Firefly for day 9 of with @playfulpractice @rivkayoga @irontherapy11 @shaktisuite @alissayoga @bethpedote_ashtanga @bodyimagebuilder @huggermuggeryoga @monkeygyoga
by natalie_yoga via Instagram http://ift.tt/1lMGd3D
"It’s not that people can’t love you if you don’t love yourself. It’s that you won’t feel it because it’ll always seem like you don’t deserve it."
I feel like people who really want to understand being british should watch Blackadder.
people seem to think
we’re this super polite country
who drinks tea and eats crumpets
and spend all our time worshiping the monarch
but really we’re all twats
who speak with so much sarcasm you’ve no idea what we’re saying
Also it’s the best show ever made and has rowan atkinson so it ain’t a bad watch either.
"It is decided for us before we are even born, the mixing of our parents’ DNA determining whether we will have the bulbous nose of our grandfathers or the slim wrists of our great-aunts. I have seen girls and women alike do everything in their power to be branded as pretty. I have seen them digging hard into the dirt, crawling on all fours in the dark for the word, two syllables, meaning delicately attractive but not truly beautiful. I have read about wars fought for the sake of this word, this word that means almost but not quite. Still, those of us deemed worthy enough wear it proudly on our foreheads like a kiss from the Dalai Lama, a six-letter prophecy straight out of God’s mouth. Do you know what it costs us? Do you know how empty our pockets are? That there are days when I wake up and stand in front of the mirror with my self-worth staring back at me, accusatory and glaring, pointing her finger, and all I care about is pretty? Am I pretty yet? Am I worth anything? Pretty, pretty, pretty. It is a heartbeat. I say it to myself, over and over again until it is a swarm of bees in my mouth, stinging and brutal and repetitive. Hurts so good, pretty does. I find the tenderest spot and press down hard until I jaundice. Anything for pretty. The shape in the mirror shifts. Becomes my daughter, asking me if she is pretty, hands buried deep in my makeup bag. Her mouth painted on crooked, a fake eyelash stuck to her cheek. She is not pretty. She is real, hot-blooded and stubborn, grin splitting her face wide. Pretty is not enough. She is a warrior crouched on the bathroom sink, face peering into the mirror, asking why I do this to myself every morning. I wipe her face. She asks again if she’s pretty, persistent on getting her answer. I tell her no. Tell her that pretty is something to never aspire to be. It is a rest-stop, somewhere to go when she’s on her way to becoming something better. She nods in understanding and then uncaps my lipstick. Eats it, and then licks her fingers afterward. Tells me that she’d rather be pretty on the inside anyway. My darling girl."