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reidecorating · 3 years

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L'amore Vero È Così (True Love is Like This)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

A/N: Woke up with a killer headache after celebrating the end of 2020 and thought writing something loosely based off events that took place on NYE would be a good cure. Hope this year’s been treating you all well!

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Summer nights and Spencer Reid make it hard for anyone to keep their hands to themselves. Add David Rossi’s holiday mansion and wine to the mix, and watch a dangerously hot fuse ignite

Warnings: Language (as in cursing AND me just completely butchering Italian), unprotected sex, penetrative sex

Masterlist

Maybe it was the Sauternes. Like a spark igniting along the fuse of dynamite, the sweet sting of white grape travelled down her throat, every sip exploding in kaleidoscopic vision and unfiltered words. Even so, it wasn’t the alcohol she was drunk on. No, not drunk - she wasn’t drunk - she was absolutely intoxicated. Not by anything of substance, but by an overwhelming desire for the man she had arrived with.

Spencer Reid often felt out of place standing in any absurdly large entranceway, belonging to the old Italian with new money, recurrently settling for shifting from shoe to shoe, before taking a deep breath and pressing the doorbell with the hand unoccupied by a bottle he wouldn’t be drinking from. However, his sobriety was far from the cause of his imposter syndrome. Rather, it was the way he always arrived alone, while, what felt like, the rest of the team trickled in with their spouses or significant others. Whilst pairs would dance to vinyl sounds of Bowie, leaving little room for him and the odd number his presence formed in the abacus of the group, he would loiter in a corner, or, on occasion, entertain his godson with a pack of cards. More frequently, he would rattle off excuses about needing the restroom, only to spend his time exploring the corridors of a rather impressive house. A get together at David Rossi’s holiday home was uncommon, and the last time Spencer had wound up here, he found himself inspecting the tiny forgotten library the man housed, attempting to decipher the various foreign books residing on its mahogany shelves as he heard his friends stumbling their way through the Salsa downstairs. L'isola di Arturo, with sterling lettering on its ageing spine showing a familiar pen name, had quickly become his favourite. When he’d first translated the pages, he had chuckled at the parallels between himself and its disconsolate protagonist. However, after years of his ongoing solitude, and lonely arrivals to a castle full of people, he finally had someone on his arm.

“Wait, what does this mean? I can make out the ‘amore’ but not much else,” That someone now squinted at the words his index finger underlined as he read her the words of that very book, aloud. “Hm?” He was visibly distracted by the Patchouli blend of orange and jasmine emanating from her skin as she leaned against his shoulder to read the page herself. “L'amore vero è così,” she whispered, unsure of the correct pronunciation but attempting it anyway. “Non ha nessuno scopo e nessuna ragione, e non si sottomette a nessun potere fuorché alla grazia umana,” she finished in a whisper, affecting Spencer in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Through fluttering eyelashes, she looked up at him, awaiting his rendition, and suddenly the temperature felt as if it had risen. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been here almost as many times as him; she knew her way around Rossi’s holiday home, but Spencer had insisted on showing her his favourite room, claiming she hadn’t seen it yet. Diverting her attention from Emily’s anecdotes, “I kind of want you all to myself for a little bit,” he whispered in a kiss on her shoulder, proceeding to take her hand and pull her away from chatter over a jug of Cuban rum and homemade pizza - making sure to dissect, in explanation, nearly every painting adorning the maze of hallways on their short trek. He cleared his throat, prying his gaze away from the skin her little black dress revealed, unabashedly scanning her lips before using his own to form words. “True love is like this,” he subtly eyed her reaction to his words as he tried hard to not transliterate the European language. “It has no purpose and no reason, and it does not submit to any power except human grace.” Spencer’s voice was a newly inked quill, ebbing and flowing through the hot air of the dimly lit room. The dark winged butterflies that had been floating around her stomach all evening fluttered in a frenzy at his words, and the way the chartreuse of his eyes had been absorbed by black as they laid on her. “For such a dark story, it’s so beautiful,” she exhaled in a hushed tone, stare not leaving his as he slowly slid the book into the hollow slot where it had previously inhabited, too occupied by reading her demeanour to pay the book any more attention. “You think so? The author, Morante, Elsa Morante, was actually considered the greatest writer of Italy’s postwar generation, at one point.” Spencer began to rest his weight against the wall as they conversed. “I feel as if we always hear about Bassani or Parise, and all the unorthodox things Landolfi wrote in the fifties. It’s very refreshing to hear of a woman getting some well deserved recognition in such a male dominated niche,” she remarked. A dimple appeared on Spencer’s cheek as he grinned at the way she sounded a lot like him. “Agreed. In fact, Morante actually claimed she wished she’d been born a boy, so that she could have all of these heroic adventures. Once, when she was asked about the hero of that book,” he pointed towards the worn copy of L'isola di Arturo, “she commented: ‘Arturo, c’est moi!’,”

“Living vicariously through him? Interesting,” she tilted her head slightly, “I also think its remarkable how beauty can emerge from so much pain,” she mulled aloud. His eyebrows raised at her words and the flux in her tone of voice. Slowly, she stepped towards him, forearms resting on his shoulders, entangling behind him.

Earlier, she’d had the privilege of styling him as he stood in front of their shared mirror, muttering complaints of how he had 'nothing to wear’. Now, she repeated maledictions to herself regarding the clothing she had chosen, in her head, as she admired the way his black shirt was rolled up at the sleeves - displaying intricate nerves shadowing his fingers and arms - and simultaneously unbuttoned temptingly low on his chest, exposing the silver chain presenting a small initial, hers. The summer night had made sure a thin veil of sweat coated his collarbones, glistening with his movements under the lamp light. “It’s not a surprising process though - I mean, after the year you’ve had, just look at how pretty you are,”

“Did you just-” he gulped, chuckling, “use the copious amounts of semi-resolved trauma I harbour to romance me?”

“I may have,” she whispered into the skin below his ear, both hands now tangled in his hair as he remained pressed up against the wall, grateful that every wound, fight and flaw had led them here. And she never ceased to make her gratitude known. Tonight, though, ever since she’d caught sight of his hand gripping a cold glass, the strong concoction presumably belonging to Luke, she hadn’t been able to stop envisioning his body on top of hers. Unbeknownst to her, his thoughts had been very similar from the second she’d chosen to wear the satin fabric, claiming it matched his shirt, while leaving very little to the imagination. “Y/N,” he spoke, his body involuntarily leaning into hers. “We can’t- Not now.” His body language betrayed his words. “I don’t study behaviour for a living, unlike everyone else here, but Spencer, right now, yours tells me we can,” she brought down a hand to squeeze his wrist, which was resting against her lower back. He couldn’t breathe. Tongue in cheek, he shook his head at her, a smirk breaking way. “You, my pretty lady, are something else,” he caved, switching their position in a more urgent manoeuvre than either of them anticipated. Spencer’s hands grasped her jaw, his breath fanning over her before his lips collided with hers, messily. A hand cradled the back of her head, heeding any impact with the wooden blockade behind her, fingers and hair tangling together. Her hands travelled along his body, pinky tugging on his necklace in pursuit of closeness, while her lips roamed around his bobbing Adam’s apple, eliciting an exquisite string of moans. Spencer’s leg wedged itself between hers, slowly grazing his thigh against her, using a firm grip to guide her hips downwards, her soft sighs and tugs at his roots only encouraging him.

The euphoria was short lived. A rapping on the library door tore them apart, its hinges creaking and giving way to an astounded looking Penelope Garcia. “Naughty!” she factitiously gasped. “I didn’t think the good doctor and his fine missus had it in them, but I was very, very wrong,”

“We were just-“ Y/N began, only to be cut off by the tipsy agent. “Save the excuses, beautiful lady. I was simply quested to find you two, and let you know that the rest of us are off to take a dip in the spa. Bring your boy toy, and scrumptious self, and join us ASAP - oh! And no funny business! There are children here,” Penelope gestured her two fingers away from her spectacles and towards each of them as a silent threat of ‘I’m watching you’. Y/N and Spencer exchanged a look, both flushed in different shades of red, on their way to creating a colour wheel. As Penelope spun on her heels and rushed to shut the door behind her, “Thank you, Penelope!” Y/N squeaked, Spencer exclaiming a timid “And sorry!” The two of them broke out into a fit of laughter, still frazzled. “I think I’m getting a little too comfortable with your team,” she grimaced, earning a laugh from the doctor. Later, as Spencer led her towards a bathroom, her arms occupied by a stack of towels, his hand on the small of her back, he dreaded the amount of self control he would need to invoke when the two of them would undress to change.

What she had said wasn’t entirely untrue. She was indeed very comfortable with his team. If Spencer could have met himself, a year ago, anxious to introduce who he was sure was the love of his life to his dearest friends, he would flick himself in the head. She, not alarmingly, managed to get along with everyone, almost better than he did. Somehow managing to find common ground, even with Aaron Hotchner. He recalls, one night, months ago, listening to her and the usually stoic man debate about which broadway production was better: The Producers or The Phantom of the Opera. Spencer also recalls exactly how riled up he became as he watched her put the ex-theatric-gone-lawyer in his place after calling upon Spencer for some Tony Award statistics. Admittedly, he actively needed to combat the green eyed monster on his back whenever she would go jogging with Luke - but the way she kissed him before leaving, on her tiptoes in her running shoes, whispering ‘I love you’, and ‘I’m really only going for Roxy’, helped. She had become family, the invisible stamp of approval having been silently awarded when they all saw the looks the two of them shared, the three subtle squeezes in their woven hands, and the way Spencer now smiled with his teeth - the way they way they would move the moon and the earth for one another.

Packed into the watery sauna, words exchanged between the group travelled into the atmosphere, a waxing gibbous eavesdropping overhead. She watched as Spencer squirmed across from her at the nearness to so many sweaty bodies, shoulders, elbows, knees and toes, belonging to anybody and everybody, poking him. Her eyes trailed along the dips and swells at the base of his neck, decorated in its usual, dainty, shimmering pendant, the bones there protruding as he slouched forward. Spencer’s hair was matted, condensation ironing chestnut ringlets to his forehead, complimenting his heated crimson cheeks. The butterflies returned, her stomach flipping as he ran his hand through the mop of curls to ease his discomfort. More of him - that was what she wanted. She hadn’t noticed, but she had been biting her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Pulling her back from her thoughts, a heavy exhale travelled past her left ear, changing the course of the steam emerging from the water - a stream of air enough to deflate a person, she noticed. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed.” The blonde rested her head against the barrier of the tub, seeing bright patterns on her eyelids as they shut over her eyes momentarily. Y/N reached over and grasped one of her shoulders in a clinical manner. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jennifer and the gruelling tension in her neck and jaw?” She interrogated, lightheartedly. “What can I say? Stress is my middle name,” she chuckled. “While we’re on the topic, though... Maybe you could give me one of those trigger-point massages,” she opened one eye, an iris burning sapphire, the blue only rival to that of the one from The Tell Tale Heart, finding Y/N’s face. Retreating her hand, having made her point, she let out a laugh at JJ’s words, “I’m afraid that’ll cost y-” Y/N’s eyes widened at the familiar dialect of the words, a charlatan on JJ’s tongue. “Wait a minute, can you repeat what you just said, but slowly?”

“Oh, I know you heard me perfectly clear,” JJ smirked at her, eyebrows raising as her eyes shifted between the flustered woman and Spencer.

They had a friendship of unfamiliar closeness, which JJ cherished. After nights of babysitting turning into wining with Merlot and dining on flaming dreaded cheese puffs, stashed away in an airtight container, upon JJ’s arrival home, the two had grown close. The agent was grateful for conversation veering away from work, and for someone seeing her from a different lens; one through which she wasn’t fizzled down to a petrie dish of a mother through a workaholic microscope. Y/N was curious to know how her famous mandatory-Spencer-de-stressing-trigger-point massages had come up in conversation between JJ and her, now guilty looking, boyfriend. She crossed her fingers in hopes that he’d spared the details of the events that usually took place following the neck rubs - another kind of de-stressing altogether. “Do you guys hear that? I think Will’s calling me- and I should go put Henry to bed… It’s quite late…” she exaggerated, wearing a redolent expression as she slunk away with a towel around her cold frame. “We’ll talk later, Jareau,” she looked up at JJ, after the shivering woman squeezed her shoulders in a bid goodnight, waving to the small crowd. Swiftly, Y/N’s gaze met Spencer’s, her figure not having left his vision once.

The yard and small pool was clearing out, save for Luke and Tara bickering in the corner, so, through the bubbling water, she waded in Spencer’s direction, noticing the way he was evidently mentally undressing her. As if by his telepathy, a thin strap of her bathing suit slipped from its place, causing the gears in Spencer’s head to stop turning as he swallowed thickly. “Hey handsome, long time no speak.” A soft smile graced his lips, adoration for her evident, in place of his muted response. Wordlessly, he slipped a finger beneath the strap, tentatively putting it back in place, refusing to break eye contact in some unspoken play for power. “What’re you up to?” She squinted, wondering exactly what his motives were. “Nothing much,” he pulled her closer by the waist, whispering in a gravelly voice only she could hear, “I’m just thinking about how you didn’t get the chance to finish what you started, earlier,”

“Are you implying that you want me to…” she floated onto his lap, hands draping around his neck to steady herself, “pick up where we left off?” The question left her mouth in a breathy whisper, straight into his ear. He turned to look at her, unblinking. “I’m implying, that I’ve had those pretty noises you make replaying in my head all night, and that I’d like to hear them again,”

“Remind me, doctor, which one of us said ‘we can’t’?,” she mocked his whine, rolling her eyes back. “I have a better suggestion, how about you remind me which one of us struggled to stand the last time we played this game?” The calmness of his voice was the antithesis of the fire she was feeling inside her. Satisfied with her speechlessness, his eyes drifted down her body as she pried herself off him, settling in the plastic indent of a hot tub seat to his side. The attention of the pair of lovers were drawn to Tara’s laughter as she stepped into a robe, calling it a night. “What’d we miss?” Spencer’s clueless innocence returned, as if the words he’d spoken before were now out of mind. Devilishly, Tara responded, “Oh, you know, just me completely destroying this man’s ego,”

“Doesn’t take much does it?” Y/N offered Tara her fist in solidarity. “No it does not,” Tara chuckled, bumping it with her own. “You guys do realise that I’m right here?” Luke scoffed, also drying himself off. “I think that adds to their point?” Spencer offered, pursing his lips, amused. “Well, I’m going to go and catch some sleep, and maybe even shed a few tears over what’s been said about me,” he playfully scowled at Tara walking away, throwing a middle finger at him through the air without looking back. “Trust me, they are very professional,” Spencer promised, turning towards his only remaining company in laughter. “I’m sure they are,” she joked returning a smile.

