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Isonomy

MissM8 Comments

Women are people. 

Women are not objects, property, toys, second-class citizens, baby vessels, commodities, sandwich-makers, or psychologically/physically incapable of “masculine” tasks. 

Women are people. 

Men are people. 

Men are not financial plans, sugar daddies, jar-openers, or objects. 

Men are people. 

Homosexuals are people.

Blacks are people. 

Hispanics are people. 

(Insert any minority/group of people that differ from groups of people you belong to) 

THEY ARE PEOPLE, TOO. 

I am willing to bet that a majority of you stable-minded people would be willing to come to a consensus that all of the the above statements are fact, and if you’re not, feel free to discontinue reading. 

Tell me this then: Why do sexism, racism, ethnic stereotyping, or homophobia exist? 

Those of you who are still reading have previously agreed with my argument that all variations of people are indeed people. More than that, they are equal people. 

Because all people are equal, all people are equally capable of making their own life-decisions, regardless of cultural norms or gender stereotypes. 

I am going to focus the majority of this post on the issue of sexism. 

Now, I understand that each sex is maybe better-equipped to fulfil certain roles in our world. By this, I mean that men are GENERALLY (not absolutely) physically more muscular, thus being able to develop a greater amount of physical strength at a more rapid pace than women. On the other hand, women are given the ability to bear children, thus making them GENERALLY more capable of nurturing their offspring. 

Both of these instances are due to each sex’s physical makeup, and I realize that there is nothing I could possibly do to change that. 

Because both instances are GENERALLY the case (not ABSOLUTELY the case), there is always deviation from the “norm.” Just because one sex may TEND to be better at fulfilling specific role, it is crucial to remember that every individual’s circumstances are unique. 

Each person ever born was born with this thing called “agency.” Agency means that we are willing to choose how we want to live our lives, regardless of our biological sex, skin color, religious beliefs, socioeconomic class, etc. 

Because all people are equal, it would only make sense that they should all be able to decide what to do with their lives, and other people should shut their fat pie-holes about it, even if they disagree with another’s choices. 

In my Utahn culture, it is virtually expected that a young woman marry as soon as she can so that she can pop out a half-dozen children and then spend the next 20 years raising said offspring. 

I have no problem with girls deciding to take this course in life. If being a housewife will be fulfilling to them, I say go for it! Even though I have prioritized my life a little differently, I respect their decisions to work within the home. 

Because I respect other peoples’ life choices, even if they are the complete obverse of my own, I expect the same from them. I have no desire to be a housewife. My aspiration is to establish myself in a successful and personally empowering career. Just because my decision deviates from the cultural norm, this does not make me any worse, less, or more selfish than those who choose to stick with what society expects of them. 

I believe that whatever will make a person happiest and help them to live the most fulfilling life possible, is the correct choice for the individual. May that be to join the marines, become a school teacher, or a stay-at-home mom. (Which, may I remind you, is a full-time job of its own. Don’t ever say you’re JUST a stay-at-home mom.) 

All I want out of this is to be presented with ALL the same opportunities as my male peers, and to be able to choose whatever is most suitable for me without being judged or questioned for pursuing said opportunities. Think about it. Nobody ever questions a GUY for earning a PhD. But when I say that getting a doctorate degree is my goal, people always ask me when I’m going to fit in marriage and a family. And the answer is, when I am good and ready, and inevitably fixed on achieving my educational and career goals. 

I am a feminist, because I am just as human as my male peers. And it’s about time that I begin to be treated as such. 

If you’re with me on this, congratulations! You’re a feminist, too, and you can sit by me. 

M. 

 

Talking In Movie Theaters And Other Common Indecencies

MissM4 Comments

I am really, really trying to force myself to enjoy being around other people in public settings. I’m the type of girl who will go anywhere and do anything by herself. Shopping, hiking, bowling, walks, going to Cold Stone or any other eatery, you name it! And, of course, movie watching. (Although, I can’t help but feel bad when I see other people doing these things alone.) People make it really hard for me to enjoy their company when they engage in an abundance of behavioral indecencies. 

Take yesterday, for example. I finally went with a buddy of mine to see a late showing of Spider Man 2 (Bravo to Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone, by the way. Flawless.) It was an exceptionally slow night at the movie theater, even for a Monday. There were no more than 7 people seated in the entire auditorium.

