A few months ago, while I was with my best friend on Easter holiday, she told me in a worried voice: “I don’t know why you gave up on yourself”.
I pondered for a long time on that phrase. I realised that I became a mixture of self-loathing, narcissism, procrastination, over all exhaustion…
And I hit rock bottom. I was feeling physically ill, my feet and legs were swollen like balloons, my precious shoes didn’t fit anymore.
Surprisingly, this was the tipping point. Breaking off with my shoes was unacceptable.
So it stops here. I started swimming and having regular massages. I already feel better and willing to fight my demons.
I need to like myself again. The battle began.
This is a truly bitchy post. So stop reading right now and move on to another blog.
I have very strong opinions about people who reproduce only because “it’s time”, peer pressure, archaic family model, to strengthen the bond with their partner (newsflash: studies show that a new born is the most common reason couples grow apart or break), to pass the financial crisis by being in maternity leave so they have a safe income and cannot be fired etc.
Unfortunately, most people reproduce for these reasons and we are way too many on this planet already.
In the meantime, I have the highest respect for the people that decide to adopt an animal and treat HIM or HER like a member of the family, an offspring.
Because they understand from the beginning they are in for grief.
First, they are babies. They ruin things, they pee and poop everywhere, they chew shoes, they cry when left alone, they cry when they are hungry or just demanding for attention.
Fast, too fast, they become adults. They understand wrong for right, they become the loyal companion, the best friend, support in time of sorrow, partner in time of joy. They comfort you, the cuddle next to you, they lick you, love you with their huge hearts and generally offer you more than you can ever offer them.
And they grow old. They become grumpy, sick, they need help, assistance, treatment, time. Suddenly, they are your dear grandparents.
And way too soon you have to let go. You’re helpless, no matter what. So helpless that you’re angry. No matter how much you prepare for this moment, it hurts excruciatingly. It’s your baby. If you’re lucky, you spent a decade or two with this loving angel. Sometimes unfairly less.
Now this is what I call brave. To see your children die and your heart ripped out of your chest.
When the fuck did we lose our femininity?
When the fuck did women become men with more or less boobs, marching like soldiers, with fit, toned, non-sexual bodies?
I see girls on the street. They look good, beautiful features, long silky hair, great bods. Yet… no appeal, no sensuality.
I blame it on the Americans and the WWII, when women started building weapons and when their husbands returned from war, they refused to quit jobs and return to the kitchen.
I don’t blame the suffragettes, they were a joke.
I also blame men for becoming weak and helpless, basically because their mothers raised them poorly. They grew up believing they deserve everything. They keep looking for overprotective mothers in their lives, so they stay helpless babies.
So women grew balls. Their wasp waists thickened, their shoulders broadened to carry feeble men and spoiled children.
Oh, I don’t encourage vulgarity, but femininity. That fragile creature, with a kitten purring voice that swings her hips, plays with a lock of her hair, smiles sweetly, rocks an evening gown and walks gracefully in high heels.
Please, women, reclaim your right to be sex kittens!