The two of them talked beneath an ink sky, stars like pinpricks in a blanket twinkling through their conversation, until she found herself on Spencer’s lap, once again, the ambience shifting to something far more carnal. Throughout the night, like a band of elastic stretching between two fingers, the tension between them had heightened. Now, they both tested the limits, anticipating its snap. His chlorine skin tasted electric on her tongue as she painted his neck and chest with a lilac rendition of the silver initial dangling there, letting his sighs catch in the shells of her ears. Allowing her tongue to explore his mouth, his hands tightened around her waist. “Mhm, no, Y/N,” he spoke, regaining his fleeting conscience. “This,” — kiss — “is a bad,” — kiss — “idea,”

“Spencer, look,” she glanced over at the house, and his eyes followed suite, craning his neck slightly. “What do you see?” She asked. “Aside from a house bigger than my entire apartment complex?” Her face was a deadpan. “All the lights are out, Spencer,” she gave him a look that said, come on, profiler, figure it out. Not a single connection formed in his head as he stared at the way the luminous blue of the night time water cast ripples on her skin - skin which was all over his. “All the lights are out… It’s late… and everyone’s asleep,” he reasoned, more to himself than in response to her insinuation. “We have no real chance of getting caught, plus…” her dark eyes were obscured by the eyelashes sheltering them as she tilted her head. “Would it be so bad if we did?” Two of her fingers danced along his chest, walking towards the damp hair at the nape of his neck, using the strands to pull him closer. “Everyone knowing exactly how good you make me feel?” She purred the last part in his ear, tugging at the cartilage with her teeth. Spencer partially whimpered. “Don’t hold back, gorgeous boy. You sound as good as you taste.” His eyes shut as his head hit the rim of the spa - only briefly losing himself once her mouth was on him again. “Someone’s talking like they’re in charge,” he tilted her chin up towards him, forcing her eyes onto his own. “I seem to be the one doing all the work here,” she teased. He kissed each of her collarbones, eyes still trained on hers. “You shouldn’t speak so soon.” With that, he undid the top of her swim suit, exposing her chest to the frigid night air, compelling a gasp. “Truthfully, I’ve been thinking about doing this a majority of the night.” The bass in his voice reached her core. “For someone who is so fastidious about cleanliness, you sure have a dirty, dirty mind, doct-” She never had the chance to finish the honorific, his lips moulding around a hardening nipple, allowing his fingers to toy with the other. Rolling his tongue around the bud, he smiled to himself as he heard her call out his name, over and over, as if her voice was coming through a scratched vinyl. “Where’s all the talk from before?”

“You’re evil,” she groaned, her hips bucking against his board short clad body.

Spencers lips travelled along the valley of her breasts, only to hike back up them at a tantalising pace, prehensile fingers covering the ground his mouth couldn’t. Her hands grasped so tight in his hair, he was sure the strands would fall out. A groan of his own left vibrations reverberating through her body, causing her heart to jump. “Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he gnarred, as his hands gripped her wrists, holding them behind her back. With his unoccupied hand, he dipped his fingers into what was left of her apparel. “Is this all for me?” He smirked at the ease with which his fingers slipped over her. “Don’t flatter yourself, we’re in water,”

“You’re so impolite - even when I’m spoiling you,” tutted Spencer. Retroceding his hand, determined to leave her on edge, and her skin a mirror image of his, he continued to pin her fragile hands back against the base of her spine. “S-Spencer, please,” her words struggled to make any sense, “please, I need more,” she panted out, moving purposefully along the growing outline in his shorts. The pleasure was overwhelming. Spencer fiddled with the material still covering her, pulling it aside to make way for himself in between her legs. His eyes softened, silently seeking permission, even as she impatiently pulled down his waistband. When she nodded and eased his ailing with a soft, lingering kiss, he slowly pushed himself into her, never failing to be acutely attentive to her comfort as if it was their first time together. “This was what you were after?” Teased Spencer, his hips speeding up. “So badly,” she uttered out a sigh. “Then take it like you want it.” She craved his adept touch, and she made that known. “S- Spencer, oh god,” she groaned, “you feel so fucking good.” His breathing became heavier, softs grunts and hisses filling her ears with every movement. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, whining in a destitute way at the full feeling. At a slower pace, one of Spencer’s hands guided her hips along himself, while the other traced infinity on her sensitive nerves. “Sweet girl- fuck, you feel like a dream,” he moaned as she tightened around him. Her toes curled, the warm water of the pool splashing her bare skin. Spencer occupied all of her senses, the same way she did his. “I’m so close,” she whimpered, before he used his nose to nudge her face upwards, her momentarily open eyes reflecting constellations. Spencer kissed her once more. Her hands long freed from his grip, she left traces of herself in the form of tiny red sickles on his freckled back as her nails released some frustration.

Dragging her fingers along his torso, she felt the muscles of his stomach tighten, hers doing the same. Shaky sighs wavered from her lips at the bliss Spencer was providing. “Keep your eyes open for me, angel,” she tried her hardest to focus on his lustfully blown pupils. “That’s it. Just look at what you do to me,” he gasped out, head falling backwards, eye contact broken - only for a second - before he gulped and looked back at her. “You’re breathtaking,” she whispered, hoarsely, stroking his sweaty cheekbone with her thumb. She could recognise the golden gates of heaven in his eyes as he came undone inside her, warmth spilling over her in every aspect. The knots in her stomach loosened shortly after his, curses spilling from both of them. She rode him through his release, fond of the way he left light kisses on her temple, whispering compliments and confessions of love. Once he was sure she’d caught her breath, and some air had returned to his own lungs, he kissed her, gently, in the summer sauna heat, beneath the stars.

A loud cough startled the two. Stood in the open French doors of the veranda, scotch in hand, and eyes screwed shut, was David Rossi. Their minds were in the same place, wondering why they hadn't listened to Penelope’s drunken advice. “When you two are done, please remember to turn the tub lights off - and put the filter on high.” She hid herself in Spencer’s chest, heartbeat in her ears, contemplating holding her breath for a really, really long time. Spencer was flushed red, his own nose buried in her neck so as to not face the older man. “Or better yet, put some money together to buy me an entirely new spa,” Rossi, laughed, opening one eye to catch sight of Spencer giving him a shameful thumbs up. Even as Rossi wandered away, their embarrassment remained a fresh burn. Spencer groaned as her tired hand fumbled with his disastrous hair, “I don’t even want to begin thinking about how much of that he heard,”

“Or saw,”

“Don’t!”

“I’m never going to be invited here ever again, am I?”

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poptod · 3 years

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The Breeding Kings (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Ahkmen’s new school year starts with a bang.

Notes: guess who has imposter syndrome!!!! heres my next work i think??? idk where my inspiration is gonna pull me at any given time. i just wanna say this takes place when ahk’s pretty young! not like ten or something lmao but lets just say hes not an adult. by the way, the reader is indian (indus valley, at the time). WC: 7.3k

"Don't we look like a dream?"

A sharp inhale brought his eyes to shoot open, staring through the cold air to the blank ceiling above him. For a moment he frowned, as his bed had a silk canopy above it, but he quickly realized he had passed out in his friend's room again. He groaned softly, raising his hand to rub his face.

"What... happened last night?" He grumbled, his voice turning to a whisper when the volume of it left him wincing.

No response.

"Piye?"

Ahkmen raised himself, though very strenuously, and looked over the tables and stools thrown beside him. Splinters nearly dug into his fingertips, but he jerked away before anything could lodge.

Piye was much in the same position. Quite literally, with their limbs strewn about, hair a knotted mess upon their head. The only difference was that Piye was lying face down, their face squished into one of the table legs. He almost laughed, but even the spreading of a smile sparked a headache, so instead he poked his blacked out friend.

They groaned, loudly, but did not move. Ahkmen continued to poke them until they finally had enough, pushing themselves upwards.

"What the hell do you want?" They asked, their voice low and scratchy. Even their eyes had yet to open, stuck shut with crushed eyelashes.

"What did we do last night?" He asked in a mumble, resting his weight on the thin edge of a fallen table.

"You invited Panya and she killed us with beer," Piye breathed out, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hand.

"Fuck," said Ahkmen. "An... what day's today?"

Piye breathed very deeply before opening their mouth, letting out a roar of a yell, "DAD?!? What's today??"

Ahkmen winced away, covering his ears until Piye lay back down, still relaxing into the pile of chairs and tables.

"It is the eleventh of Khuiahk," came Adom's voice from around the corner of the tiny hallway leading to the door of Piye's room. Ahkmen heard a flip of papyrus before he spoke again, "you have school today, if that's what you're wondering."

"Ah... shit," Piye sighed.

"That means I have school too," Ahkmen said with widening eyes, a pitiful sense of dread overcoming his hangover. "I can't learn like this. I haven't showered since yesterday, I – I barely have a hold on my thoughts, I can't stand loud noises –"

"If you can still gripe like that, you're fine," Piye said flatly, lying for a moment more before their eyes opened, making way for them to sit up and stand.

"But –"

"Calm down, my Prince," Piye said with a derisive bow. "It's quite alright. I'll get us ready within the hour."

Having Piye as a friend came in handy a number of times, but especially when it came to maintaining his image of a perfect son. His parents adored him dearly, but Ahkmen was convinced that that status could be stripped at any moment, and that they would begin to treat him as they did his brother, Kamun. Thus having Piye to excuse away his mistakes was beyond helpful to him, let alone the secret capabilities of the palace physician's child.

In a calm-as-ever demeanor, Piye shoved both him and themself into clothes too warm for the sunshine already beating down on them through windows. The Prince felt a little off––a little more disgusted with himself than usual––but his discomfort was quickly remedied with a stop by the Nile, where the two quickly washed themselves.

Returning into clothes was made easy by the sun that dried the water on their skin within a minute of leaving the river. The two dressed, shoving their legs into skirts and golden bands as they walked, stumbling through the streets with soaking wet hair.

"One last stop," Piye said before they reached the center of the city, pulling Ahkmen off down a hidden alley.

Boxes and carts of goods had been stacked as wide as the thin alley, but they were easily climbed, and the two found themselves in an entirely different part of town.

"How quick is this stop going to be? We're already going to be late," Ahkmen said, but continued to follow Piye without fail.

"Wouldn't worry about it," they assured as they directed him into a tent of red and purple drapes.

Smoke welled in the ceiling, already uncomfortably low for Ahkmen, and even worse for Piye. It must've been important, whatever Piye was trying to do, as they were particularly sensitive about their height at times, and tried not to draw attention to it. The only true light inside the tiny shop was the burning incense, and what little sun could make it through the dark fabric that made up the ceiling and walls. When Ahkmen caught the scent, he recognized it easily––myrrh.

"What are we doing here?" Ahk whispered, trying to look over Piye's shoulder as they led the way through continuous halls of silk.

"Yogi?" Piye said, knocking against the first hard surface they could find.

There was a moment of silence before the wall of satin before him rustled, rippling till it split open to reveal you; a small, foreign child about his age, with a bright red dot on your forehead above wide eyes. His heart thumped erratically as you met his gaze. While he couldn't directly place where you were from, the style of your home and lavish clothes as well as your facial features assured him you were not Egyptian.

"Be needing something, Piye?" You said in a thick accent, looking up at the magi who towered above you.

"One of your drinks," they said. You nodded and ducked back into your room.

"We don't need more to drink," Ahkmen whispered.

"It's a hangover cure. You'll be wanting it."

"Oh."

A moment later you returned, two clay cups in hand swirling with a red mixture. Ahkmen looked suspiciously into the liquid, trying to decipher the ingredients, before Piye knocked their whole cup back and swallowed it in a single gulp. Scuffing his sandal against the floor, he copied his friend's movements.

Sweet, but thick. Like dough, but slimy, and the sensation of it slowly sliding down his throat only brought about more questions as to the ingredients.

"You must be one of their friends," you said once they both finished, handing their mugs to you.

"Well, um..." Ahkmen looked up to Piye, "yes. We're on our way to Osiris' temple."

"You are, then... students?"

"Yes. I study language and morals, Anpu here studies law," Piye answered for him, patting Ahkmen's shoulder.

"The bell will start soon. You should go, the priests are not made of give," you said as you set the cups aside, showing them out the door.

Blazing sun burnt the back of his eyes as he stepped outside, back into the radiating heat and the empty street, which lay an alley's walk away from the Temple of Osiris. He squinted, searching for the boxes he'd climbed earlier.

"Over here," Piye directed him, and he followed.

"Where's your friend from? Doesn't sound like –"

"- like Egyptian is their first language," Piye finished. "I've never bothered to ask, but if I had to guess, somewhere in the east. Our friendship is mostly limited to school, and medicine."

"They study medicine?" Ahkmen asked incredulously. If you weren't native to Egypt, and it was painfully obvious you weren't, it would be a feat beyond God to achieve any form of education concerning the human body.

"Not proper medicine, mind you. It's back-alley magic," Piye said, opening the door to the temple and allowing Ahkmen to pass in front of them.

"Quite literally," Ahkmen mumbled beneath his breath, scanning the main temple for any sign of the priests.

"Right."

"And what was with that fake name?"

"I don't think they –"

"I cannot imagine it will be a fantastic impression on your teachers that you are late on your first day of schooling," came a voice from behind them.

Both Ahkmen and Piye whirled around, wide eyes meeting the High Priest of Osiris, an older man named Yafeu that had never been fond of the royal family. Fortunately, he would not be teaching anyone––the High Priest's position was 'too important' to concern itself with the younger generations teachings. Osiris and his temple required constant cleaning, as well as regularly cleaned offerings of jewels and flowers, plates of delicacies that reached the knee of the massive statue sat at the head of the temple.

In fact, that was where Ahkmen stood; before the statue of Osiris. Somewhere he was not supposed to be.

"We're having trouble finding our class," Piye said before Ahkmen could even think of how to reply.

Yafeu raised a single brow, scanning the both of them with an unimpressed expression. He raised his finger to point at a small door behind Osiris.

"That way."

"Thank you, sir," Piye said with a small bow, taking Ahkmen's hand and rushing him out the door.

While the temple of Osiris held much land, and much of it was occupied by caretakers both priestly and humble, who worked to please Osiris, commoners and non-priests were generally not allowed. Gardens bloomed around the sacred lake, lovingly tended to fit the needs of the temple.

As Ahkmen and Piye walked down the long, open hallway, which on the left side held the many rooms of those working in the temple, and on the right displayed the wealth of the courtyard, the Prince wondered upon the subject of the temple. Very few people were allowed inside––hence his apprehension upon being caught––but considering the amount of people it took to care for the temple, it seemed to him a little unfair that others couldn't come to bow at the statue's feet.

Perhaps the priests, and his father, did not want commoners coming to Osiris with petty issues.

"You handled that quite well," Ahkmen said as he noted the arch to class approaching.

"I fucking hate priests," they seethed, but the expression gave way for a smile in an instant when they both entered the room.

Yafeu might've been old, but the priests that retired into teachers were much older. Last year, Ahkmen's teacher had been a much younger scribe, but this year his class of four would be taught by a priest who had spent his better years tending to Sobek's temple, and consequently had lots of experience with crocodiles. That was about the only interesting thing about the man, except for the fact that his name was Setet, which according to Ahk’s classmate meant 'Daughter of Set'.

A very strange name indeed. Ahkmen let the thought of it occupy his thoughts for a minute or two, but grew quickly bored of the subject, and eventually his mind wandered back to the events of the morning. If Setet had the gall to be this uninteresting, Ahkmen could be allowed time to think and gather himself.

Last night, he thought, chewing on his bottom lip. What had happened?

The details were fuzzy in his head––more a mess of mangled half-memories soaked in beer and wine. According to Piye, who now sat cross-legged on the carpet beside him, something had happened with his friend Panya that made both of them drink a lot of beer. A drinking contest, maybe––Ahkmen was, at times, too prideful for his own good.

Panya couldn't really be considered a friend. She was rarely ever kind to him, and he treated her in much the same light. Despite her crude behavior, she was quite beautiful, and attended the same prestigious school as he did––only in a different class.

What is he talking about? he thought to himself blearily, trying to focus back in on the man in front of him talking.

Then there was the question of you––the pretty little potionmaker––and with that thought implanted in his mind, he left the classroom in every way imaginable except physical.

Ahkmen very rarely met anyone from other countries that weren't royal, so the sudden presence of you was something he could think about for a good, long while as he waited out the school day. He thoroughly enjoyed any research into the cultures and activities of citizens in countries his own and not his own.

You came up about to his shoulder––which meant you were only as tall as Piye's elbow––and your skin was of a darker, more vibrantly red color than those of the Egyptians he usually related himself to. The lighting in your tent had been subpar, making it hard for him to recall what color that dot on your forehead had been. All he could remember was that it existed.

