#my therapist would be proud because this is basically a self analysis lol

[traveler-at-heart]

Honestly I know everyone is feeling anxious about the potential for cheating, but if anything I feel like it wouldn’t happen overtly. We’ve witnessed how much R loves Wanda and wants a life with her. I think even though apart of her knows that subconsciously she’s playing with fire with Natasha, but there’s apart of her that thinks that it’s not as big of a problem. I mean R comes from a life of inconsistency, and the only constant has been her job. Although she loves Wanda deeply, this type of relationship is new territory for her and those patterns can always reappear in a form of intentional or unintentional self sabotage. If anything she’ll keep playing with fire until she makes an irreversible mistake, and potentially realize how much Wanda means to her (that’s a personal theory) and that might boil down into more. All we’ve seen from R so far is devotion to Wanda, but I think now this helps us to understand the parts of her character that we’ve seen mentioned, but not completely witnessed.

I’m trusting of your direction, and I really enjoy how you’ve developed this story so far. Can’t wait to see what else happens. 💜

I absolutely LOVE THIS because it’s very true. This is someone who’s never had a serious relationship, and who has many issues.

For me, R has three things that get in the way of having a healthy partnership:

-self esteem issues, thinking she’s never enough or fearing no one will want her

-avoiding confrontation, because it’s better to be uncomfortable/unhappy as long as the other person is fine, even if it means sacrificing her own comfort

-a bit of a savior complex, which draws her to people that seem to need her

And so, we have someone who has done a lot while trying to be “low maintenance”. She’s stepped up to help with the twins, with Pietro and with Wanda’s work. Then, there’s conflict and she questions her worth (I’m busting my ass and it’s still not enough, therefore I’m not good enough for Wanda)

And by leaving her own needs behind (to be a hero, a GREAT partner), even when no one asked her or expected her to, she has this resentment, or gets exhausted from giving so much while asking for very little in return.

But she says nothing because why would she, it’s no big deal. Her needs are not important, because she! can’t! have! needs!

Add that a new person that seems to be less complicated, different, or simply not as demanding come in… and she is drawn to that. Especially because Natasha actually needs her help if she wants to get Melina off her back.

So yeah, R has a lot of issues (Wanda too) but I think THIS IS WHY the story makes sense.

I’m not saying R is cheating. But EXACTLY as you said, there’s a tendency to self sabotage that can get in the way. And she needs to fuck up a little and work on those things instead of run away from a disagreement.

[supermanonesie-blog]

the brain of a crazy bitch

First thought: Why do people share? Why write and then invite others online to read what you have to say? For me, it’s a matter of de-stigmatization. Bad stigma causes undue social shame. That’s unnecessary. I often forget what my mother told me a long time ago—one of the many valuable things she has taught me over my twenty-six years of existence (along with how to use a toilet, which has come in handy truly countless times, as you can imagine). She said, when you think you’re the only one in the world who feels the way you do, remember the billions of other people on the planet—and it’s SO unlikely you’re the only one. (I think we’re at about 7 billion right now.)

This idea was one of the few sentiments I heard as a child that defied the theme of “you are special and unique and there is nobody like you”. It also, now that I reflect upon it, aligns with a common trend in my thinking which is that of statistics of large numbers—another occupational side effect—although numbers in the billions are quite small compared to numbers that deal with atoms and molecules vibrating and whooshing around in the air and water and other phases. Damn, Avogadro. Your name sounds like avocado, and you really nailed it with 10^23. Two things that make you awesome. And for those of you who are like, ummmm excuse me, it’s actually 6.0222 blah blah blah? Fuck off, those decimal places are a joke.

As usual, I have digressed. Although, statistics of large numbers is quite on point—perhaps more so than you may know. The reason is this: I think that intellectually, we can understand that other people feel the same way we do about a given subject. However, because humans are cursed with the overwhelming phenomenon of emotion and the unfortunate skill of emotional analysis, when overwhelmed with a certain feeling, it is nearly impossible to remind ourselves that we are not broken or fucked up or so different or too much or too little or wrong in some way. It is SO hard to remember that you’re really fine to be whoever you are. If you fall somewhere within 5 or 6 sigma of the Gaussian average of humans, you (no matter how much you fight or deny this) care a great deal what people think and how far you fall from your conceptualization of what is “normal”. Now, depending on who you are, you may range from caring to what one person thinks of you to what 7x10^9 people think of you, but you fucking care. It will greatly calm your overall emotional existence to care MORE what you think of yourself, but I do think this is a common struggle.