Seated a row in front of us and slightly to our right hand side, were two fellow film spectators, all loaded up with extra large drinks and a bucket full of buttery, probably diabetes-inducing, popcorn. My greatest pet peeve in the world is being able to hear other people eat popcorn. It is the most repugnant of sounds a human is capable of making. And I would not hesitate to shank a sucker who chomped that stuff in my ear.

So, as a public safety to the moviegoers around me, I always isolate myself in the very last row of seats, and out of earshot of concession consumers.

The seven of us were all comfortably seated and deeply immersed into the plot. Well, I take that back. 5 out of 7 of us were deeply immersed in the plot. The other two were the hoggish, popcorn-chomping chums sitting diagonally from me. I kid you not, every 12 seconds, one of them would turn to the other and LEGITIMATELY YELL OVER THE FILM’S AUDIO.

The first time they decided to rudely intervene with my movie experience, I turned my head and gave them the glare of death. Unfortunately, in a dim theater, people can’t see your glare of death signifying them to cease their reprehensable behavior. The second time, I was on the brink of snapping. I did NOT pay 9 dollars of my hard-earned cash to have my viewing of Spider Man 2 ravaged by two inconsiderate jerk faces. 

They continued their chatter throughout the movie, and it took every ounce of willpower in my little body to not march over there and give them a piece of my mind. I resisted. Why? Because I WOULDN’T WANT TO DISTRACT FROM ANYONE ELSE’S ENJOYMENT OF THE MOVIE. Because I am a considerate, well-behaved lady. 

Another thing that I cannot, and will not tolerate, is the chewing of one’s lollipops. The other day, I was in the waiting room at the doctor’s office with my mommy because no almost-19-year-old should be expected to endure a meeting with her physician on her own. 

There was a man and his son seated behind us. The son stood up, went to the front desk, and grabbed a handful of dumdums to share with his father. They both unwrapped their suckers and simultaneously began to chomp their lollipops right off the stick. The sonacy of their crunching of hard candy resonated throughout the entire doctor’s office. I was gripping the sides of my chair until my knuckles turned white. It took all I had in me to not freak out in anger and annoyance. 

As a re-cap, just don’t eat loud foods in front of other people. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I think that my tolernace of other peoples’ presence would significantly improve if they would just be more considerate of the sounds they make when they consume things. Loud chewers stir a sense of hatred and rage in me. 

Actually, beyond that, let’s all just be considerate and sensitive to how our behavior might affect those around us. That way I will be less inclined to punch total strangers in the larynx. If we all did this, the world would be a happier, and much less violent place. 

Vote Maddie for president. 

M. 

PESTistance

MissM4 Comments

Pestistance (noun): unfaltering continuance in persuing romantic attention from a member of the opposite gender, regardless of volume/frequency of rejection or negligence, thus becoming a nuisance to the rejector. 

See also: stalker, psycho, pest.

I will get one of my newly-coined terms in the dictionary one day. Mark my words. 

Now I’m sure you’re all DYING to hear what motivated the invention of my latest vocabulary word. And I’m dying to tell you. 

Because I am no exception to the psychological damage that social media has inflicted on its youthful participants, I admit to accepting users on Facebook that I don’t necessarily know from real-life. I’m willing to bet that a solid 3% of my Facebook friends are from Pakistan or Uganda. I have no ties to Pakistan or Uganda whatsoever. But what the heck, if somebody requests my friendship on a social network, who am I to deny them access to my exceptionally humerous status updates? 

However, the very first ever PESTistant person was not from Pakistan. Or even Uganda. No, he was from none other than my home state. Let me tell you, accepting his friend request is one of my biggest regrets to date. 

Here’s why: 

From the moment I hit the “Confirm” button on his friend request, this lad has been requesting to meet me in person. From what I could see from his profile page, he seemed like a very nice, sweet, clean-cut LDS boy. And I’m certain he is. He’s just an excessively-persistant, borderline-obsessive, sweet, clean-cut LDS boy. 

This cyber-chap has been consistently requesting that we “meet up” for weeks. Yes, multiple weeks. Most of his messages never even received a response from me. And yet, they continued. 

I hate how Facebook has enabled us to view when the recipient has read your message. Because when he sees that I read his message, he writes yet another one, claiming that he’s “done nothing wrong!” and demands to know why i’m “afraid to meet him.” 

What on earth would lead him to believe that I am “afraid” to make his acquaintance? Did he ever consider the fact that maybe I’m just not interested? You would think that after nearly a month of pure rejection, you’d just let it go already and move on to the next random chick you find online. 

It’s nothing personal against him, I’m just. not. interested. 

There should be no more questions asked, and he should really go find another host for his pest-like behavior. 