The hangover remedy you had concocted had, without Ahkmen entirely noticing, taken away his headache and minimized his sensitivity to light and sound, which convinced the Prince that you had some sort of schooling behind you. Maybe you weren't as poorly as you looked––all respect to you, of course––and, maybe, you were someone of similar noble standing.

He wasn't sure which theory he liked more.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember your name, and now that class had started he would have to wait until lunch to ask Piye.

When midday finally did come around, he, Piye, and the other two students in his class were excused to the garden. In the center of the courtyard, the High Priest readied himself for the midday ceremony by bathing in the sacred lake placed there by hand. Clerks and jewellers flitted about from place to place, carrying the finished products of beautiful works that would never see the light of day beyond Osiris' temple. Similarly, weavers and barbers tended to Yafeu as he bathed in preparation.

"What was that eastern brewer's name again?" Ahkmen asked, tugging on Piye's skirt as he attempted to catch up with their long strides.

"The one from the alley? Yogi," they said with a curious tilt of their head. "Why?"

"Oh, I've been thinking about it all morning. I couldn't remember but I know you called them by name."

"Right. Hungry?" Piye asked, stopping before the door to the kitchens.

"I want to find Panya first," Ahk said as he scanned the courtyard.

"Well I want to eat. If you want to try and wade through that crowd for a woman who hates you, go ahead," Piye said, waving him off before promptly slamming the door behind them as they left.

"... right," Ahkmen muttered to himself under his breath.

There were far too many people going about the temple that, standing from his position, it was impossible to see everyone. One thing he did know about Panya, though; she always brought her own food and always sat alone.

Ten minutes later Ahkmen found himself yelling up into a tree that Panya had managed to scale.

"Get lost, goldie!" She yelled from above, picking one of the dates and lobbing it at his head. He dodged, eyes darting down at the ground, where the date had made a dent in the dirt.

"Come on, I just have a question!" He said, squinting from the sun shining directly above him.

"The answer's no. Now go away! You're going to attract one of the priests with all that yelling," she said, cocking her chin into the sky.

"Oh, fuck you," he muttered as he at last looked down, his neck sore from craning it so long. So much for figuring out last night.

As he made his way back to the kitchens, he crossed the middle of the courtyard and spied through the pillars of stone the open door of the inner temple. Inside grew an ethereal blue light, surrounding the figures of stone, warped with smoke as Yafeu knelt to his knees before Osiris. His mouth moved in constant prayer, but Ahkmen could not hear from his distance. He could only watch.

Until one of the clerks shut the door.

He frowned, but headed on his way, soon sliding in next to his friend, Piye. They had taken a seat on one of the many carpets set out on the floor, the open roof allowing sunlight to flood the otherwise dark room. All that protected the students and chefs from the heat of the sun, as well as the heat of the ovens, was the thin tarps covering the majority of the ceiling, though not entirely. There was still room for a couple rays of unbroken sun.

"Find her?" Piye asked through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, but she wouldn't talk to me," Ahk said, irritant in his movements as he began to eat his own lunch.

"Sounds like her."

By the end of school, the sun was already cresting the horizon of low mountains, leading his shadow to tall heights as he walked with Piye, their backs to the sun. Inside the courtyard of the temple, servants and workers planted seeds in the black mud gathered from the Nile's banks. Outside it, however, bustled the busy life of Memphis markets that always received the most amount of patrons after school and work was finished for the day.

Wading through the crowd had always been more of an art than anything, though Ahkmen couldn't practice that art very well with Piye beside him. They stuck out horribly, too tall to duck beneath the swaying barrels and baskets, and unable to pass people by without seeming rude.

"Oh shit!" Ahkmen exclaimed in a moment of remembrance, raising his hand to stop Piye. "I remember why Panya came over."

"Really?" They pulled both of them to the side, pressed against a restaurant wall. "What was it?"

"Drinking contest. Remember last Friday? We had that bet and then I lost, and I had to give her one of my necklaces, but I couldn't part with any of mine, so I just stole my mother's. Then my mother started asking questions, and... oh fuck. Mother's going to kill me," Ahk said with wide eyes, raising his hands to cover his mouth.

"I would love to help you out with this problem, but she's really not going to do anything, and I need to help my father collect ingredients from the market. Is that alright?"

"Yes, I... I understand. Any advice though?"

"Go find Yogi. They might be able to help. See you," they said as they turned and left, all but their shoulders and head disappearing in the crowd.

Ahkmen had little on his persons except the clothes he wore, and the bands he had on his arms marked him as royal. They could not be sold, bartered, or traded in any way, as any non-royal found wearing them was jailed or enslaved. He could not give them to Panya in exchange. Panya might've been annoying, but she didn't deserve something like that.

Since that was the only idea he had, he found himself sneaking back towards Osiris' temple, and going through the streets leading to it in hopes of finding that alleyway once more. It was less of an alley and more of a space between two close buildings, but that distinction easily led him back to climbing over boxes of storage.

In the warm blush of evening, it was hard to make out the different alleys leading to this singular space between buildings, where nothing had been built except that tent of yours. It appeared as though you had blocked it off purposely––made your home secret for a reason.

Questions swarmed his head as he ducked beneath the flap of your home, watching his head for anything hanging too low. He raised his hand, searching for a hard surface––something to rapp his knuckles on, as Piye had.

"Uh... Yoshi?"

"My name is not that. Do not call me that," you said, walking out from behind what Ahkmen thought was a wall. He nearly jumped at your sudden appearance.

"Sorry. I was, um, here this morning, with my friend Piye? They said you might be able to help me," he said in a rambling manner, playing with his fingers.

"What help you need?"

"I had a bet with this girl from my school, and she ended up with my mother's necklace, and I need that necklace. My mother was asking me about it earlier, so I know she's noticed."

"Hmm..." you glanced to the side, placing your hands on your hips. "What was.. your bet on?"

"Drinking contest."

"Ah," you said with a sudden smile. "No problem. You find your girl, bring her here. I will give her my beer."

"You brew beer?" Ahkmen asked incredulously, his eyes widening. Beer-making was something generally reserved for adults.

"I do many things. Do not worry. She will not die," you said, shaking your head as though that would assure him.

"Why would she die?!" Ahkmen asked with even larger eyes.

"I just tell you she will not die! Now go grab her. I will be here with your cups. Tell her you want to do it again," you said, pushing him out the door. He was not at all swayed by your efforts, but allowed you to move him anyway, and soon he stood outside in an evening where the sun had set too fast.

A chill ran over his skin, at which point he acutely missed the warmth of your tent. How you kept it so comfortable, as well as clean in there was a mystery, but that was not at the forefront of his thoughts. Instead he tried to recall where Panya might be––perhaps at school, perhaps at home, or maybe with her friend. She only had one.

After clambering back over the wall of boxes and crates, he snuck back into the courtyard of the temple, keeping a careful eye on any movement he saw. The task proved hard after about five seconds of being in there, as the next ceremony was soon approaching. The Priests would put Osiris to rest for the night.

In several of the rooms he passed, he found other children of noble bearings discussing quietly with the older priests and clerks, who passed the time of their elderly years raising the next generation. He checked each door, but in the end he found Panya on the edge of one of the creeks that ran like veins with the lifeblood of the Nile.

"Can we talk now?" He asked, taking great enjoyment in her surprise as she turned.

"I'd prefer we didn't," she said, turning back to look at the river.

"If I recall correctly," which he did not, "I won last night's contest, right? That puts us at a tie."

"You big liar," said Panya, who also did not recall the events of last night. "I quite distinctly remember rubbing your face in my win."

"Come now, all I'm offering is one more drinking contest. You get to get drunk for free. If you win, I... I'll owe you one favor. One thing you ask of me, I'll do, no questions asked. If I win, I get that necklace back."

"You're vain sometimes, you know that?" She said in a quieter voice as he stood to face her, watching her fingers play with the massive emerald that now dangled from her shoulders.

"So are you."

She raised an unimpressed brow, scanning the Prince before she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Very well. Is Piye going to be overlooking it again?"

"No, no," Ahk said with a dismissive hand, dropping his other to grab Panya's hand and direct her along. "They're busy tonight. I've got someone else on board."

It took a little convincing to get the noble girl to climb up and over the boxes for a secret part of the city, but he eventually won her over and directed her inside your tent. She was about your height––maybe a little taller––and had no problems standing in your low-roof home. Ahkmen on the other hand took a seat as soon as he could.

You introduced yourself with a small bow, bringing forward a low table with a long strip of embroidered cloth, upon which you placed four small cups built of what appeared to be clay. All of this you did in a smooth, practiced swoop that lasted only a moment before Ahkmen was forced to face Panya once more.

Ahkmen might've been a desperate man––in more than one sense of the word––but he would not resort to cheating by stealing. Not to good people. Thus he would keep his word concerning the prizes of the competition, no matter how certain he was that he would fail.

He was a prince, accustomed to constant fine wines and thick beer that smelled strongly of alcohol. A sipper in small amounts.

Panya was not. She had quite a lot of money like his family, but she was far more connected with the world of other teenagers than Ahkmen was.

"I like you to state what you will win if you... win," you said, standing beside the table Ahk and Panya sat at. "That way, it is honest."

"If Panya wins, she can tell me to do one thing that I must do without question. If I win, I get that necklace back," Ahk said as he pointed to each of the things he referred to.

"Okay. Let us begin!"

Four cups. Two on either side of the centerpiece of the table. Ahkmen reached forward at the same time as Panya, grabbing the cups from the right and downing both of them quick as he could. The less he thought about it, the better. Panya soon copied him, finishing much faster than he had, and slamming the cups down so hard he nearly jumped.

"Good start," you said with a nod. "Feel good?"

"I feel about myself," Ahk offered.

"Then you have not drinking enough." You brought out another four cups in a flash. "Try not to let any of it fall!"

It burned his throat––physically burnt it from the alcohol level. No beer or wine had ever done that before, and he nearly spit it out, but managed to swallow it and hide his teary eyes at the same time. He then watched Panya carefully for any reaction, and noted the same surprise in her expression.

"Is a bit stronger. That is how my game works. By your six rounds, it only takes a cup to get a little," you grinned and rolled your eyes in two different directions. Ahk raised his brows, unable to look away, but said nothing.

"God damn," Panya said after downing the second cup of her's on the table. "Where do you get this stuff?"

"I make it. It is levels of dizziness."

"Do you mean drunkenness?" Ahkmen asked, looking apprehensively down into his second cup.

"Whatever. It is family's secret. I sell it to markets, get a good price, people like becoming drunk," you said with a shrug, taking the old cups, and refilling them with yet another mixture.

"Come now, Ahk," Panya chuckled from across the table. "Gotta finish that second cup if you're gonna challenge me to this kind of a competition."

Ahkmen glared at her for a moment before raising his cup to his lips, knocking it back as he attempted to once again ignore every sensation happening in his throat.

"Good boy," you said, taking his cup and setting it on the shelf behind you.

Four more cups were then placed on the table, and the drinking continued.

By the fifth round, he was already inebriated, his tongue soaked in the numbing powers of this drink you had concocted. There was a part of his not-all-there brain that thought you had taken this drink from the underworld; some sort of backwards world where the Nile flowed with pure alcohol.

If you were telling the truth, and he quite well trusted your word this far, he could be dizzyingly intoxicated with your next drink. He barely had the state of mind to look at Panya, much less decode her own level of drunkenness. That left him blind to the status of his likelihood of winning. And yet, when the next cup was set down in front of him, he gulped it like a sober brewer. Panya did the same.

"Feeling a little of it now?" You asked with a grin.

"Some... something dike lat," he mumbled, his mouth smushed against the hand he supported his head on.

"Do you one finish?"

"... what?" Panya asked, her brow furrowed as she stared intensely at you.

"Do one of you give up?" You tried.

"Hell no," Panya said with an adamant shake of her head. "Get me another!"

"Me too!" Ahk said, raising his hand high as his head fell to the table, knocking against it with a loud thunk. He hissed, curling back on himself with little grace.

Panya snorted, leading into a long laugh as she cherished the look of drunken disdain painted over the Prince's face. You said nothing, but went to fulfill their requests, returning with the same drink as the last one.

"This my strongest drink. What you had before. It is good for you!"

"It may be good for me, but I think my friend over there is going to pass out," Panya said, grabbing you by your collar and forcing you to lean down so she could talk closer to your ear. You giggled.

"You have big strength," you said, stepping away as she downed yet another drink.

"Thank you, uh.. what's... your name?"

"... it is Yogi."

"Well then, Yogi. Another!"

If you had some sort of secret plan to get him to win, he was desperate to see it. This drink of yours had only seemed to be detrimental to him, not to Panya, and anxiousness stewed as he glanced into his cup. She was already ahead of him––to equalize the cards, he had to drink another cup, just to be equal.

You reentered the room as he knocked it back, carrying two more cups. When he set his cup down, you placed the others in front of him, and grabbed the empty one to clean it.

Ahkmen looked up, and through the haze of his thoughts, he might've seen you wink at him with a sly smile. Maybe. It was also possible you had just blinked and his eyes were being slow.

He grabbed his cup, and before he could think about it he chugged it. In a horrifying moment of clarity, he recognized the drink he'd had that morning––some sort of hangover cure that felt like smooth, squishy mud in his mouth. You returned a minute or two later, more drinks in hand. By then your mixture took effect, and much of his wooziness faded away, bringing him back to the land of sobriety before being offered his next cup.

It was all he needed.

Panya went on for a good long while, but without the special concoction she lost by the tenth round. During that time, Ahkmen had plenty enough beer, and had returned to the spinning thoughts of his alcohol-fueled brain, now focused on the one who had helped him so readily––you.

"What are – are you gonna do with... her?" Ahkmen asked through a half-stuffed nose, gesturing weakly to Panya, who had passed out in the corner only moments earlier.

"Do you know her parents?"

"... sort of," he answered vaguely. He definitely knew about them. Her father was Yafeu, and though he did not like Ahkmen, Ahkmen had a fair amount of information about him.

"Will they... scared, about her going.. missing?" You said, slowly piecing together a sentence you had clearly never said in Egyptian.

"You mean does she have to be home tonight?"

You nodded.

"She'll be fine. Her father will... worry, a little, but she can say she was sleeping in a friend's house. They won't.. uh... worry," he said in a mumble, laying his head to rest on your table.

"Then we put her to sleep. Let her rest for a while," you said, bowing your head as you collected the rest of the cups, disappearing behind yet another wall.

He tapped his fingers against the wood, keeping them close to his eyes so as to see his hand better. A long sigh left him.

"Will you go home? Or stay?" You asked upon your return.

"I – I have a lot of answers for you," he said, suddenly quite vindictive and stern as he pointed to you with a shaky finger. "And I want you.. to question..."

He trailed off as he realized his mistake. Embarrassment was clear on his face as he shriveled into himself, but you just giggled, sitting down across from him with a large bag in your lap.

"What is your questions?"

"What's your name? Your full name. You don't... seem happy when.. people say Yogi," he said, resting the majority of his weight on the pillows built up against one of the rare solid walls.

"Well, I come from a long travel. My name is not something many know here," you said with a shrug, digging your hands into the bag and rooting around it. "It is Yogasundari."

"Y.. yogetsury?" He tried on his clumsy tongue.

"Yogasundari. It is okay you can not say it. It is why most call me Yogi."

"So – where do you come from then? If y-you come from," he pushed down a hiccup, "from far away?"

"The east. My city was named Harappa. We live in a beautiful river, like you," you said, smiling a soft, thoughtful smile as you recalled images of your past. "Our city was great. Had all things. But my family is poor and it is easy to live here. We can make our own great.. um..."

"Riches?"

"Yes! Gold, and – and silk, you have, but we change the shape of iron," you said, your grin spreading into excitement. "We have good drinks. You want them here, so we come here, and we live much better than we live in Harappa."