Here, I ruminate on my experience with men in the lens of this theme. Unmistakably, this applies to a crazy number of women. Not 10^23, but a lot. As a woman (and you fuckers who are like, ugh gross, she’s going to go on a rant and she’s a man hater – shut up, I love men – A. LOT. and I don’t hate most of you, just the uninvited pussy grabbers and feeling-shamers). Okay, so as a woman who is 26, I have lived a lot of my pre-teen to adult life receiving direct and indirect messages from guys that they would like me more if I were different. I could reach perfection if I could just get rid of a fewwww things about me. And furthermore, that I am some level of unworthy of respect, appreciation, attention, time, whatever—because I care, am engaged, interested, emotional, aggressive, confident, insatiable, curious, intense, and my favorite: CRAZY. 

But if I lose my center and start focusing more on how he might think of me and less of what I think of him, then the only thing I am doing is playing games (potentially just with myself) to make me feel like I am desirable and in possession of the upper hand. This is one of the most challenging things to avoid in my personal life. This might be singularly the only challenging thing in my personal life. This leads me feeling shitty, alone, undesirable, WEIRD, CRAZY, STUPID….the list goes on. 

When did I become like this and why? How did I fuck up so much? 

It’s been like this since I was something like 12 years old at camp and my initial reaction to having a crush on this boy (a whole year old than me!!! Omigod) was the thought that there was no way he would like me because I was not as pretty as other girls. (Side note, total bullshit because I was adorable and way thinner than I thought I was, and objectively very cute.) From that point on, I garnered so much anxiety from feeling like I had to act like the “ideal girl” that I spent a stupid amount of time trying to look like it, talk like it, act like it, etc. 

This worrying was and is made a thousand times worse by the fact that 1) I have – as one of my best guy friends has put it—the eye of Sauron. Meaning, I notice and interpret the subtlest nuances of physical, facial, and inter-personal behavior roughly a million times better than the average human. (Comment on this: it in no way means that I respond in a smart way. In fact, it’s about 40/60 idiotic/smart. I’ve thought about this a great deal, and I’m convinced that it’s more amusing to do unpredictable things and see how the other person reacts. It’s fucking masochistic. And also endlessly interesting.) 

It (my worrying) is also worsened by the fact that 2) I have generalized anxiety. It wasn’t called anything until my therapist said it aloud about 4 years ago, but looking back on my life, it’s something that has influenced my behavior and choices in one way or another since I was about 12 years old. The first time she said it, I came in (like a wrecking ball, if you will or if you won’t – lol) with alllllllll sorts of judgement about what this meant, and how I felt like I had to pretend I didn’t have this, and how it meant I was different and messed up, blah blah blah. But basically, it’s what I’ve inherited genetically, I can’t change that it’s there, and it unfortunately means pretty much what it sounds like. I garner anxiety from generally everything, plus or minus some things depending on what my anxiety has me nervous about. It’s taken me through absolute rock-bottom hell, which I clawed my way out of with the unwavering love, patience, strength, and kindness of a dear friend (and two amazing doctors). After two straight years of what I would classify broadly as SHIT, I found something that worked for me in order to live my best life and as much as possible diminish this blanket anxiety. I don’t think I toot my own horn a lot, but god damn, that is something to be seriously proud of while getting a PhD. 

I bring this up because I think that over the years, my anxiety latched onto this phenomenon of being the ideal woman (in the eyes of men). The problem was that as I set my goal to summit this mountain, and gain the ultimate freedom from feeling not good enough and having to pretend I was someone different, I picked the wrong summit towards which to climb. I – rather unknowingly, I think – decided that if I was to be free from this, I would be SO amazing in the eyes of men that I would be desirable to them all, and not be under their control. THIS – THIS IS INSANE. For so many reasons. This also DROVE ME INSANE, because, DUH, “men” are not identical humans with identical tastes and identical values. This makes this mountain, well, insurmountable, sets up a totally unhealthy power dynamic, and fuels anxiety. It’s a fucking positive feedback loop sort of nightmare. 

