#you got smoked… AGAIN | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tinukis · 13 days

Text

i think about trans sanji a lot... mtf or ftm he's transgender (or genderfluid ♥️)

but i think about ftm sanji and his struggles with his identity. his self hatred, self esteem, and toxic masculinity... i think about ftm sanji a lot...

i have stuff from my notes app. one was meant to be written as a fic but i gave up so it's incomplete. this takes place after wci and before wano. warnings are below the cut and in the tags, please read with caution.

trigger warning - gender dysphoria, child abuse (may be graphic.), misgendering, self-harm

Sanji wishes he was never a man. Let alone be born with the genital of a woman's.

He loves women. He admires them. Their beauty, their bodies, their smile, their femininity, everything. He wishes he could be just like them, that was his assigned sex, after all. Yet as a child, every time he stared at himself in the mirror, he would be staring at someone else. He did see a girl, but it wasn't him.

It's his turn on night watch. As everyone exchanges their goodnights and enter the cabin, Sanji climbs into the crow's nest and leaned against the window where the moonlight shined. His hand over his heart and crumpling his shirt into his fist. They just left Whole Cake Island but now that half his crew learned about the Vinsmokes, he was only filled with dread and anxiety.

They knew too much and there was nothing he can do about it but fill his lungs with tobacco. He knew they wouldn't pry further and he was relieved that they still see him the same but... It was being confronted by his Captain he dreaded the most. He didn't care about anyone's past nor does he try to look into them, but after everything Sanji did to Luffy and what Luffy did for him, he doesn't know what the hell to expect anymore.

Sanji knows Luffy would notice something's wrong and he couldn't avoid him forever. What was he supposed to tell him anyway?

Oh everything's fine, Luffy. Just you know, I've been reminded what sex I was born as and how I grew up hating myself because I'm actually a man. And I hated being a man because of how all the men in my life raised and treated me. I feel like I have betrayed all the women in my life. But other than that, I'm fine, Captain.

He puffs out a trail of smoke with a long exhale, clutching his head and pulling his hair that covered his right eye. He only wishes for silence but the calm waves below. Not his shitty thoughts about his identity or what lessons he'd been taught on Kamabakka Kingdom. With little to nonexistent self-worth, it was fucking hard to accept who he is. He needed no one elses approval but his own.

—

"Mother... is it wrong to feel like a boy?" Sanji fiddled with his thumbs, sitting on the edge of his mother's bed. His back was turned towards her, but he could hear her smile.

"What makes you feel that, Sanji?"

"... I don't know. My heart feels bad and heavy when I am a girl," Sanji hugged himself tight, gritting his teeth to hold back his tears. His brothers told him a man doesn't cry, otherwise he'd never be considered or respected as one.

"Sanji, look at me," his mother's voice was soft and full with kindness.

Sanji slowly turned his head, sniffling his red nose with his tearful eyes. His mother gently cupped over his cheek and wiped away the teardrops overflowing from the corner of his eye.

"Follow what your heart feels, Sanji. Despite what your father says, you continue seeing me, right? Continue with what your heart desires."

...

If only it were that easy.

—

"I was born wrong," said Sanji.

"Clearly," responded father. Unsure what he had meant by that, Sanji was overjoyed to be treated as a boy going forward.

A man was not who he wanted to be, yet those feelings of euphoria when dressed alike to his brothers and referred to as a "son" or "he" were undeniable.

It was a bit of surprise that even his brothers were forced to comply. But that doesn't stop their bullying and abuse whenever left alone with them.

–

"We're only wrestling! It's what boys do!" Yonji exclaimed with his arm strangled around Sanji's neck. Sanji tugged and tugged, attempting to escape his grasp only for Yonji to flex tighter.

"You're a boy, right, Sanji? Then act like one! Reiju is more of a man than you are!" Niji laughed, swinging a harsh kick into Sanji's shin.

Sanji was gasping between breaths, his skin turning from a shade of red to blue. For once, Yonji obliged but that moment of refreshing release was cut short by Ichiji's foot to Sanji's mouth.

"If you're a man, then stand up!" Ichiji yelled, kicking Sanji again by his stomach, not giving him a single chance for a breath of air. Coughed up blood splattered over the red carpet and Ichiji's white pants.

"Eww! She spat out blood!" Yonji exaggerated his gagging with his tongue lolled out his mouth and pointing into it.

Sanji shakily forced himself up, bloodied and bruised. His brothers smirked at him, intrigued that he was even capable of standing up after a beating.

"I'm... I'm not a she!!!" Sanji shouted and panted heavily. He knelt over, clutching onto his growling stomach that was building up his throat.