"So you're... here with your family?" He asked in genuine curiosity, looking up at you from his collapsed position on the floor.

Your expression fell away, and an anxiousness overtook your demeanor.

"I was," you said, then frowned with spiteful eyes. "Those kings of yours kill my family, sell them. I love this, the river, but your kings are unjust. They take my parents and I never saw them again."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It is okay. It is not your fault. I have a good home and I know how to stay away from soldiers. They go everywhere in this city. Not like my home. So that is why I am here," you said, gesturing to the patterned cloths that made up your ceiling.

"And it's just you here?"

"There is the cat," you said, looking back down to his chest, where unbeknownst to him, a thin, hairless cat had made a bed.

"Oh," he whispered softly, taken aback.

The purring was nice––actually, most of the cat's presence was nice, except when he went to pet it, and it raised its' head. At that point he saw the gaping holes where eyes were supposed to be, where they probably once were, and he just about jumped out of his skin, and would have if its' claws weren't kneading at his stomach.

"What the fuck," he whispered in a tense breath.

"She is good. Very kind. You do not worry."

"Where'd you find her?" He asked, eyes darting between you and the cat.

"On the street," you said, nodding. "She comes in for eating at some times."

"... delightful."

"What of you?" You asked. "What are you from?"

"I..." he paused, recalling your contempt for the royal family, and then the much earlier occurrence of Piye using a cover name. "... my father's a priest at Osiris' temple. Not the High one, but.. one of them. That's why I go to school there, and that's how I met Panya."

"Are you good friends?"

"Not really," he chuckled. "We have our fights but I respect her, most of the time."

"More with Piye, then?"

"Mm... yeah. How'd you meet them?"

"You have to ask them. They came in my home one day and asked for my brew."

"Which one?"

"The good one," you said with a wink that had Ahkmen snorting. "I have forgot to ask your name. Your friends name you two things."

What had Piye called him that morning? Panya had used Ahk, that he knew definitively.

"Ak'anpu," he answered after a moment's thoughts.

"It is a nice name," you said, bringing your lips to a glass contraption. With one flame on the other end, you breathed in deeply, exhaling thick clouds of smoke that easily outweighed the smoke of incense already flooding the ceiling.

"What is that?" Ahk asked with a groan as he brought himself to sit up, forcing your cat to jump off his middle.

"Shemet. I get it at the markets, by the river. It is good to sleep and calm down. Want to try?" You offered the tool to him.

"Sure," he said, though he was fairly certain he'd already had this before, and that you were simply pronouncing the name strangely.

From the taste alone he recognized it as something he and Piye had used extensively at some points. It didn't pair well with beer, which he knew from experience, so he took only one more puff before handing it back to you with a quiet 'thank you'.

"I must get home to my father, he's –" he tried to stand, falling back down when he tripped over his own feet. "He's gonna want to see me in the morning."

"You are a little... drunk to be seeing a father yet," you said, a grin tugging at your lips.

"That you are most certainly 'bight'," he said as he, again, attempted to stand.

When he nearly caught his head in one of your hanging scarves, you jumped to your feet, grabbing his arm and pulling his whole body back before he ran into it. He stumbled backwards, spinning around just in time to catch himself on the wall with you in front of him.

"Oh..." he stuttered, a warmer blush filling his head as he looked down at you. "I'm.. sorry."

But you just laughed, much harder than the times you had before, till a dark flush built in your creased cheeks, stark against your bright eyes.

"You are funny. It is alright," you said, patting his bare chest. "I don't think I trust you will get home safe."

"Is this because I'm drunk?" He asked in a teasing tone, leaning in closer with his own cocky smile. For a moment he worried your hand on his chest would feel the thundering of his heartbeat.

"It is because you are stupid," you said, ducking out from his grip and pulling the necklace from Panya's neck, handing it to him.

You took his hand in yours, carefully leading him out of your home without wrecking any of it. The ascent over the crates was a little more clumsy than usual, but in the end you both landed safe back in the regular streets of Memphis, the temple of Osiris to your right and the palace to your left.

"Which way is your home?" You asked, looking up at him after you confirmed it to be a vacant street.

"Easy there," he said as he raised his hands defensively. "I'm – can't go home this.. like this. I'm gonna go down to the Nile, and... I'm going to wash up."

"They say not to go by yourself," you said, following him when he turned to the right. "Dangerous animals."

"More guidelines than rules, really," he said as he shambled along. "And I have you now, d–don't I?"

"If fish eat your ass, I am not saving you," you said with a certainty.

Ahkmen spluttered into a laugh.

"What?" You asked, your own smile growing as you watched him, confused.

"Don't – don't ever say that again. Don't talk about anything eating ass," he said through a massive grin.

Once the two of you reached the river, which didn't take long at all, Ahkmen stripped himself of his garments, setting aside his jewelry in a neat row on the banks. His mother's necklace he set on his clothes, making sure not to dirty it in any way.

"It is funny how you Egyptians do this," you said, perching on one of the boulders present.

"Do what?" He asked, looking over his bare shoulder. Your eyes darted up from staring at something lower.

"Wash in the river."

"Not everyone does," he said, kneeling in the water. "A lot have small pools in their homes. Mostly the rich, I guess. Everyone else just bathes here."

"Maybe I am just... not knowing much about being without many clothes," you attempted to translate, the words clearly spinning in your head. You looked to him to see if he understood you.

"That I can see," he said, bringing the water over his legs and chest, trailing up to his face. "You've got quite a style. Very.. colorful. It looks expensive."

"I make my own clothes," you said with a small, but proud smile.

"You're a seamster?"

"I am many things."

"So I've seen," he chuckled. "How do you know so many things?"

"I had to learn. I had to teach me, from what I could see my family doing," you said, your feet wagging back and forth from the boulder's height. "I get not many people who.. who buy. But I have many things. I think it helps."

"Impressive," he said softly as he returned to washing himself.

By dunking his whole head into the cool water, he hoped to return more of his senses to himself, and with it his more prolific words. He didn't need drunken sentences messing up your understanding of him further. Besides, it was hard enough on its' own to try and piece together your own sentences that were jargled and brambled words of what you'd picked up in Memphis.

"Are you ready to go?" You asked after having fidgeted for several minutes, now letting your head hang upside-down off the rock.

"I suppose so," he said, rising to his feet. "I think I can probably bathe more once I get home. And if not, the morning will come, and I can wash then."

As spiritual an experience as it was to bathe in the lifeblood of Egypt, Ahkmen couldn't deny he missed the lavender soaps and gentle oils massaged and soaked into the skin.

He stumbled his way back to shore, slipping easily on the slick mud beneath him, making up the fertile silt of the Nile. You laughed from your vantage point, knocking your head back with the loudest belt of a laugh he'd ever heard. It was made especially amusing by the fact that such noise could come from someone so small. By the third time he slipped, though, you spared a little pity and climbed down from your tower to help him.

"You are funny," you said with the brightest grin he'd seen, offering him your hand with a long reach in an attempt to keep your shoes clean. Unlike Ahk's, they were made of a sort of fabric.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his legs shaky from his laughter and yours. "This doesn't usually happen."

He reached forward, setting his hand into yours, and allowing you to direct him forward. To your unfortunate surprise––though, still, very amused surprise––his weight ended up pulling both of you down, slipping into the shallow reaches of the river.

"Oh Gods," he said as he resurfaced. "I am so sorry, I -"

Your clothes, and you, were then soaked in both water and mud that easily stained to the palms of your hands as you hauled your heavy clothes out of the river. Wide eyes looked to him, your mouth open in surprise. He cringed backwards, a horribly apologetic look on his face as he watched you stand, shaking your body to test your new weight.

Glancing around your legs, midsection, and arms, you found mud dug into your elbows, your knees, around your hips, and all across your shoulders.

You laughed. Relief flooded him upon the sight of your smile, covering your mouth with a dirty hand.

"Don't we look like a dream?" You giggled.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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ichayalovesyou · 3 years

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Unexpected: Shipping Spones

and how I think it went down subtextually

Preface: I do not think they’re relationship would’ve really kicked into something more than platonic until Mirror, Mirror (I think that’s when Bones realizes he’s physically attracted to Spock but we’ll get into that later)

Miri

“Aww, you do care!” 😊😳😑

Dagger of The Mind

“Wow, I’m seeing something about you that you haven’t even told Jim... that’s kinda, really fucked up and freaky, but also elegant and beautiful?”🤔

The Conscience of A King

“Crap, okay, Jim is acting weird, guess we have to rely on eachother.” 🙄😤😑😏

The Galileo 7

“Wow, you’re an asshole but I’m also learning about your redeeming qualities?? And also I really, really don’t want to see you die?????” 🙄😒😳

*Space Seed

This isn’t a very Spones-y episode I just think it revealed to us, or even to Bones, that he finds dangerous, intense, confident men attractive. Bones’s love language is jokes and threats punctuated by genuine earnesty and he was ABSOLUTELY low-key flirting with Khan with the knife at his throat.

Return of The Archons

I don’t think Bones was aware of it while it was happening because of Landru but it’s heavily implied Spock tried to mind meld with him. I think it left a subconscious impression on Bones, and a very conscious impression on Spock that he does actually care about him. He sounds so frustrated when he says he can’t break Bones out of it 🥺

Operation: Annihilate!

I mean this one kinda speaks for itself, it is a miserable time for the Triumpverant and Bones is so, so, high empathy. To see Kirk on the verge of bursting in to tears (and he probably did tbh we just didn’t see) for the entire ordeal and seeing Spock in enough pain to show it must’ve really, really shook him. Then on top of that he has to deal with needlessly blinding Spock while testing the cure. I honestly think 90% of the time he seems like he’s teasing Spock about his differing biology, it’s that he’s actually way more angry at himself. Angry for not being able to be certain Spock is really okay and nothing’s wrong, because half the time he wouldn’t know what to look for. He cares about Spock so much that getting to a point where he doesn’t know what to do for him when something could be done, scares the fuck out of him.

Mirror, Mirror

Now this is where the steamier aspect begins. I think Bones is so absolutely hellbent on saving Mirror!Spock because he’s a bit traumatized and just cannot deal with the prospect of any Spock dying on his watch. Even if it means being trapped in a dimension where he’d have to break his hypocritical oath or die upholding it. He’s rewarded with a very intimidating, very sexy mind meld. It’s been established that Mind Melds are two way windows, Bones can experience everything Mirror!Spock is, and I think he’s surprised and intrigued by what he finds out about what’s going on under that Vulcan veneer of calm. (I also headcanon that Spones are already a relationship in the Mirror timeline but I think my point would still stand even if Bones didn’t find out they were a thing in an alternate universe).

At this point, I think Bones starts legitimately wondering if he’s missing out with what Kirk & Spock have by being so closed off with Prime!Spock. (yes I love McSpirk too, I could never pick one ship and poly rep is where it’s at! I also can’t imagine Kirk and Spock ever going without one another, they’re bond is so much deeper than friendship.)

Amok Time

It checks so many goddamn boxes!

“Wait?! Vulcans go into heat?? It’s called what?!” Playing into both his fear that he won’t be able to save Spock if something goes horribly wrong, and let’s be real, Pon Farr, as like a concept is 🔥 even if it doesn’t make a ton of sense lmao.

You’re asking me to come along to this super sacred private occasion of yours?? With your other choice being your current lover? Okay! 😳

“No! No no no no I am not going to lose either of you! Not to-fucking-day! Time to risk a diplomatic incident by faking my dearest friend’s death and traumatizing the guy I now realize I have a major tsundere-style crush on!”

“Wow, I just saw Spock emote, god I wish I could get you to smile like that. I’m just gonna pretend to not know what you guys mean by ‘minding the store’. It’s not like a thank you for breaking you out of Plok’tow and preventing you from killing the man we you love is in order or anything.” 🙄😏

Journey to Babel

I mean, everything he does for Spock’s sake this episode. Also talk about unlocking your closed-off friend’s tragic backstory! I mean, experimental medicine, alien surgery, caving with no real argument on one of Kirk’s hair brained life threatening schemes?! That’s love!

Also: prying for cute/embarassing information about your crush/SO from their parents is On Brand (Bones always wants The Drama 😆) COME ON “A teddy bear???!!??”

Also also: I’m sure there’s some serious fringe benefits to having your attractive friends confined to sickbay so that neither of them accidentally bleed to death.

Bread and Circuses

I feel as though it’s in Bones’ nature to interrogate and goad Spock about his feelings, not because he thinks Spock doesn’t have any, but he wants to see how deep they go. I think this comes from the vibe that I get from Bones that he has Imposter Syndrome and projects it onto his close relationships in times of stress. They’re both trapped in a cell together and deeply scared for Kirk. I think he’s asking:

“Do you really love Jim as much as I think you do?”

“Do I actually care about/feel attracted to you? Or do I just think I do because Jim does?”

“Am I actually capable of love? Or capable of being loved?”

“Are there really warm, decent feelings in there for me too?”

The Immunity Syndrome

This the episode I just saw all the way through for the first time (I’m watching TOS all the way through for the first time in general) and if this episode doesn’t confirm for Spock & Bones that they love each other, it sure as hell does for me.

Bones is unusually worried (even for him, we all know he gets hella agitated when Spock is hurt) when Spock feels the Intrepid die.

It feels to me that it’s not that Bones doesn’t believe Spock about what happened, he just doesn’t want it to be true. Because what does that mean Spock just went through? What does that mean for any single person to experience so much death in a single instant? He barely has the heart to deal with one at a time!

That and they keep throwing themselves in each other’s way in the professional Who Gets To Die for Science contest. We good good shit like “... good luck Spock” & “Shut up Spock we’re rescuing you!!!”

Spones is such a weird, nuanced ship that can be as painfully prickly as it is overwhelmingly, mind-bogglingly tender. It’s like the odd-couple done right. I definitely ship it to slowly increasing degrees after Miri (and not before) it’s definitely got slow burn energy. It’s not as mutual soft boy energy as their respective relationships with Kirk. They’re loving AND combative which is what makes the Triumverate so refreshing and compelling, whether you ship any of it or not. I’m not saying Bones (and Spock) don’t have their shit to work on with each other, but the work is what matters.

Anyway, Spones is good. I just wanted to get these thoughts off my chest.

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paranoid-throwaway · 2 years

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kind of want to elucidate how i feel about the whole thing. i doubt anyone will ever care about this perspective on this extremely niche topic, but itll still be nice to have my thoughts written out somewhere. also just general journaling and writing practice, i really need to get better at conveying

its kind of crazy how sometimes i feel imposter syndrome regarding autism. i’m definitely high functioning, but the way this site is you’d think its the only type of autism to exist. I really am interested in the differences between how cis males experience having autism and the way ftm males experience autism. already, the preponderance of ‘autistic’ ftms is kind of odd. I do believe autism affects women, in fact one of the few brief episodes of autism solidarity in my life was my friendship with one at a educational program. Yeah, actually, in this post i really want to contrast what ive experienced as an autistic person and my interactions with other autistic people, vs tumblr autism. Its said that autism can affect gender identity, and it probably is true that autistic traits across both sexes are construed as masculine. I’ve really met two kinds of autistic people in my life. Theres autistic people who are still really un-selfware, lower functioning, and then theres people like me, who can function somewhat better and have managed to mostly supress sensory problems. It really is so hard to do, and the autistics ive met irl agree. In fact, for the most part we actually carry a lot of guilt over being autistic, self hatred for everything being so difficult when its not a problem for normal people at all. I still don’t really know how to feel about that. On the one hand, I do resonate with the concept that disabilites are a result of society, but i dont think thats an absolute principle. The ability to do unpleasant things, to take care of and clean oneself, to properly read social cues and norms will always be important for interacting with other people regardless of social structure or situation. Autistic people will probably always struggle with these things. Im certainly in the autism sucks camp, if i could get it cured or whatever i’d do it in a heartbeat. I do think being autistic has been important to forming my identity, but i am so fucking tired of being alone and friendless. Still, the guilt and self hatred i feel about my autism isn;t even the worse i’ve seen. The autistic girl I used to be friends with was also a devout christian, which we often argued about. Why on earth would god make autistic people? I’ll always remember being shocked when she told me the story of how in college she’d been raped, but even now she blames herself and being autistic. If she’d been more self aware, more alert to the guys ulterior motives, she feels like it wouldn’t have happened. I don’t agree, regardless of the society and situation rape shouldn’t happen and is never the victims fault. But it illustrates how negatively actuallyautistic(which is a stupid fucking tag) people feel about autism.