I have even clearly and directly explained to him that I have no interest in meeting him, and yet the messages have continued. But I am a very easily-annoyed pre-adult, and I have had quite enough. 

I hate to do this, but cyber matey, you may now considered yourself both deleted and blocked. 

Have yourself a nice day. 

M. 

 

Grievances On Usage Of Mobile Devices In Social Settings

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This rant comes with a side of hypocracy, which I am taking full accountability for. 

Don’t get me wrong, I am just as addicted to my cell phone as the next self-aborbed pre-adult. Seven times out of eight, you’ll probably catch me with my nose in my phone and my thumbs dancing over the screen. However, just like line dancing, there is a time and a place for cell phone usage. 

The purpose of a mobile device is to serve as a medium for communication between two or more distant people. But due to this strikingly boring process that I won’t go in depth about called “convergence culture,” our phones do much more than send and receive phone calls, as their original functions were meant to be. 

This amplifies our time spent on the cell phone itself. Now we can send a tweet, play scrabble and fruit ninja, and browse the “humor” section on Pinterest, all from the same device. What can’t these things do? 

All of these additions and improvements and apps are great and wonderful, but as I said earlier, there is a time and a place to immerse yourself in the technological world of the iPhone or Android. And that time and place is alone, or in your bed at 11:30 at night when you can’t sleep, or when you’ve spotted a cat stuck in a tree and need to contact the fire department. 

However, that time and place is NOT when you are in attendance at a social event. Social events include, but are not limited to, dinners, parties, get-togethers, dates, the movies, lunch with friends, or even breakfast with friends. 

Exhibit A: The other day, I invited friends over to hang out at my place of residence. I kid you not, at least half of our four-man group was on his/her phone at any given time. Personally, when I am in a situation like this, I prefer to interact verbally with the people I am surrounded with. Unfortunately, not everyone shares the same desire. 

We put a movie in (Warrior, in case you were wondering. Y’know, the one about the Physics teacher who turns out to be a bad-A cage fighter), but I seemed to be the only one watching. The other three in my company were all deeply engaged in games, texting, snapchats, or whatever else. One of these fellows even had his arm around me, but both hands, and 100% of his attention span, firmly fixed on his cell phone. 

If you’re with other people, I don’t think it’s too much to ask to put your phone in your pocket and, oh, I dunno, start a conversation the old-fashioned way. At least for an hour or so. 

I have no problem with the occasional check-in on your phone for updates, texts, or whatever. But do you really have to play games and ignore the real-life people around you? Why can’t we all just be fully present where we are every once in a while? 

Like I said at the beginning of this post, I am not spotless or guilt-free in regards to cell-phone use in a social setting. But I also don’t let my attention span become completely consumed by a virtual game when I am with other people. 

It seems as though everyone these days, myself included, have had their social skills damaged by the use of a device that’s supposed to make us even more social. And that’s pretty sad. 

In an awkward situation, rather than strike up a conversation and actually get to know the person we’re with, we yank out the phone and act like we have someone else to be texting, rather than converse with another human. I know you’ve done it, and I most certainly know that I have too. 

Here’s to face-to-face interaction!

M. 

 

Reasons Why I want To Be Tina Fey

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Image

Recently, I stumbled upon Bossypants, a gem of a book written by the delightfully comical Tina Fey. It was one of those books that you read cover-to-cover in one night, regardless of the fact that you have two finals to take in the morning and haven’t done a lick of studying. If you haven’t read it yet, you really need to figure out what time-waster needs to be eliminated from your life and get reading. 

It’s quite possibly the best piece of feminist literature since The Declaration of Sentiments.  

Now, without further ado, here are the reasons why I want to be Tina Fey. 

1. Her flawless Sense of Humor: A trait we both have in common. Seriously, though, I’m pretty sure the general public can come to a consensus that Tina Fey is a master of comedy. From playing Sarah Palin on SNL to Kate from Baby Mama, she  can get a sincere laugh out of just about anybody. Not only in a professional, scripted setting, but in her everyday life as well. Her entire book is her narration of real events from both her normal and professional life. 

2. She Acknowledges Her Shortcomings: Throughout her book, Tina Fey distinctly illustrates her flaws. She is fully conscious of her limitations. Fey narrates significant events from her life starting from childhood, and throughout the pages, she anecdotes times that she admittedly screwed up. 