But why is it so hard to kick this habit? One, because when you do something for a decade, it’s always a practice to change. And I fuck up. A LOT. I am stupidly good at chasing boys off. And it makes me kick myself in the head, because then it becomes totally unclear if they are assholes, idiots, whatever, or they are totally thrown by my erratic fluctuations between when I decide to play the game (so tempting) and when I decide to be totally open and when I decide they’re a jerk (the fallback).

It’s also hard to kick this habit because it’s become all-too common social standard for women to be classified as “too much”, “too talkative”, “too into talking about feelings”, and on and on. I would like to say that women and men are wired differently. Of COURSE women talk. We are wired to be good at emotional communication. We also have higher body fat content that is not so easy to decrease. AND NO, CHILDREN, it’s not just in our tits and asses. Women’s magazines somehow are all about instructing us to get the Brazilian Booty, Kaley Cuoco’s abs, Give Him the Sex He Dreams Of (thanks Cosmo, you actually say the weirdest shit), what to eat to be skinny, how to be happy having three almonds every four hours because you’re too fat, spend time deciding Who Wore It Best, shame Kim Kardashian because OMG she has cellulite on her enormous ass (honestly, how is she supposed to tone that whole thing? It’s the size of a planet), shame women and not men for making sex tapes, tell women that they’re only pretty if they look young, make sure that we don’t have pubic hair even though we grow it... the list is so long. It is insane. And it is 90% about how to be more appealing to guys, even many things under the guise of “how to be your best self”. But tbh, magazines, part of being MY best self involves not torturing myself and wasting my time reading your bullshit. 

So, that’s why it’s hard to get rid of the anxiety. Even for women who are lucky enough not to be generally anxious.

I’ve been lucky enough to have many romantic relationships. Roughly 40% of these guys have in large part not been good to me, and I’ve stuck around, trying to be the person they wanted. Luckily, I am not longer in one of these. Actually, I’m not in any romantic relationship. They make me fucking nervous because I’m convinced I’m going to ruin it or they’re going to bail. 

I don’t regret the unhealthy relationships because – as with all things, the bad doesn’t make the good any less good, and I always absolutely adore the times where the physical or emotional connection was so insane, I literally felt like I was on drugs.

I also am so grateful that I have had relationships spanning 3 years and then 2-ish with men who adored me and respected me and made me feel safe. They loved and love that I am fucking nuts and spontaneous and say and wonder about deep things and stupid things and immerse myself earnestly and unselfconsciously (when it happens) in all curiosities and the fun of life and being an animal (some feline variety, duh). They also, through their confidence in themselves, have the ability to appreciate that people are imperfect, and that was unavoidably contagious.  

It’s almost two years of being single – the longest I have ever been single since the start of my dating life at 15 (wuuuuut??). I sometimes feel old habits emerge, and the judgment that stems from that perturbs my hard-won confidence into an oscillating unstable disaster.  

I know I can’t explain all of this to someone I like who I’ve just met because, well, it’s baggage, as all people have, and you can’t just bring your whole big bag of shit and dump it on someone as they’re just establishing that you’re potentially pretty cool and they really want to stick it in your ear (Yeah, I said ear.). But oops, I just did it again, Britney Fucking Spears style. And the guys who spaz, the hypocrites who are allowed to do their version of crazy while I swallow it and stick around? They should probably grow a little. I don’t even want to say “grow up”, because this isn’t something that necessarily comes with age. It just comes with life and realizing that the low-hanging fruit isn’t all that stimulating-- it’s actually pretty boring. And sometimes you gotta take some weirdness to get the juiciest peach higher up on the tree. 

So, it’s fun to fall down the rabbit hole. I want to have a bunch of moments where I feel like I can be free and open, and meet people who are interesting, open, anddddd can throw down and retain their confidence and not get swayed by some minor aspects of you because well, you’re a human, and you have a history, and you’re imperfect. But with that will inevitably come many men who peace after I drop a bag of my anxiety on their toes by accident. It feels sucky, but saying “that was a sucky thing” instead of “I must suck” took a long time, and I wish I had learned to do that earlier in my life. 

You don’t have to be perfect; you don’t have to meet his expectations. You need to meet yours. And if you’re a fun kind of crazy, go be your fucking fun brand of crazy, because that’s why you love yourself after all.