I do wonder what people in the other camp think autism speaks should actually do. I suppose just give free money to autistic people. That actually wouldn’t be half bad, but it should all go to people at assisted living programs or psych facilities. Its true that autism makes some of the demands of most jobs more difficult and thinks like attractiveness, personal grooming and social skills should absolutley not effect employment the way they do, but how the fuck do you legislate for that.

Another odd thing to me is the level of community that female autistics and ftm autistics seem to have. Autistic cis males are infamous for being friendless losers, and I am no exception. the closest thing to an autistic community is places like 4chan, which makes sense, as theres no social norms and no real connections to be made. I suposse its certainly possible that there are autistics who are incredibly good at masking, and have managed to ingrain certain habits in themselves

another intersting contrast, though certainly a difficult one to discuss, is sexual inadequacy and so on. Everyone knows autistic guys dont really get pussy. I do wonder what is like for cis gay autistics. I do believe that gay people are generally more accepting and interested in more kinds of people and bodies than straights. Not really sure how much sexual dysfunction there is amongst ‘autistic’ ftms or women. virtually all of the ‘autistic’ ftms are gay, and typically date amongst themselves, which no doubt makes things easier. theres also a preponderance of asexual autistic ftms or enbies, many of whom are ‘high-functioning’ which is odd given that while asexuality has been connected to autism before, it’s mostly in severely autistic individuals who don’t care about social stuff at all. A lot of these asexual ‘autistic’ ftms seem just as obsessed with shipping dynamics as the allo ‘autistic’ ftms.

I wonder if theres something of a generational divide between zoomer autistics and older ones. older cis male autistics are way likelier to be bitter, extremist friendless losers, zoomer cis male autistics are much more likely to transition, which provides another, far stronger community.

At the end of the day, this all revolves around the fact that people who are ‘proud’ of their autism are innately suspicious to me. I realize there are people who reclaim their identity and move past the stigma, but surely there must be some lingering bitterness over how one was treated and how unfair it is. If your not bitter about it, it makes me wonder just how much ur ‘autism’ actually made you suffer, and If it didn’t or not very much at all, I just can’t see you as autistic. You don’t understand the pain that comes from actually struggling with it.

I also just really, really hate all of those jokes about how autism is sexy or cool. I realize some people say that sort of thing as a way to fight the stigma but it feels like it’s at the expense of actually recognizing the painful aspects of autism. Online friendships and communications are just as difficult and confusing as in person interactions are to me, yet a lot of autistics on tumblr seem to find an online community and integrate into it pretty effortlessly.

#I wonder if anyone will see this #I actually would welcome the other sides thoughts on this #autistic ftms: why are you often so much more comfortable and open about being autistic than cis male autistics?#i know you dont like to think about that question #regardless #my bitterness is justified and theres nothing you can do to convince me otherwise #autism

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thisadhdlife · 3 years

Link

Gold In The Valley, by MitiS: A Lyrical Breakdown of how this song makes me fee. (Because why TF not?)

So, let’s start with the obvious question first: Why? Why Am I doing this? Because the song makes me tear up and cry every time I hear it. I’ve heard if on/off for 3 days now, almost. So, I’d like to analyze my feelings through writing about it.

Why post a lyrical analysis on this blog? Because it’s my blog. Duh. I’ll post whatever I want, especially if I feel it relates to ADHD and/or the experience (emotional or otherwise) around it in some way/shape/form.

*~*~*

Oh you never know Who you're talking to What things they've been through So just please be kind It was hard to say It's sunshine or rain When somebody's smile Could be hiding pain

This hits hard. Reminds me of that quote from Plato, “Be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle“. For 30+ years of my life, I wasn’t even aware that I was in a constant battle with my ADHD. It’s only now, that the battle is over, and the war has been WON that I realize just how much suffering, just how much pain, and anguish I’d been enduring without even realizing it. Now you might ask, “how can you win against ADHD?” ~ But the fact that I know it’s ADHD, the fact that I can get help, the fact that I can access and use medication. That’s WINNING. You can’t tackle a problem/issue that you don’t know is there, right? So, yeah. I for sure consider the battle won.

But it's hard to pretend Forever and keep it inside And we're all in this world together And no one should hide

I always felt alienated. Like I was stupider than everyone else. Like I was somehow less-than, you know? It hit me like a ton of bricks the first time I took my medication... just how easy being human is for everyone else. I know, sounds strange when I put it like that. But it’s true. I always felt like an alien inside my own skin. I guess that’s what ADHD Alien talks about and depicts in their work... thing is, until I took my medication, I just DIDN’T KNOW how different everyone else’s experience of the world truly is. I mean, if it’s THIS EASY for you to put down your phone and focus on your work, to focus on boring things that don’t interest you... OF COURSE you’ll think that anyone else who can’t do it with the same ease is just lazy. It’s not OK, but, at the same time... I finally understood the perspective of all the people in my life who had been trying to get me to do better, to somehow “motivate” me in all the wrong ways. They were doing the best in the way they knew how, and it’s not their fault. Taking the medication, I think, more than anything allowed me to empathize with others on a level I’d never been able to before and it allowed me to forgive everyone in one instant. They tried their best to get me to do stuff, to get my life together. It’s not their fault they didn’t know... so, forgive them. Educate them, maybe if they’re open to it. And move forward boldly and without fear.

Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Keep it inside

Keep it inside Keep it inside

Keep it inside

For most of my life, I’ve either been made to feel stupid, or I felt stupid myself. It didn’t matter that I somehow got through college and got a degree. Or somehow managed to finish an MA in Psychology. I always felt stupid. Always felt like I just got lucky somehow. I believe the term for it is “imposter syndrome”. And for the longest time, I felt like anything and everything I was able to do in my life was because I got lucky. Because SO MANY TIMES in my life... anything I touch, turns to ash. Anything I try... just doesn’t work out. It doesn’t. So, when it does work out once-in-a-blue-moon... I feel like it must’ve been luck. Surely, I couldn’t be smart enough, or hard-working enough to have achieved whatever it is that I achieved. Right? RIGHT!? That’s what this lyric reminds me of. The “gold” in this context is my intelligence, ability to work hard, and actually achieve something of worth. But every time I find gold in the gold-mine we call life... I just keep telling myself “there’s no gold here, you just got lucky. Take it, and move on. You won’t find more.”

I don’t even know if that makes sense, but that’s how it feels. Like... just be thankful for what you have, and don’t try to do anything more because you’ll end up failing. For the longest time... in fact, as far back as I can remember, that has been my experience of life. But, I’m working actively to change that. I have help, I have support, and I don’t intend to waste my time living in the past forever.

What we put out into the air Comes back to us Flowing through us Know it isn't too hard to care Kindness moves us Hate is useless And I think we can do better One heart at a time

This is the part that always makes me tear up the most. This is the part that I relate to the most post-treatment, and post-diagnosis. I felt... for the first time in my life... validated. That I wasn’t just some washed-up, has-been, lazy, morally-defective waste of a human being with no prospects in life. From the doctor who believed me when I told her the nature and the peculiar condition of my suffering, to the counselor who didn’t make me feel ashamed for choosing to take stimulant medication to manage my condition.

There will always be non-believers and nay-sayers. We, who suffer from this peculiar condition called ADHD, probably know a few. But that doesn’t mean we can’t move forward without them. In my own case, my own parents don’t believe that anything like ADHD even exists. At best, it’s a ploy to sell more medication by big-pharma. And yet... I can personally attest to the fact that the condition is real. The medication works for me more than any amount of diet/exercise/meditation has ever worked... and I’m about as dependent on the medication as I am on the prescription glasses I wear in order to be able to see.

The medication took the “fog” of ADHD away. It made time REAL. It allowed me to visualize and plan, and prioritize almost instantly. And for the first time ever... I could feel, and see, and use the intellect I always knew I had. I’m not stupid, I don’t think I’ve ever been stupid, or lazy. And the medication finally gave me the ability to grasp that fully. Give me clarity. I KNOW I CAN DO BETTER. And I will. My mission in life is clear: Help those who suffer from undiagnosed ADHD in any way/shape/form I can by becoming a Clinical Psychologist. I want to make sure that no one has to suffer unnecessarily and needlessly the way I suffered. That is my drive. That’s my reason for existing. This... pain. This... anguish... that I didn’t even know I was going through until the first day I tried the medication. Nobody deserves this. Nobody deserves to feel this way. And If I have anything to say/do about it... less people in this world will. That’s what the “one heart at a time” part in this lyric reinforces for me.

Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Keep it inside

I know that the ADHD will never be cured, or fixed, or be forever gone. Like Type 1 Diabetes, there is no cure. Only management. So, manage it I shall. Would I wish this on anyone else? No. But if this is the way I was meant to be... then I won’t fight it. I’ll embrace it. I’ll use all the tools available to me to focus and channel this gift (or curse, whatever you want to call it) and direct it to help as many people I can. I’ll do everything I can to touch as many lives as I can.

*~*~*

If you made it all the way to the end, thank you for reading. It means a lot.

I love you all. Listen to the song!

Stay safe out there. <3

Take care of yourself, ADHD fam.

#adhd #new diagnosis #lyric quotes #lyrical analysis #mitis #gold lies in the valley #music is life #music #random thoughts #long post #crying #i'm not crying #personal post

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annewrights · 2 years

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I posted 321 times in 2021

214 posts created (67%)

107 posts reblogged (33%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.5 posts.

I added 495 tags in 2021

#jilliedally - 160 posts

#spilled ink - 121 posts

#journaling - 120 posts

#boards feels - 20 posts

#november posts - 19 posts

#prose - 16 posts

#dailymail - 14 posts

#short quotes - 9 posts

#the boyfriend series - 8 posts

#my writing - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 37 characters

#what is grief if not love persevering

My Top Posts in 2021

I Know How Many Days To Go

I remember the past few months with vivid distaste. I know where the days, months, and years have all gone. This is what it's like in a developing country and an ongoing pandemic. We're stuck indoors waiting to see this all play out. Under this horrid administration, no doubt the end is nowhere in sight. The longer in this we are comes the true test of resources. How long can one can survive without having to work outside?

HAHAHA. I just wanted to get that out of my thoughts. That's not really what this post is about. I've long lost hope for matters of politics in this place. But tonight I'm giving myself a leeway and some time to think through the keyboard.

Before I sat here with my thoughts, I almost proceeded to studying thinking I've got no choice.. yet again. I couldn't even bother counting how much I've said that throughout my life upon doing things with distaste. But I just can't swallow the unsettling feeling down.

WHY do I always say I have no choice when in fact I always do? Of course, I can always choose not to do anything and just watch haikyu on netflix (for possibly the fifth time) like I usually would. But still... I'm here. This sense of responsibility is unnerving. Most days I can brush it off but I can't hold the door any longer!!!

Okay! Study break is over.

2 notes • Posted 2021-08-19 13:00:52 GMT

92 Days To Go

And so what if there’s no end in sight? So what if you can’t know what it’s like until it's done? Who are you to play God, all-knowing and mighty? You cannot wish for greatness above and beyond. Get off your high horse. Shatter the mask and swallow that pride. Learn to deal with what's in front of you. And yes, even when it's a leap of faith each time.

Do not let the tiny claws of self-doubt take hold. Do not let the darkness fester. Let humility and compassion push you forward, knowing no effort shall be lost when you put to heart the cause.

3 notes • Posted 2021-06-10 00:04:06 GMT

Day 37

I've been listening to this song the entire day and battling with myself whether to blurt it out or keep it to myself. I hear 'God sent those eyes to get me through the night' and I lose it. I remember all the moments I'd have rather quit but your silent strength pulls me back up my feet. You don't save me from myself. You make me stand and deal. You take my hand and set me up for the fight. I hear your silent prods: you understand; you believe; you'll hold my hand through it all.

I've come to a conclusion. I'm brushing just this one under the rug so I can cherish my feelings a while longer. The wonders of life are of God's craft and this love is everything I've prayed for when I didn't know what or who to ask for.

3 notes • Posted 2021-05-07 15:46:47 GMT

Day 38

The gripping realization of irredeemable incompetence is paralyzing. And the only way for me to able to live with myself is to work with what I can at the moment. The longer hours clocked in is in hopes for finding a cure to this imposter syndrome. I'm consciously aware that later nights and earlier days burn you bright and burn you fast. Even so, I concoct the midnight oil. With my nose to the grindstone, I live on some days and slave on others. That's how I survive – how THEY will survive.

Daily log accomplished whilst drinking coffee to keep me sane through this pandemic. No staying in my drafts for long, no extended minutes mulling over what to say next, and almost no edits. Just clicking send! No changing my mind! Keeping it raw cause who the hell cares when we’ll all die anyway.

4 notes • Posted 2021-05-07 21:24:16 GMT

Year-End Thoughts Dump

Im making important life-changing decisions and on the road to becoming here are my thoughts:

In retrospect, the life I’ve led was a straight path to my goals. I made no detours. I knew what I wanted since I was a kid and I set out to achieve it. I dedicated my life to the system — gave it the overwhelming power to control my days. I knew what I was doing and I liked it. It felt like a noble cause. These days, I’ve grown the wiser. Never have I set out to be beyond the system. I stayed in it for the thrill and to save myself the trouble of thinking for myself. With this straight road map, I can go where I want and know that I will be enough there too.

So when I said the ease of comfort lures me, I mean that should I choose the easy traditional path, I can choose whatever program I want. With all my hard work, I’ll probably be accepted and grow excellent in it, and live my life comfortably. Amiably. According to my own expectations and of those around me. ‘As expected,’ everyone will think with me. I probably wouldn’t have it any other way by then... because I always WORK on doing well wherever I find myself in. There’s no shot given other than my best. And as I’m writing this, I believe I’m coming to a conclusion about the next steps I will be taking.

They say you have to set a goal so big you can’t achieve it until you become the person who can. They say growth comes from places outside of your comfort zone. And maybe this is only wishful thinking but I think that I’ve let the system run over me for too long, stir and direct me to wherever it pleased. Maybe this is the time I want a completely different system with new rules I need to master and conquer. Maybe it’s time to come out of my shell.

So I write this for me, the above average but still short of excellent. The bigger world I seek is what’s waiting beyond the finish line I’ve set for myself long before I knew the endless possibilities.

4 notes • Posted 2021-01-01 14:45:30 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Spotify

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careerbitespod · 3 years

Text

Bonus Episode Transcript: My Story with Host, Rachael Barksdale

Rachael Barksdale: We are just about halfway through the first season of Career Bites, and I have learned so much from all our guests so far. And I think that in my haste to share these amazing stories with you all, I forgot to share my own story - the story behind this podcast. I’m not a career coach or counselor. But my first-hand experience with the ups and downs of navigating the career world is the inspiration behind this project, and I’d like to share a little of my journey with all of you.