3. She Embraces Her Flaws: Fey mentions multiple times how weird her feet are. Personally, i’ve never seen them, but apparently she was given some deformed feet. But you know what? Not once does she wish she had normal feet. She even says she wouldn’t trade hers for the most beautiful feet there ever were. She talks about her “gut” and how she’s a pasty-dough ball. What she doesn’t do is wish for a perfect, model body. She knows that she is human. 

4. She’s Part-German: This implies that she’s also part-fiery and harsh. If you read back to my bio, you’ll find that I, too, am part-German. Deutschland ist das beste! 

5. She Can Laugh At Herself: One chapter is entirely dedicated to her responding to her own hatemail. Rather than retaliate by getting offensive and defensive, Fey goes along with her anti-fans’ insulting words and even (sarcastically) admits to their claims. And THAT is how class and wit is done. 

6. She Has A Daughter And Her Dream Job: At one point in her book, she talks about how there was a time when she was trying to get Oprah onto her show 30 Rock, plan a Peter Pan birthday party for her daughter, and write for SNL all at the same time. All three events were equally important to her, and she even finished planning details of her daughter’s party in between shoots at 30 Rock and SNL. 

7. She Has Fantastic Legs: Need I say more? 

8. She Knows How To Identify Sexism In The Workplace: Rather than play the victim, Fey brings to her readers’ attention the gender stereotypes in the world of comedic actors and writers. She knows that there are ignorant people out there who claim that women can’t be funny the way men can, and should stick to playing the role of the ditzy cheerleader or supportive housewife. But she doesn’t let that stop her from continuing her work the way she wants to do it. She doesn’t care if you like it. 

In short, Tina Fey is my idol. 

Now go forth and read Bossypants, my dear readers. 

M. 

 

The Most Vexatious

MissM1 Comment

Have you ever wondered, “How can I effectively piss off (insert acquaintance/friend/co-worker, what have you) for the rest of his/her day?” Well pull out a pen and paper, because I’m about to lay out some extremely effective methods. 

1. Be A Snowflake: I’ve coined this term as a “combination of both a flake and a cold-shoulder giver.” (clever, eh?) In order to execute this method effectively, commit to plans with your victim. Make sure you’re the one who sets it up for maximum results. I’d recommend about a week and a half in advance. Then, as time draws nearer, just cut off all communication with said victim. Don’t respond to text messages/phone calls/snapchats/facetimes/whatever else you kids use to communicate nowadays. And certainly don’t initiate a conversation with your victim, either. Don’t offer excuses as to why you will no longer be able to attend these plans, don’t apologize. This way, your victim will be left waiting by his/her cellular device all day, waiting for the cue to meet up with you for those plans that you made that you’re no longer going to participate in because you’re a snowflake. 

2. Be A Debby Downer: be the raincloud that travels to everyone’s parade and unleashes a downpour of negativity as it travels through. Best friend got your crush’s number? Remind her of her cankles, and assure her that he has no interest in girls with cankles. Co-worker got the promotion you wanted? Make sure he knows he only got the gig because he’s the boss’s distant cousin. Just pour out the negativity. You’ll feel better about not getting what you wanted, and your victim will wish he/she never got it, too. 

3. Be A Pinhead Pilot: Make sure that when your SUV hits the highway, it’s in the way. Take your time turning right. If some punk teenager is trying to pass you on the freeway, just stay right in front of that traffic-law violator. It’s a public service, you interfering with them breaching the speed limit. And that turn signal? Forget about it. You wouldn’t want someone to follow you home, would you? 

4. Be A Solutionist: Come home to see your daughter bawling on the floor? Make her realize that whatever is wrong is a consequence of her behavior, and immediately offer your all-knowing wisdom and provide her with ways she can solve her own problems. That’s what she wants from you, right? To show her how to fix everything? Kids don’t just want to talk about their feelings to a good listener, anyway. Plus, sympathy doesn’t solve anything.

5. Be A Morning Person: There is a time for hyper-happiness. And that time is 6:30 in the morning, at the breakfast table, when your family is slumped in a daze of sleepiness and most sensitive to loud noises and smiling faces. Emerge from your sleeping chambers in song. Give each family member an ear-to-ear grin and make sure you wish them a fantastic day, in your best “Disneyland employee” voice. They’ll be longing to punch you in the jugular region for the remainder of their morning. 

