince, which was full of too many “so exactly how are you related?” questions. Your tía says she saves them for special occasions, but you know that the labor that goes into making them is too much for the cookies to be in regular rotation. Either way, they’re a true gift. Your cousins must have helped her this time, the start and flower shapes are just off enough to not fit into your tía’s perfectionism. It won’t take a whole lot of convincing to get Simon to use his fancy calligraphy to write them a thank-you note.

“We were also promised grilled goods upon arrival?” Ale speaks loudly over the cookie commotion.

John perks up at that, faint surprise on his face.

Kyle makes an excited noise around a mouthful of cookie, speaking from the corner of his mouth, “Right, and we’ve got everything set for the chef.” He wrangles John towards the backyard. 

Simon looks worried as Johnny approaches him, clearly meaning to take him to the backyard as well. He’s been firmly by your side since they brought you home from the hospital. He looks over at you, tracing your figure slowly, double-checking every inch of you. Taking a deep breath, he stiffens.

“We’ll look after your boy,” Rudy says softly.

“Aquí te espero, amor.”

He nods, your words enough to ease him through the door. 

With all the prep before the surgery, a couple of really intense weeks where you all worked to prime the house for recovery, this is the first chance you’ve gotten to exist without them being in the same room. And it’s so fucking nice. You couldn’t ask for better partners, but it’s almost relieving to not have to worry about accidentally setting one of them off and launching them into motherhenning. Rudy and Ale have clearly been given the task of looking after you, but even just having new faces to talk to is refreshing.

“Which one of them set this up?” you ask them.

“It was less a request and more a suggestion from us,” Rudy says.

“Bien los conocemos,” Ale adds. “Te quejas, pero bien chiple que te tienen.”

You grin, not even trying to deny it.

It’s muted, but the sounds of the boys chatting drifts into the room. Some back and forth about marinating and time, some laughing about sneaking around. You can’t quite see them from your window, but it’s reassuring to know that this time is helping them relax as well. 

Ale and Rudy tell you more about their trip to visit your tía, passing along the greetings and well wishes your family sent you. It’s an easy rhythm: one talks, the other corrects, and you get to giggle as you listen. Then you swap: you talk, Ale listens, Rudy shushes him. It’s soothing in a way that reminds you so much of home, the ruckus everywhere and laughter echoing. When the tension in your shoulders has finally slipped away, Ale turns to you, curious and serious.

“So about this recovery period,” he says.

“And a grueling schedule before the surgery?” mischief lights Rudy’s eyes.

You groan, their cackling drowning out the sound of you swatting at their chests. 

[whump-galaxy]

The whumpee tries to rest after being saved. Sleep comes easily, but so do nightmares. What the caretaker thought was a cozy cover now becomes an overheating cocoon. They struggle and strain till their nightmares turn to sleep paralysis. No matter how much they try to move, scream, do anything, they’re still suffocating under the blankets. All the while, their brain tries desperately to lull them back to sleep, closing their eyes without permission.

It feels like hours by the time they’ve finally gotten free, but it’s been mere minutes. The caretaker still sits at their side, reading and none the wiser to the whumpee’s perilous “sleep”.

[whereallthewhumpgoes]

Pet Recovery Counter-Conditioning Phrases

"I am my own person. I am allowed to prioritize my own needs and assert my own boundaries."

"I belong to myself and only myself."

"I deserve to be loved by others, touched gently, and treated with compassion."

(Romantic specific) "My body is mine. No one is allowed to do anything to my body against my will."

"I am a human being, and I am entitled to human rights, such as food, water, and sleep. My needs are not a privilege that I have to earn, they are human rights, and I will fulfill them when necessary."

"I can think for myself and take care of myself."

"I am a human being, not a slave. I am under no obligation to obey anyone's command."

"What happened to me was unjust. I did not deserve to be abused by my former master, and I will not tolerate abuse from them or anyone else."

"I am a good person."

"I have a right to be treated with dignity."

"I am not worthless. I have value apart from my master's attention."

(Romantic specific) "I am allowed to say no."

(Guard dog specific) "I am not a monster. In the past, I acted to protect myself, and I will continue to protect myself with or without my master."

"My rescuers are not a threat. My rescuers do not want to hurt me. My rescuers are safe people."

"If I am ever mistreated, I will report it to my rescuers as soon as possible."

"I do not need to lie to protect myself."

"I am allowed to love myself."

"I am encouraged to form relationships with the other recovered pets, and they will not be hurt if I interact with them."

(Bonded pair specific) "I do not need to protect my bond. I do not need to depend on my bond. My bond and I are our own people, and I am allowed to develop my own interests and take care of myself before my bond."

"I am a person, not a pet."

[warpedwings]

[thepeacefulgarden]

You deserve happiness. You deserve safety and security. You deserve healthy relationships. You deserve support. You deserve love of all kinds, from yourself and others. You deserve to feel good. You deserve a job or career that's satisfying, and that doesn't make you dread going in every day. You deserve rest. You deserve nourishment. You deserve the same love and care you so freely give to other people. You deserve to be treated with respect and dignity. You deserve to feel at home in your body. You deserve credit for your small wins as well as your big ones. You deserve to honor your progress. You deserve time for you. You deserve to forgive yourself for your mistakes. You deserve to learn and grow. And you deserve these things no matter what.

[mueritos]

had a cystocopy this morning (camera in urethra fucking OUCH) and while im glad i dont have any bladder issues, this whole pissing blood that feels like glass coming out of my hole thing is awful. im trying to avoid a UTI from this procedure because thats a common complication and the reason why I even got it was to figure out if my reoccuring UTIs were actually something else. so the only way to keep my bladder healthy rn is to continously chug water and d mannose to flush shit out. which in turn fucking hurts. and did i mention im pissing blood. OUCCHH. if you're on T please take care of your cooch, eat yogurt/kimchi, take some probiotics, get on estradoil, use lots of lube during sex, and take d mannose.

[blue-eli]

Ink October day 29.5: Heir (version 2)

One who receives or is expected to receive a heritage, as of ideas, from a predecessor.

A person who succeeds or is in line to succeed to a hereditary rank, title, or office.