I started out with a love of science as a kid. I mean, ever since I was little. My dad was a doctor and my brothers and I, we’d just read tons and tons of books on dinosaurs and science, and we’d have these really nerdy conversations at the dinner table about all kinds of things. In school, I was lucky enough to have a really good public-school education but I had science teachers who were particularly excited about what they were teaching. Especially my high school biology teacher, I had him for introductory biology but also for AP Biology as a senior. And pretty much since then I was thinking “you know what? I’m going to go to college to major in genetics and I’m going to be that person that cures cancer or ends world hunger by creating genetically-modified crops that are going to be drought tolerant and can grow anywhere”. I had all these really big research dreams. So I decided to go to Brigham Young University which is in Provo, Utah. They have a Genetics and Biotechnology program. Granted, it’s a church school - so I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints - and that was a big factor in my decision to go. But at the same time, I - I did some other research as well and BYU is known for having a lot of undergraduate research opportunities. And again, my big thing was “I want to do research”. So that’s perfect! I can get my hands wet early, that’s - that’s really what I wanted. So my sophomore year I took what’s called the mentored lab techniques class. I became the TA for that class after the semester was over: I did well enough and the current TA was moving on to greener pastures, so I became the TA. And that then allowed me to become a research assistant for a semester for the same professor who I was TA-ing for. And I quickly came to realize that I absolutely loathe doing research. I thought that my reticence to do some of those techniques and sort of that imposter syndrome that I was feeling when I was in the lab was just me, and that time and experience would mitigate that, but I came to realize that actually going through the scientific method and slogging through some of those day-to-day things that go along with research - I couldn’t stand it. And it wasn’t until I actually did it that I realized that. So at this point I am now pretty much done with my degree. I’m starting my senior year, I’m asking myself “well what do I do now?” Right? I have this degree that, unless I get my masters and my PhD, is completely useless. So, again, at the time I was a teacher’s assistant for the mentored lab techniques class. And while I didn’t really enjoy the technical side of it, you know, having to do some of the behind-the-scenes prep work, I absolutely loved working with the students. And I went to an advisor for the education department - the science education department specifically - and talked to her about my options as far as teaching. Right? Those who can’t do, teach. Why not those who don’t want to do or hate what they do, teach? I enrolled in a post-baccalaureate program to get my teaching license. It was a non-degree-seeking program. Essentially it allowed me to get through all of my education classes and do my student teaching as a way to get the licensure for the state without having to get a degree from the school. And so I have a bachelor's degree in Genetics and Biotechnology - I just finished it up - got my teaching license and then soon after moved to the state of Washington so that my husband could do his graduate school. So I get into my first year as a teacher - it was fantastic, I couldn’t have asked for a better school. It was really time consuming - when I was getting my post-baccalaureate classes out of the way, I had a teacher who told me, told our classes over and over again that “nothing will ever prepare you for your first year of teaching”. And I found that to be true. As much as I felt prepared after student teaching, being by yourself in a classroom in charge of 100, 150 students, especially young’uns like middle school kids, it’s nerve wracking and you spend a lot of time outside of class doing extra work to make sure that you’re prepared every day. But I felt like I was supported. And when the end of the year came around - so some context, I was essentially a long-term substitute - so the school had another position for a science teacher open up. So I applied for the job, I got an interview, and I was interviewing against a different...not student teacher, but sort of interim teacher like myself who was also in the life sciences department at that school. And it turns out that I did not get the job, the other teacher got the job. And I was crushed. I thought that I was doing well at the school, I kind of felt like “this - this was it”, you know, I was - I found a great place to work. I felt like a little bit of a failure. But it all worked out. I ended up getting a position at Rogers High School in Spokane, Washington. So I basically started all over again when I got to Rogers High School. It was my second year teaching, but it felt like my first year: I was in a new school, I was in a new district, I was in a new tier of the K-12 system - high school. So again, a lot of work, a lot of extra time. I was super burned out. I had done essentially two first-years of teaching in a row. And then, my husband gets a job in North Carolina, so I move again. New school, new district, fortunately still biology, high school, but now I was teaching AP Biology as well - which was a huge dream of mine. So it was a lot, again, three years in a row, completely burned out. And so I’m starting to look for other jobs and I’m wondering “what the heck do I do?” Unfortunately - and if you listened to the first episode of this podcast Tia goes into this and explains it - essentially you’re pigeonholed as a teacher on a resume, on paper. Employers see “teacher” on a resume and they kind of just think about “you work with kids” and then whatever preconceptions go along with that. Or they just think you can only educate, you don’t have any other soft skills that would make you at all desirable for a different type of job. And as much as I love teaching - it wasn’t so much the burnout - I loved teaching and I still do. I think working with students and seeing that lightbulb go off and being able to communicate what you love in such a way that other people learn to love it too, it means a lot. And it’s so fulfilling. But I wanted more opportunities. As a teacher, there’s not a whole lot of what we call traditional career advancement. And so, then enter my masters degree. I decided to get my Masters in Instructional Technology. I think my goal was to make myself look better on paper, being able to illustrate that yes, I have these education skills, I have these classroom skills, but I also can do something with that beyond being in a classroom, beyond children. And that helped me to land my gig at Carolina Distance Learning where I’m a Distance Learning Specialist. So you can kind of see how that all ties together with my Masters in Instructional Technology, online learning and then this whole idea of distance learning. But I’m a little bit in limbo. Part of that involves the fact that because I have moved again out of state, so I’m not in North Carolina anymore I am now in Idaho, so my degree’s up in the air as well. I don’t know what finishing my degree will look like, or what the timeline is going to be. I don’t also know what - how being a mom is going to fit into all of this. About a year ago I had my son Ashton, and I’d like to have more children but, again, I also want to have this career - I want to have it all. How - how do we do that? And - and - that’s a whole other story, I would love to get more into career and motherhood but...Thinking back on my career, then, in hindsight there’s a lot of good things that came out of my winding career path. And I don’t think I would have changed it for anything. So in hindsight, for example, my major: you might think “oh well, you know, you - you probably could have gotten a different degree. What if you have just gone into getting your Bachelor of Science in Biology Education and gone straight to that?” which would have been a lot easier. But in hindsight, I met my husband through the Genetics and Biotechnology degree program. He also got his degree in Genetics and Biotechnology. And then another reason why my major came in handy was I learned from my mentor teacher at my first teaching gig that the reason why he fought so hard for me to get the position that summer when they were interviewing candidates - even though I was brand new and there were other candidates that had a few more years of teaching under their belt - he fought for me because I had a, not a teaching degree, but I had an industry specific degree. I had a degree in genetics and I happened to have a teaching license. I was not a teacher first, I was a scientist first, in his mind. And so that was the reason why I got the job, I learned afterwards. So, we don’t really know where life is going to take us, and we don’t know maybe why the path that we take is so winding, but there’s - there’s always things - good things - that can come out of it. Another example is, I took that job to be a TA for the mentored lab techniques class essentially as a way to get a better job. I was currently working for special events at the university so I would do things like scan tickets and stand by the gates at the stadium during football games and basketball games. I was that poor, poor person wearing the really big, puffy orange coat that said “events” on the back. I wanted a more sophisticated job as a college student and so I took the TA job. And that ended up leading me to fall in love with teaching. It...if you had asked me if I wanted to become a teacher in high school, I would have laughed. I was deathly afraid of public speaking, let alone standing in front of a room of a finite number of people and explaining something, and coming up with activities, and trying to manage unruly behavior in a classroom...I - I even had a horrible experience tutoring in high school. I...was not a very good person, in that moment, and, sort of, ruined this relationship I had with someone I was tutoring for Spanish. And that kind of still haunts me to this day, but it just goes to show that I had no inclination to teach, when I was younger, but by the time I reached college I had had enough of these, arguably, you know, serendipitous, events collide to lead me to become a teacher. And that’s kind of where this podcast came from. It’s - I’m realizing now it’s been several years in the making. There’s definitely a part of me that wishes that I’d had something like this five ago when I was starting to question where to go after teaching. Or even in high school: if I had known what other job opportunities were out there, or what other jobs were like, there’s a good chance I might have reconsidered becoming a scientist, I just didn’t have a lot of exposure to anything else. And I think that’s it, I think we’re a product of what we’re exposed to. And unless we’re actively seeking out other things to expose ourselves to, we’re not going to find those things. We’re not going to be able to open our minds to what else is out there. I’d like for this project of mine to become a way to give students and people seeking potential career changes, or just looking for some career advice, just a - a glimpse, a snapshot, a - a sample, of what it’s like to be in other careers, what it takes. I want to provide as much exposure as I can. I want to share the life lessons that myself, my friends, my colleagues, have gone through so that maybe they don’t have to go through those same experiences themselves, or at least they have a little bit of a leg up on those experiences when they come around.

So I’d love to hear from you guys. What careers do you want me to highlight? What questions do you have about careers? What questions do you have about education? Not that I have the answers to those questions, but I want to be able to find the guests that do. Thank you for listening. If you have a question or comment, please reach out to me on Instagram or Facebook @careerbitespod. Subscribe to and rate Career Bites on your favorite listening platform. And join us next Monday as we sample another career with an everyday professional.

#career #careerdevelopment #career opportunities #bonus #podcast #careerbites

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downtheaxon · 7 years

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trigger warning: this is a meditation on the after-effects of sexual assault and relationship violence, featuring explicit discussion of suicidality and self harm. I know I write on these themes a lot, but I feel like this is more raw than usual and something that could potentially hurt a few of you - even if we are close friends, please don’t feel pressured to read it.

reassuring comment added now that I’ve written everything: I’m posting this as an exercise in vulnerability and a cry for comfort. that said, I am safe and feel like I should reassure everyone of that. I am safe and now that this is over I will crochet, eat some soup, and go to two yoga classes. maybe play some piano. writing like this externalizes the heaviness and makes me see it from an outsider’s perspective, which helps me pull out a lot of self-compassion. though I feel this way on some level, I also feel an urgent need to care for myself on other levels, and reach out when in crisis - in short, I am safe but have a lot to process. and processing it publicly like this helps with the shame I feel and will likely help me bring this up in my next therapy phonecall.

I finally have a day off and haven’t written about my mind in a really long while. but, before I write (which may take an hour and my god is it an hour that I need) I will put some salmon on my plate and brew a cup of black cherry tea. let me get back to you.

I’m letting hayley kiyoko’s girls like girls finish playing before I put on my spotify daily mix number 4 (hozier, bon iver, handmouth and more, apparently). there’s a cut grapefruit and salmon and tea near me, and my coffee cup that’s almost finished but has gone a bit cold by now. I don’t know why it is that writing through tumblr makes me express myself most truthfully, more truthfully than if I opened evernote or textedit or wrote on paper or if I spoke to someone directly via voice or text. the liminal space of having no audience while having a vast audience is comforting, I guess. a different kind of false vulnerability coupled with a kind of anonymity.

now that I’ve put on daily mix 4, let me start by saying what I thought to say when I got up to make tea: I am permeated by sadness.

it is exhausting to be permeated by sadness. I feel it at the base of my sternum, stirring gently, right at home in my very core. agitated when something goes wrong, and peacefully present otherwise. this is all a cliche, I know. I know. but lately my sadness feels like its own separate entity, living comfortably in me, and almost harmoniously. it keeps quiet sometimes, which I am grateful for, but still nuzzles into me just to remind me - I’m here and will always be here and that’s ok.

and that’s ok.

I’m trying to make peace with who I am. I know that self-identity shapes perception. I know that thinking of myself as a cook makes me cook more, that thinking of myself as a yogi makes me take advantage of my unlimited classes more, that thinking of myself as mentally ill probably exacerbates symptoms (just think positive!).

I’m trying to make peace with my limitations. my need for regularity in sleep and diet, my rapid exhaustion, my failing memory. my tendency to shut down completely. my readiness to cry when something hits me hard.

when something hits me hard.

I just paused in writing this to read a reference letter that my old volunteer coordinator wrote for a big national scholarship (she emailed it to me as I was writing this). and I cried. I cried at the cognitive dissonance of my brain repeatedly telling me how worthless I am and this person tangibly proving the wonderful things they have to say about me. it’s funny because I really believe that those two people exist at once.

“I love me but I don’t love me back” to paraphrase a post I recently reblogged.

how can I exist as selfish, unloveable, and needing to be hurt punished destroyed when I also exist as compassionate, kindhearted, intelligent, successful, and supportive?

and yet my brain is convinced, convinced, that this is how this works. when I’m tired, I have less energy to devote to silencing the ever-pressing thought of “you don’t deserve to be alive”. I am not suicidal, per se, because I want to be alive. things are really looking up lately, and really working out, and I am involved in exciting initiatives and have mutually cared about wonderful and interesting people and am growing all the time... but I do not feel like I deserve it.

how do I fight for the things I should be fighting for (like scholarships, authorship, opportunities, attention?) when I feel like I don’t deserve to relax, to eat, to laugh.

my homework for therapy for these two weeks was to think about shame. let me say this: I am ashamed to tell anyone how I feel. I am ashamed of these complex feelings of no self worth, I am ashamed of my urge to self destruct, I am ashamed of my shame. I am ashamed to say the truth about how I feel, about what I experience, about how I react.

two weeks ago, at the doctor’s, I cried uncontrollably. and I mean that literally. I cry a lot, maybe once a week, and it’s often dramatic and torrential (and necessary). but these tears were... different somehow. I don’t remember a lot from the winter of 2014, when I spent more of my time awake in flashbacks to the past than in the present, but I suspect that these recent tears were similar to those days.

“that’s not supposed to hurt” the doctor said very kindly very gently and I am on my back crying crying crying unable to see and I barely hear her and I am afraid and ashamed and crying.

“I’m sorry, I have a history” was all I could choke up and she wouldn’t let it go. I know why, I know it’s her training, she needs to make sure it’s ok and not believe me when I say “it’s nothing, it’s fine, I’m ok” she’s supposed to push, to ask, to make me tell her. and I cry, I cry and I make it off the exam table to the chair where she writes my prescription and I cry I cry I cry. I step out of the office, to the lab to drop off the swab for testing (the poor lab tech does not acknowledge I am crying but is clearly uncomfortable), to the bathroom to cry more. fifteen minutes later I am unable to stop and I am hungry and want to go home so I walk through campus, first inside then outside, crying quietly, effortlessly. my face barely moves and tears just go and go and go and it’s raining outside and I keep crying.

I walk home slowly and pick up my prescription close to the house, so nearly an hour has past since I started crying. I am more in control now, thankfully. the pharmacist says, in a whisper as she hands me the prescription “just try not to have relations with anyone” and something breaks more. tears and shame.

this is all a fucking cliche.

I tell my therapist about it a week later, when I call him by the river, but I change the subject right after. we revisit it three times during the hour, always briefly, three sentences. how do I talk about it?

I know that there is so much I don’t remember. I know. the fall of 2013 is a blur of pain and I have recurring visions that I don’t know if they were true. when I am upset and think that I deserve to be hurt, I see myself getting pushed into a wall, right shoulder and bicep first, hip and head next. always the same image. but I don’t think that happened, because I would remember it.

(but what about the gap in my memory after he takes my phone from me?)

I estimate: how many times? first maybe two times a week, by the end every day. does every day count? when did it start being every day? it couldn’t have been every day.

I know when the last times were with certainty. I know the dates and even the times of day. the circumstances. those are clear.

the cliche of talking about this (I don’t call it by the word almost ever I don’t call it by any word sometimes and today is one of those days) almost four years after it happened. over two weeks after my amygdala relived it anew.

I think that’s the real trouble with these things. they feel like they keep happening. first, it wasn’t once. it was at least two times, but probably not more than a few dozen worth. probably. do the math.