6. Be a Narcissistic Patron: You’ve been waiting at IHOP for 32 minutes, and the family that arrived ten minutes after you gets seated first. Who cares that they have a crying newborn and a set of toddler-aged twins? Your party was there first, and you deserve to be seated in the order in which you arrived. Make a scene. Give that hostess a piece of your mind. Make sure she knows that you won’t ever be consuming IHOP’s stuffed french toast again, and that her manager will be hearing from you shortly. Add a snarky comment about how she’s the worst hostess in the history of hostesses. She might shed some tears then and there, if not, she’ll wait till the car ride home. 

I hope some of my ideas helped, or at least generated some other ideas in your little brains of how to piss off the people in your life. Now go forth and conquer, my friends. 

M. 

 

Chagrin

MissM2 Comments

It has arrived. The inevitable finals week. Unfortunately, my supply of motivation has run dry with the arrival of this dreaded phase in the semester, and my productivity level has dropped significantly. 

Yeah, i’m only a sophomore, and I am fully conscious of the fact that it only gets worse from here. But honestly, i’m not worth a lick of academic work for the remainder of the semester. I’m at the point where I bring my Little Mermaid coloring book to History. (I guess that explains why history 1700 is my lowest grade.) 

I know, really whiney of me. Boo-hoo, poor girl has to endure post-secondary education so she can make a career and establish herself as an independent woman in this world. Which is why I will cease complaining this very instant. 

I don’t really have a point for this post, really I’m just writing because writing brings me solace. (Gatsby.)

Ha kidding. Rather, I am procrastinating writing my 5-page mass communications paper on algorithms. ALGORITHMS. 

I’m still not 100% sure as to what those are. 

But on the plus side, I get 2 Oreo’s per page I finish this evening. Positive reinforcement is a beautiful motivator. 

Here’s to B.S.ing yet another essay so I can get one more credit closer to obtaining this cute little piece of paper that declares my graduation from a collegiate institution.

Happy finals week, kiddos.  

 

 

Blandiloquent

MissM3 Comments

One of the most crucial things to realize as a feminist is that ALL people-both male and female- are participants in our patriarchal society. This means that women contribute to their own oppression. 

My Women’s Studies professor brought this to our attention the other week in class, and she couldn’t be more right. My initial reaction was, “why would women bring oppression on themselves? We don’t do that, we all hate oppression.” I had a hard time agreeing with this, which provoked my investigative mind. 

Our class discussion was intended to introduce things like genital cutting and foot-binding in other parts of the world and how oftentimes, it is women, not men, who are committing these acts; rites of passage, as they might be in other cultures. 

But I wanted to apply this concept on a more local level. 

How do women contribute to the oppression of women? I’ll tell you how. We oppress ourselves and the women around us because we hate other women. 

Admittedly, I am guilty of this. I intentionally avoided the entire female population in my high school. I’d never had more than one girl friend in my entire adolescent existence. To this day, there are very few women in my life that I could confidently call a “friend.” I had generalized that ALL girls were stuck up, back-stabbing snots, and I wanted no part in that. 

Also, I’m really good at judging other women-unfeministically (yeah, it’s a word now) labeling girls who wear short shorts or low cut tops “sluts”, girls who make snarky comments or have a bit of an attitude a word-that-starts-with-B, and the like. 

I know, it’s hypocritical of me. But, let’s face it, every last one of us is a hypocrite to some degree. So don’t go judging me just yet. 

The beauty of it all is that now that I’ve realized my wrong-doings, I have the power to decide to change. 

This morning, in the bathroom at the university, while I was washing my hands, a girl who was self-consciously examining herself in the mirror told me she liked my outfit, and it gave me quite the confidence boost. I don’t know if it’s because of the lack of female allies in my life, but I don’t receive compliments from my own gender very often. Perhaps it’s because we tend to see other women as competition or something. 

What I’m trying to get at here is that if girls could learn to treat other girls with the respect and equality that we demand for ourselves, the entire female population would be substantially more empowered. 

Instead of being individual “feminists” who are fighting the good fight against the patriarchy on our own, wouldn’t it be extremely helpful to have some allies on our side? 

I’ve realized that my views on feminism were rather selfish. What I wanted was equality for myself. I wasn’t particularly interested in empowerment and equality for the rest of the women in this world. But that’s all changed now. 

So what do you say, ladies? I think the majority of you will agree with me that we girls can be nasty and hostile toward one another. But what if we all realized that we’re in the same boat, at least in regards to gender inequality, and help each other out a little? 

I’m not saying we should all be “besties” or whatever. But we don’t have to be enemies, either. 

That way, we could be each others’ support system, and actually bring about some progress in eliminating our own oppression.  

Now who’s with me?

M. 

 

 

 

 

The Eloquent Salesman

MissM3 Comments

Hate is a strong word, but I really really really don’t like the kiosk guys at the mall. 

As if the infinite, bombarding advertisements in the store windows weren’t enough, we now need walking, talking, breathing advertisements to shove more products down our throats and suck the dough right out of our wallets. 

Kiosk guys are the most incessant, vexatious breed of salespeople. And just as the best of arguers, I am prepared to abet my argument with viable evidence. 

Kiosk guys choose their targets in a very scrupulous manner. Even when you think you’ve escaped their gaze, they’re watching. Waiting. Constantly pursuing their next dupe. 

But, ladies and gentlemen, I am no dupe. 

Exhibit A: 

There I was, artlessly roaming the mall. Consciously desisting eye contact with the enemy. Gazing longingly through store windows at items that I could only afford in my dreams, subconsciously anticipating the possibility of a sales-pitch confrontation. 

And boy, did I get a sales-pitch confrontation. 

A man leaning against a kiosk, selling some kind of fancy hand cream had spotted me. He watched me from behind his spectacles  as I wandered nearer and nearer to his booth. As soon as the opportunity arose, the hawker snatched my dainty wrist and pumped a coin-sized dot of lotion onto my hand and began massaging it into my skin. 

I gave him a befuddled look and attempted to pull my hand back to my side but he resisted. The man didn’t speak English well, but his sales pitch went something along the lines of how his product would enhance and rejuvenate my fair, dry, and cracking skin. I decided i’d humor him, and inquired the price of his miracle cream. The man wanted 29.99 for a 3-month supply of his lotion. Outrageous. 

Do people actually pay that much for lotion? I buy the Equate brand from Walmart that costs me about six bucks and it gets the job done just fine. Plus I only run out of it biannually. 

Continuing with my anecdote, I allowed the kiosk guy to finish verbalizing his rehearsed spiel of reasons why I needed his product. (Mostly because he was rubbing my hands the entire time. Which beyond creepy and made me a captive audience.) I nodded and thanked him for the free handful of lotion, and continued, rather irritatedly, on my way. 

This whole encounter took up roughly five minutes of my valuable time. (Kidding, it’s not really that valuable, and I had nothing better to do.) And the kiosk guy clearly overstepped his boundaries by physically forcing me to listen to his live infomercial. If I remember correctly, I hadn’t shown an ounce of interest in purchasing hand cream that day. 

This aggressive method of selling not only makes me want to visit malls less, it makes me totally resistant to purchasing anything from a kiosk ever in my entire life. 

My words of retail shopping wisdom: Keep your limbs in tight and your eyes on the floor. 

Undamaged

MissM7 Comments

Some lessons are best taught by 9-year-olds. 

I have the pleasure of playing “mommy” this weekend while my parents are basking in the Floridan sun. One of my parental duties is to get my baby sister ready for school in the morning. It was her third grade class elections yesterday, so I insisted that she get up early so that I’d have time to curl her hair so she could “look the part” while delivering her campaign speech. (Aren’t third graders a little young to be having a student government? Like what are their issues? Broken crayons?) 

Anyway, after forcefully removing her from her bed and dragging her downstairs into my bedchamber, I sat her down in front of my mirror and began taming her bed-head. 

Twenty minutes later, after i’d finished curling her hair, I told her how pretty she was. She responded perfectly. 

“I know.” 

When was the last time you responded to a compliment like that? Can’t remember? Me neither. 

This feisty, little 9-year-old has yet to have her self esteem torn down, ripped to shreds, and irreversibly damaged, despite the toxic environment around her. She doesn’t compare her outward appearance to the girl next to her. She doesn’t look at covers of magazines and think “man, I wish I looked like her.” And you better believe I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that her self-esteem stays untouched. 

How beautiful would that be, if we were all able to have the same confidence as my baby sister? To be able to sincerely accept and believe a compliment. To have an unchanging perception of ourselves, and to love that perception in its entirety. 

I can honestly tell you that I have no idea what that would be like. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t refute a compliment from a stranger, or gaze in the mirror with an attitude of disapproval. 

And also, why is it so frowned upon to accept a compliment? If someone were to tell me I had beautiful eyes, and I were to respond with “I know,” the complimenter would think of me as an arrogant, stuck-up snot. But I say, what’s wrong with expressing that you like something about yourself? I mean, definitely, moderation in all things, but in my personal opinion, there is nothing wrong with agreeing with someone when they tell you they like something about you. 

It’s okay to love yourself. In fact, it’s crucial. 

M.