(god you’re pathetic, how could you ever let that happen a few dozen times? no one would do that, you must be making it up so that you can have an excuse to feel sorry for yourself)

and since it happened a lot (or didn’t happen at all, I made it up), the memories all muddled together, the fearshame returning all the time... it’s a cliche, I know, I know it’s a cliche, but it feels so recent. it feels like I can’t tell the difference between the act and the memory. the replica is the real thing, the same fearshame (I like putting those words together because that is the thing that feeds my sadness and it is one and the same).

cliche, really.

how do I cure this? how do I stop being stuck and having this on replay again and again and again.

I feel like I’m dishonest with people who don’t know. if someone doesn’t know about this, well, they have the wrong idea about me. they don’t see the rot.

(the feeling of being fundamentally rotten and flawed, shame around who you are, the feeling of being destined to hurt anyone in the end, the feeling of being broken, the feeling of being fundamentally evil, the feeling of imposter syndrome on a greater scale, the feeling of inadequacy, the feeling of deserving this pain and so much more pain, the feeling of deserving getting slammed into a wall right shoulder first)

but I am ashamed. ashamed of the trauma rot pain.

(hasthag bell let’s talk day and pretend that mental health exists in isolation of abuse and flawed power dynamics and people getting profoundly hurt by other people and that if we all just talked more it would go away but talking remains frightening when it’s not self contained in the conventional narrative)

how to combat the sense of “no, you don’t understand, I’m not legitimately ill. I deserve to feel this way. I am doomed to sadness.”

I hate the just world hypothesis, that bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people. but I believe it.

and if bad things happened to me, it is because I am bad, and therefore I don’t deserve to be alive. but I am ashamed of that thought because if I say it out loud people will know how bad I am, how rotten, how destroyed, how obsessed with self pity. they will know and they will agree.

how can I be the worst human on earth and trick others into thinking that I am kind, loving, smart, supportive?

it is comical when the mental illness tricks you and you find yourself thinking “well, I couldn’t possibly be worse than hitler” and it says “oh no, trust me, you’re way worse than hitler”. I chuckle but the sadness stirs at the base of my sternum, awake and nuzzling into me.

how do you heal when you remain convinced that you deserve to have your bones broken instead?

#personal #this is not a happy post

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ciiromessi · 7 years

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Dear Young Female Physician:

I know you are excited and also apprehensive. These feelings are not unwarranted. The hours you will work, the body of knowledge you must master, and the responsibility you will bear for people’s lives and well-being are daunting. I’d be worried if you weren’t at least a little worried.

As a woman, you face an additional set of challenges, but you know that already. On your urology rotation in medical school, you were informed that your presence was pointless since “no self-respecting man would go to a lady urologist.”

There will be more sexism, some infuriating, some merely annoying. As a pregnant resident, I inquired about my hospital’s maternity-leave policy for house officers and was told that it was a great idea and I should draft one. Decades into practice, when I call in a prescription, some pharmacists still ask for the name of the doctor I’m calling for.

And there will be more serious and damaging discrimination as well. It pains me to tell you that in 2017, as I’m nearing the end of my career, female physicians earn on average $20,000 less than our male counterparts (even allowing for factors such as numbers of publications and hours worked)1; are still underrepresented in leadership positions, even in specialties such as OB–GYN in which we are a majority2; and are subjected to sexual harassment ranging from unwelcome “bro” humor in operating rooms and on hospital rounds to abuse so severe it causes some women to leave medicine altogether.3

But there’s also a more insidious obstacle that you’ll have to contend with — one that resides in your own head. In fact, one of the greatest hurdles you confront may be one largely of your own making. At least that has been the case for me. You see, I’ve been haunted at every step of my career by the fear that I am a fraud.

This fear, sometimes called “imposter syndrome,” is not unique to women. Your male colleagues also have many moments of insecurity, when they’re convinced that they alone among their peers are incapable of understanding the coagulation pathway, tying the perfect surgical knot, or detecting a subtle heart murmur.

I believe that women’s fear of fraudulence is similar to men’s, but with an added feature: not only do we tend to perseverate over our inadequacies, we also often denigrate our strengths.

A 2016 study suggested that patients of female physicians have superior outcomes.4 The publication of that finding prompted much speculation about why it might be so: perhaps women are more intuitive, more empathic, more attentive to detail, better listeners, or even kinder? I don’t know whether any of those generalizations are true, but my personal experience and observations make me sure of this: when women do possess these positive traits, we tend to discount their significance and may even consider them liabilities. We assume that anyone can be a good listener, be empathic — that these abilities are nothing special and are the least of what we have to offer our patients.

I have wasted much time and energy in my career looking for reassurance that I was not a fraud and, specifically, that I had more to offer my patients than the qualities they seemed to value most.

Early on, I believed that displaying medical knowledge — the more obscure the better — would make me worthy. That belief was a useful spur to learning, but ultimately provided only superficial comfort. During my second-year clinical skills course, an oncologist asked me to identify a rash. “Mycosis fungoides!” I blurted out, since it was one of the few rashes whose name I knew and the only one associated with cancer. My answer turned out to be correct, causing three jaws to drop at once — the oncologist’s, the patient’s, and my own — but the glow of validation lasted barely the rest of the day.

A little further on in training, I thought that competence meant knowing how to do things. I eagerly performed lumbar punctures and inserted central lines, and I applied for specialty training in gastroenterology — a field in which I had little interest — thinking that I could endoscope my way to self-confidence.

My first few years in practice, I was sure that being a good doctor meant curing people. I felt buoyed by every cleared chest x-ray, every normalized blood pressure. Unfortunately, the converse was also true: I took cancer recurrences personally. When the emergency department paged to alert me that one of my patients had arrived unexpectedly, I assumed that some error on my part must have precipitated the crisis.

Now, late in my clinical career, I understand that I’ve been neither so weak nor so powerful. Sometimes even after I studied my hardest and tried my best, people got sick and died anyway. How I wish I could spare you years of self-flagellation and transport you directly to this state of humility!

I now understand that I should have spent less time worrying about being a fraud and more time appreciating about myself some of the things my patients appreciate most about me: my large inventory of jokes, my knack for knowing when to butt in and when to shut up, my hugs. Every clinician has her or his own personal armamentarium, as therapeutic as any drug.

My dear young colleague, you are not a fraud. You are a flawed and unique human being, with excellent training and an admirable sense of purpose. Your training and sense of purpose will serve you well. Your humanity will serve your patients even better.

Sincerely,

Suzanne Koven, M.D.

Harvard Medical School

Massachusetts General Hospital

Boston, MA (+)

#ref #personal #sorry i just wanted to save this somewhere #ignore meeee #(i'm not suzanne just a heads up)

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eyssimont · 4 years

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So I’m going to write some things out about my year here, after the cut line. it’s gonna be super personal and involve some tough topics. I feel better writing it out here since no one actually knows me personally and I would feel less shame being so open and honest. Ok here goes nothing.

My 2019 was one hell of a year. I started my last semester of college which I half-assed bc it was pretty pointless. lol I landed an internship that was a dream come true and put me right where I wanted to be in my career plans. I went to some baseball games here and there. I did pretty well in school. I went to some cool events and learned a lot about my career plans. I did get discouraged, couldn’t make up my mind, believed what others said about my dreams not going to go as planned, and it turned out they were wrong. I graduated from college, after 8 grueling years of community college and university. I was so proud of myself that day. I accomplished something I never thought I would ever do. I did cool stuff through my internship that involved opportunities I couldn't’ believe. I went to more baseball games. I learned and grew throughout my internship. It then turned into an actual job. But then came the imposter syndrome, the self-doubt, the overwhelming feeling of failure, the constant pressure from myself to be perfect at everything, the nagging feeling that I didn’t deserve this opportunity bc I stole it from someone more deserving, then came the emotional breakdown, the feeling like I was suffocating, that I was choking on my own words, the panic attack while trying to calm myself down that happened bc I couldn’t calm myself down, the feeling that this would never change and I would drown. Then came the three worst days... when I could feel myself slowly falling apart, I disassociated for the first time in the bathroom of my job, then the next day after what was an unfortunate series of events, I dissociated at my work desk, ran to my car during lunch and called the national suicide helpline for the first time in my life. I sat there choking on my tears thinking why can’t you see what I see, and why can’t you feel how awful everything has been?

I told the person on the other line that I wasn’t going to commit suicide, but I was hellbent on it. On my drive home I contemplated between yes or no. I arrived home and broke down again and still thought that ok if I want to I can. I almost didn’t make it to August 12th. I almost didn’t see the sunrise.

and then it clicked. I had to find a way to save myself.

and so I did.

I reached out for help as I tried to grasp what was happening to me. I found it. I started therapy in late August. It has done wonders but unfortunately, it isn’t a cure-all. But it’s taught me so much about who I am and who I was and how I was my worst enemy. It taught me to speak up when necessary, to navigate the world that I am living in, and to see all the good around me. It has taught me to think logically and to fight the negative thoughts that have plagued me since the age of 12. It has made me see myself in a different, more positive light. I am happier, healthier, and smarter about the things I feel and how I process them.

But it’s not a cure-all. As the year ends and I find myself so grateful for so much. Like reaching my birthday in October, and being able to go to 3 hockey games in the span of a little over a month, and fall in love with hockey again, and realize that my career plan to work in hockey isn’t over with yet, I am currently struggling. My workplace is going through sudden changes and I am realizing that after almost a year of being there, what I have given to them, they haven’t given to me. As much as I love it and am grateful for it, my mental health and my overall happiness is being affected negatively by my job. I know things will get better soon. I know none of this is permanent, especially my current feelings, but it’s difficult to see how things will get better when I don’t have any ideas on how.

I don’t want to end this negatively. I know I’m not tied to my job or to anything in this world and I know that when my time comes I can make a sudden or planned change. I am not stuck. and neither are you.

I promise you it gets better, I promise you this life is worth living. Please, reach out for help. It is scary, but my god is it worth it.

If I would have ended my life in August here’s all the stuff I would’ve missed out on:

a cool trip to disneyland in the middle of summer

seeing a band I discovered in April perform live and make me realize I may never go to another concert again bc they were perfection

a lice nightmare in my home that spared me bc my hair is naturally disgusting

a trip to the aquarium where I had so much fun and touched a jellyfish

a baseball game where I went to see a player who had been traded from my favorite team 3 years ago, I cried about it, went to see him play, made various snapchats about how I loved him. Yelled it out when they introduced him... only to have his girlfriend sitting behind me talking about baseball girlfriend life. Very awkward.

a night out with my best friends that was wonderful and made me feel like I do have people who love and support me, always

another baseball game that was cheap and fun

the start of hockey season!

seeing the Kings play against the Hurricanes and it being very, YikES!

the adoption of more hockey bois and teams that ended up getting out of hand

the discovery of the chaotic energy that is (2020 NHL All-Star) Travis Konecny

the 2 weeks of me saying “I was born at night not last night, come on, let’s go” to everyone when upset.

my 27th birthday that even though it didn’t go as planned, was actually very special to me and nice.

dressing up as the Stanley Cup for Halloween at work and realizing that since the guy I was into wasn’t into Halloween I wasn’t gonna actually want to date him anymore. (lol jk, we couldn’t date bc we worked together.)

finally being able to afford an NHL sweater/jersey

nice family times during the holidays

Ryan Graves

my friend calling me out about all the hockey players I’m into and then asking for a detailed list of who and why I loved them

update: that list looks so much more different in just a month and a half lol

update 2: after seeing it again, I really put Nolan Patrick on there for the sole reason of ‘I want his thighs to choke me.’ wtf.

seeing the Islanders play in person, Mat Barzal is beautiful, but what’s new

Picking out very specific Christmas presents for my family that everyone seemed to love

That Mikko Rantanen video that restored my vision

spending as much time with family as possible

seeing the Flyers play and seeing TK in person

struggling to take a picture of Travis Sanheim (Honey, why?)

That Hayes OT goal which was perfection

Seeing the Kings play and an Adrian Kempe shorthanded goal. (Magical!)

Carter Hart. Carter Hart. Carter Hart.

Realizing Kempe is way hotter in person and wondering how that’s possible.

Matt Luff; HOT!

Sean Walker and Matt Roy, legit babes

Blake Lizotte is my favorite player now, sorry.

An upset, slamming things on the bench TK. (the absolute hottest thing my eyes have ever seen.)

A Kings win! (who are they?)

Jan 1st, 2020.

If you are struggling, please know its okay. But please also know, it will get better. Reach out for help. Take that first step. Make a list of your own this time next year. You’ll see how worth it this life is.

with all my love,

Elle.

#personal

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itslikethatfrenchthing · 5 years

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041: FIGHT THE FEAR: THIS IS HOW TO OVERCOME IMPOSTER SYNDROME

Today’s talking point:

I am so good at running someone else's Instagram, but I can't get the same traction. I am envisaging what I want on my own Instagram and it's driving me nuts. I feel like I'm missing the mark, but the more I focus on it, the more I feel stretched too thin. Now it’s grown to imposter syndrome because if I can't fix my own channel, then what business do I have helping someone else with theirs?

That is one loaded question, but imposter syndrome happens to everyone.

I have a tactic I am going to teach you today that will cure your imposter syndrome. Seriously, you’re going to be so good, you're going to be selling like hotcakes.

Now, you are probably thinking, “wait a minute... Holly, you didn't say anything about sales”. But this step is required to be unlocked before you have the ability to effectively sell what you do.

Before we get into it, I wanted to let you know that this episode is brought to you by my free challenge, The 5-Day Online Marketing Challenge: My Step-by-Step System to Simplify Your Social Media Strategy & Attract More Clients. And we are officially open for registration!

CLICK HERE TO REGISTER FOR THE FREE CHALLENGE

This free 5-day challenge is running from Monday 21st to Friday 25th October where I’ll be going live every day on Instagram and in my free Facebook group at 12pm BST.

I cannot wait to share with you the step-by-step system I use to market myself simply online, attract more clients and book out my coaching packages. It’s going to be an amazing jam-packed 5 days that you are not going to want to miss.

You can click right here to register and you’ll get an email with all the details. But you have to sign up to get access to all the goods so you can take part in the challenge!

WHAT IS IMPOSTER SYNDROME?

For the past couple of months we've covered everything from foundations you need to set your online presence and business up for success, how to create a content calendar and repurpose your content, to how to use SEO on your website.

But there's a big piece internally that has to be done in order for you to go from finding opportunities to landing opportunities. There's a giant gap in the middle of that - a lot of us struggle with the big monster that wakes you up in the middle of the night: imposter syndrome.

So why is this happening?

Everyone suffers from imposter syndrome (I do too!). But once you crack this code, it will flip your way of thinking. It’s a thought we put in our brain, it’s a thought that if you're not getting clients and customers, you've convinced yourself that it's because your work is not great. Then you convince yourself, okay, I need to keep working for free for my portfolio, and maybe eventually you will get more clients.

Yes, in some cases, an amazing portfolio can make an impact on a decision, but most people are not in a place to decide what is good or bad! You are the one with the expertise in your field, not the people hiring you.

HOW TO GET PAST IMPOSTER SYNDROME

In this post, we’re going to cover how to stop the constant comparing of yourself to others such as:

How are they making so much more than me?

How do they progress further?

By backtracking negative self talk and changing your mindset, you can get past imposter syndrome and thrive in your business

Switching What You’re Selling

The difference between the person that looks like they are killing it, and the way you are feeling is: they have learned the tactic of switching what they're selling.

So instead of saying, “I'm selling high quality wedding photographs to you,” they're actually saying, “how can I show up as the unique human being that I am and offer this service in no other way that anyone else can?”

You are the only version of yourself. How do we internalise the way that we're showing up and serving people, instead of making the quality of the work do the serving?

The Myth of the Portfolio

You might be putting a portfolio together with your past experience and thinking, it's not applicable to the kind of person I want to serve. If you show that content, you are going to attract the wrong clIent. It’s ok if you don’t have an in depth portfolio with the exact work you want to do.

Think about it like high school. Has anyone asked you to use the Pythagorean theorem since? For instance, I started out doing social media management. I created social media posts, scheduled them, all that jazz, and then one day a client asked if I could do social media advertising. I had never tried, but my client knew me, and trusted me.

Focus on your individual value, and trust yourself to serve your ideal clients.

Instead of focusing on a detailed portfolio, focus on:

Your individuality, and the value of that

Where your passions lie

The connection between you and your clients

Create a Personalised Approach

So let's paint this picture. We're going back a bit now: I'm a new business coach and convinced myself that if I got better numerical results, (10K Instagram followers within a week), then I would have better testimonials and more people would hire me.

Yes, to a certain extent, this is true. People want to see you can get your clients results. Though after research, I realised that coaching doesn’t work that way. It's not a one size fits all. When I focused on creating a personalised experience, my business thrived.

I realised that people wanted to work with me, not mainly because of what I knew or because of my experiences, but because they knew they liked my way of teaching. They liked my way of explaining things, and they liked me.

I'm not going to give you a cookie cutter formula of what every single one-on-one client has to work on. I'm going to find out where you are now, where you want to be, and what we can do in 12 weeks to close that gap while making it very fun along the way.

Don’t rely on a strict one-on-one structure, or specific steps that need to be followed, but recognise the differences between businesses and work to let them thrive individually.

Find Your Passion

Think about what is it that you're attracted to about what you do. So rather than saying, I want to be like X, Y, Z…

What are you already like?

What do you already produce?

What is it that makes you excited?

What part of your process are you just like, this is my favourite part of the process. Every single time.

When you're selling and you're getting in front of people, talking about your passion with passion, you're talking about your craft in a way that's just powerful and exciting, that something people want to be a part of.

When you are in your element 100% and you're not trying to be anyone else, people want to be around you.

RECAP

So ultimately what you’re trying to do is not necessarily a shift, it's just a thought reversal. It is less about the quality of your work and more about your passion for the subject and your passion for the process. Selling yourself by being yourself, and talking about what it is that lights you up.

What gets you excited about doing this? If you're missing that (because there have definitely been periods where I've wondered: what is my purpose?), acknowledge those as seasons. Step out of your comfort zone and launch something new. The simple act of acknowledging how you feel is going to allow you to make shifts towards being able to deal with it better next time.

Stop comparing yourself to others you see on the internet. If that person is not providing any value to you, why are you following them? The simple act of focusing on your community rather than your competitors makes this whole thing worthwhile. You can step into your element and feel excited because you’re pleasing your community and not assigning your value to the people you compare yourself to.

What I'm encouraging you to do today is to start to begin to think about how you can flip how you are selling the thing that you offer upside down. Think about what is the story behind how you serve and ultimately, deliver that final product. Because that thing is not going to change.

If you have a passion for it, focus on you, and just be yourself - people will want to work with you.

Resources Mentioned In This Episode:

Want access to a library full of online marketing resources plus weekly bitesized breakthroughs to help you boss your online presence? Find it here.

What did you think of the show? Leave a review on iTunes and become the Breakthrough Blogger of the Week!

Subscribe to the show and get notified when a new episode goes live.

Come join my free FB group.

Apply to work with me 1:1 as a private client here.

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#Blog

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carlsonknives · 5 years

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WELLBEING | Managing Anxiety When Living Outside of Your Comfort Zone

This isn’t an article featuring tips on handling anxiety, more a personal musing on my own anxiety and fair warning too, it’s pretty long, though I hope not too rambling!

Although I’m fairly adventurous I have an exaggerated anxiety response, even to seemingly mild stressors. Things I’m good at, things I enjoy, things I’ve done over and over again, often still fill me with anxiety.

Just over 20 years ago, as well as suffering from depression, I was also diagnosed with Free Floating Anxiety. Rather than the diagnostic labels empowering me, however, I felt like they trapped me.

After a few years of living a much smaller life, I realised I had a choice to make and that diagnoses or not, my mental health was pretty much up to me to take control of and that there were no magic cures (though at that time medication did offer me some relief, but I never saw it as a long-term solution) so that’s when I started on my long journey back to taking control of my mental health and getting off meds for good.

Although I’m now medication-free and largely stable and well, I do still have that extremely exaggerated anxiety response, and sometimes it can overwhelm me.

What Anxiety Is Like for Me

Nerves before doing things that we perceive as stressful are of course normal, but for one reason or another (perhaps by now, the well-worn neural pathways I’ve created over more than 2 decades aren’t helping), I still feel that I have an unusually excessive anxiety response, though my GP has been highly dismissive.

Unable to concentrate, my stomach churning and in knots, shaking, irritable, unable to eat, sleep or even go to the loo – symptoms I’m sure many with anxiety will be able to identify with.

Instead of mild nervous excitement and butterflies, I can find myself feeling wired and jittery as cortisol courses through me. Unable to concentrate, my stomach churning and in knots, shaking, irritable, unable to eat, sleep or even go to the loo – symptoms I’m sure many with anxiety will be able to identify with.

The tricks I learned during CBT combined with meditation help me a little, but only to a point. I’m now able to identify how I’m feeling at least, which can stop me spiralling into a full-on meltdown, but it doesn’t really ease the anxiety and no amount of rationalising or logical self-talk seems to stop that unwelcome jittery cortisol rush and churning sick feeling of dread that for me, can last for days or even weeks on end.

You might think then that knowing I react this way to certain things that I’d attempt to minimise my exposure to the situations I know can make me anxious. Quite the opposite is true though.

I’m not sure I ever truly left behind my teenage rebellious phase, but my natural desire to disrupt and live life in full colour, combined with my stubborn streak compels me towards anxiety-inducing situations like a moth to a flame.

Avoidance As A Coping Mechanism Isn’t For Me

I truly believe that avoidance isn’t a particularly healthy or ultimately rewarding coping mechanism, Indeed I seem to ascribe to a “feel the crippling, gut-wrenching fear but like a massive idiot, go and do it anyway” type of thinking, so I persist in doing things that I know are likely to cause me anxiety, as conquering them feels like a little personal victory, despite the days of hell I go through beforehand.

It feels like I’m wresting back control, telling my brain to shut up, confirming to myself that if I want to do something, I jolly well will, regardless of the anxiety it will inevitably cause me. I seem to actively seek out situations that cause me to feel this way, like some kind of twisted masochist.

Is this constant battle a ‘healthy’ way of handling anxiety? Is it good for helping me build confidence that will hopefully lead to less anxiety in the future? That I really don’t know, but the other option of not doing stuff because my anxiety tells me not to doesn’t really feel like an option at all to me.

I don’t want fear to hold me back, I want my life to be as big and rich as possible and for that to happen, instead of retreating and waving a white flag, I simply have to face my anxiety head on.

Our Comfort Zones Are All Very Different

Take for example when I started this blog almost 5 years ago, and I made a pledge to say “yes” to things my anxiety repeatedly tells me to say a big resounding “no” to, which has lead to me being in countless situations that have left me with insomnia, feeling sick, physically shaking, unable to think straight and with horrendous IBS flares.

I know a diverse range of people and am lucky to have a large group of friends. Some of whom also suffer from anxiety and other related disorders. Some are medicated, some are not. Some grab it by the horns and do the scary things anyway, others don’t and instead let the anxiety stop them living the lives they want to live.

The mountains where I’m always at my happiest

Nerves and apprehension, of course, are normal and natural, a physical and psychological response to something perceived as a stressor. So now, rather than running through endless worst-case scenarios and dwelling on them, I try not to look at things in terms of success or failure.

I’m OK with simply ‘doing’ and I try not to focus on the potential outcomes. I’ve stopped running endless nightmare scenarios through my head and now reason with an internal shrug that whatever I’m facing “It’ll be fine” and I often think about “what’s the worst that can happen?” too, which can have an instantly calming effect when I realise actually, it’s really no big deal and this kind of rationalisation really does help.

Instead of trying to totally ignore the thoughts that cause my anxiety to spike, I sit with them and to some extent accept that I feel that way.

This acceptance seems to rob the anxious thoughts of their potency and I can sometimes let the anxious ‘what if’ scenarios float away from me. My forthcoming solo snowboarding holiday is making me feel anxious in a way that’s threatening to engulf the usual pre-holiday excitement I usually feel though and that’s because my usual “what’s the worst that can happen?” way of thinking is actually making things worse rather than better.

My favourite place to snowboard, Whistler in Canada

What’s The Worst That Can Happen?

If you’re anxious about say a job interview, when you apply that logical reasoning to the situation the answer is “I might not get the job” or “I might say something stupid”, neither of which are likely to have any lasting impact other than you feeling a bit frustrated, or a bit stupid for a while. But given my previous experience of being in the mountains and having had medical emergencies, “what’s the worst that can happen?” takes on a far scarier life of its own.

I’m lucky to be part of a wonderful community of outdoor bloggers; some like strolling around and exploring cities and parks, some are triathletes or run marathons, some like long distance hikes and some are full-on adventure fiends, taking part in jungle expeditions and even scaling the heights of some serious mountains like Kathmandu.

As someone who camps, does a bit of walking, kayaking, snowboarding and likes the odd adrenaline rush, imposter syndrome can often be strong when I compare myself to those I regard as hardcore adventurers. But then I have other friends who think I’m crazy/brave/stupid for doing some of the things that I do, and would never consider doing anything like that themselves.

There’s an Art to Not Letting Fear Hold You Back

This leads me to my forthcoming solo snowboarding holiday and how it’s very much taking me out of my comfort zone.

Now in my early forties, I’ve been snowboarding since my mid-twenties and have snowboarded in places like Morzine, La Thuille, Cervinia, Sestriere, Fernie and my favourite, Whistler in Canada.

I’m actually a pretty decent snowboarder, just not great. I still get flummoxed by dreaded flat bits and still occasionally get off chair lifts and fall into a heap. Despite this, I’m proficient on black runs and even breaking my back snowboarding a few years ago hasn’t put me off, though it has slowed me down a little.

I’ve been overseas to places like Morocco, Egypt and to Europe on my own, and I’ve also frequently spent time in places like Scotland and Cornwall alone, but snowboarding on my own is totally new and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hugely apprehensive about it.

I’m not one to take risks in the mountains, but despite this, I’ve found myself in a few sticky situations where I was hugely grateful not to be on my own at the time.

Despite my best efforts I’m not brilliant at mountain navigation, which is one of the reasons why in the past I’ve tended to return multiple times to the same ski resorts as I’ve got to know the mountains there, Whistler in Canada for example I know extremely well, and know all my favourite runs, which other runs lead off them, which chair lifts to get back up and so on.

Flow is that lovely, often elusive state you can find yourself in when doing something completely absorbing and/or pleasurable.

I’ve pondered over why my mountain navigation skills aren’t great and believe the reason in part at least, is that when I’m snowboarding I’m experiencing that wonderful feeling of flow.

Flow is that lovely, often elusive state you can find yourself in when doing something completely absorbing and/or pleasurable. We are immersed there in the present moment, fully enjoying it without any of the usual thoughts and worries of a busy mind that can so easily distract us.

When I’m in this state, totally absorbed by the physicality of snowboarding, the sheer joy of being in the mountains, it’s like part of my conscious brain switches off, I’m on a high, and having to engage my logical brain to figure out what to do when I suddenly find the run I’m on is about to split into 3 and I can’t see any clear signs or piste markers, isn’t something I’m great at.

The Reassuring Safety Net Of Other People & The Role of Our Peer Group

In a group, this isn’t an issue. There’s always one of us that knows where we’re going, or someone to reassure me that yes, this is the ‘right’ way down, but the realisation that mountain navigation will be just down to me this time fills me with an anxiety I can’t seem to shake, and despite my best efforts I seem to be fixating on the fear of taking a wrong turn and getting myself in a pickle.

When I mentioned this in a Facebook post, a friend pointed out that as long as I head down the slope, it’s all good. Of course, thinking purely logically that’s absolutely true, but framed within some of the sketchy experiences I’ve had, it’s not quite as simple as that.

Snowboarding in Cervinia once with my sister and best friend, about 2/3 of the way down the mountain we suddenly came to an abrupt stop in front of 2 huge signs as the run split into 2. In one direction there was a big red sign that said “CLOSED” in the other direction a big red sign said “DANGER”. We stood baffled, totally alone on the run, trying to work out what the hell to do.

There were no chair lifts in sight, from the piste map we couldn’t work out where we were and taking off our boards and walking back up a slope we’d already spent a good 20 minutes boarding down wasn’t an option. We decided “CLOSED” was our best bet and took off our boards and spent nearly an hour walking down the closed almost snowless piste to reach the bottom.

Another time whilst snowboarding in the most insane powder I’ve ever come across in Sestriere in Italy, we were in full white-out conditions. The kind of conditions that are totally and utterly disorientating.

I veered very slightly off piste on the way down (without realising as I couldn’t see), and found myself, just a metre or 2 away from the marked piste but unable to move, up to my waist in snow. It was frankly terrifying, but thankfully my daughter who was boarding close behind me came to a stop on the edge of the piste, took off her board and edged her way towards me. Lying flat and reaching out to help me dig and compact snow around me so I could heave myself out, It took us a good 20 minutes of hard work to get me out and we were both shattered by the end of it.

Add to this a broken back and breaking several ribs multiple times whilst boarding and having to be stretchered off the mountain, a huge fear of drag lifts as with my back injury they are seriously painful for me to use, and I guess it’s understandable why I might be a little anxious about snowboarding alone on a mountain I don’t know in a country where I can only cobble together enough of the language to buy a meal in a restaurant.

Before booking, I asked fellow outdoors bloggers whether they thought snowboarding alone was dangerous or not, and the general consensus was no, as long as I was careful to go for it. It was interesting however when I asked close friends and family the same question, most of their responses were the exact opposite, telling me they thought I was crazy to do it alone.

Although snowboarding is fun, the mountains aren’t always friendly places. Finding yourself alone in bad weather with low visibility on a sketchy slope with daylight fading is a seriously sobering experience, one that requires you to swallow down fear, think logically and focus on getting yourself off the hill as quickly and as safely as possible.

Despite my fears, this will come as no great surprise, I went ahead and booked anyway. After missing the last 3 seasons in a row and with me not getting any younger, I was determined that no matter what, even if I ended up having to go alone, that I wouldn’t miss a fourth season.

I did a lot of research before choosing my accommodation and the location. I opted for a chalet reasoning that if something did happen to me, the chalet hosts and other guests would recognise my absence much faster than a hotel would.

To try and ease the anxiety I’ve told myself I only need to stick to some gentle runs low down the mountain, and that once I get to know a few runs, I’ll be fine.

Even so, I’ve genuinely never been this nervous about going away alone before, and with still over a week to go, the physical feelings that my anxiety is causing are pronounced and frankly exhausting.

I just keep thinking about finishing my very first run, the joyful rush of adrenaline mixed with relief, which is when I’m hoping all this anxiety will finally melt away and leave me alone so I can relax and enjoy the experience.

Me snowboarding in Whistler

How Do You Handle Anxiety?

I’d love to know how you handle self-doubt and anxiety.

How do you feel about solo travel, have you ever done it, or would you do it given the chance? If not, why not? Would you ski or snowboard alone, or have you done it in the past? Perhaps you never seem to worry about anything much or you experience anxiety in a markedly different way? Leave a comment below!

The post WELLBEING | Managing Anxiety When Living Outside of Your Comfort Zone appeared first on Camping Blog Camping with Style | Active, Outdoors & Glamping Blog.

Original Source http://www.campingwithstyle.co.uk/wellbeing-managing-anxiety-when-living-outside-of-your-comfort-zone/ For the best knives to use whilst camping check out Carlson Knives http://www.carlsonknives.com/

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