"Oh yeah? If you're not a girl, then," without warning, Niji swung his leg across Sanji's head, forcing a crack into the castle's walls. "Try not to pass out!"

His brothers waited for their useless brother to even breathe one shallow breath. Sanji couldn't move a single muscle, yet he was still conscious. When he heard heavy footsteps, his eyes widened and his heart beat grew steady. Sanji cried out for his father, but his throat felt clogged and not a word was heard.

"H-hel...p... me..." Sanji sputtered with quivering lips. His brothers laughed aloud, every time their mouths opened their words would never be positive.

The heavy footsteps got closer and Sanji turned his head towards that direction, staring at his father's unchanged expression. The burning sensation from his stomach rose. It ached terribly and he couldn't do anything but cry.

"F-fath— MGH—!" Sanji vomited on the carpet, his brothers expressed their disgust and laughed. When Sanji's eyes met with Judge, he was stared down at with revulsion. He bit back the bottom of his lip, trying to prevent tears or vomiting again, he couldn't tell what was happening anymore. It was like the room started to spin, the laughter dissipating in the background before everything turned to black.

–

The only people in Sanji's life that even treated him with kindness were women. His bedridden mother, his bystander sister, and the maids. But his mother was long gone for months. All he became accustomed to was the gray brick walls, steel bars caging him in, and a heavy iron helmet upon his head. The only people that ever kept him company were the Germa soldiers. But of course, they never bothered with conversations and only responded to Sanji's needs. He was even lucky that his requests for books were allowed.

Being kept alive, rotting in this dungeon was a fate worse than Hell. His hair grew longer and it felt so damn itchy. But with the stupid mask over his head, he couldn't satisfy the itch. Sanji had to resort to scratching his arms until they burnt and glowed red. Sometimes he'd scratch hard enough that it'd draw blood. He'd only stop once his arms started to bleed.

Sometimes Sanji refused baths. He wasn't comfortable with either a man or even a woman scrubbing him clean. He didn't want to do it all himself. He didn't want to look at the bare body he couldn't stand to look at. He wanted his mother. He wanted Reiju.

Since Sanji refused to have a bath because of the growing pit in his stomach grew each time he had to strip down, reminded of the body that shouldn't be his. The Germa soldiers resorted to soaking him with a hose and drop off his preferred choice of clothing.

That was all these past months of hell Sanji lived through alone in the dark and dank dungeon. The isolated loneliness was more agonizing than being beaten like a worn out punching bag by his brothers. Despite the amount of bruises and broken bones they may have caused, he missed them.

But maybe he thought too soon. Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji found him, surprised that he was still alive. They purposely spoke aloud how killing Sanji would likely make their father happy. His heart began to race like it was about to burst right out of his chest. Once they got the gate unlocked, they approached Sanji slowly, making him backed against the cold brick wall.

It was the same cycle as previously. Maybe even worse now as they were beneath the palace so no one would hear Sanji scream and cry for help.

–

Liquid rolls down Sanji's forearm and his cigarette burnt out. His nails dug into his skin deep enough to draw blood. Shit. No matter the pain he's given himself, it will never get rid of the filthy hands that bruised his body.

Sanji tosses his cigarette into the ashtray and lights another.

Why couldn't the good people in his life just leave him to rot?

10 notes · View notes

hauntingblue · 2 months

Text

Ace...?? they cloned my beautiful wife...

#ace if he was born with his mother's hair but without freckles.......#this 3d intro... damn they spent their coins here but didnt age that well xd #i love how there is nearly a movie for every character that joins since usopp.... sanji got the last one. chopper has one i havent seen #and robin now.... i mean its not their movie but you know what i mean #zoro and nami on the same wavelength i miss you.... my fag and hag sisters....#robin old design i miss you.... her and nami look so different.... not like now....#I MISS CHOPPER OLD DESIGN HE LOOKS SO SILLY!!!#the goofy scenes are too good..... 'luffy what are you doing''nothing just a fight' 'okay dont get lost'#also sanji with robin and nami while the others fight... the girls AND sanji #this guy looks like ace with his kinds long middle part hair and eyes.... and luffy likes seeing hum fight #i am seeing things where there are non but my beautiful not dead yet wife keeps haunting me once again #seeing luffy talk about how if he dies fighting to be pirate king then so be it and like HE DID!!!! AND THAT DIDN'T STOP HIM!!#kids with guns TUN TUN kids with guns TUN TUN #robin made a gigantesco mano.... this was visionary #ROBIN giving back the gun to the child so he shoots luffy and he can bounce it back.... luffy enabler num 1.#nami threatening a child with zoros sword.... i needed this so bad.#shryer.... your drip too hard.... your swag too different.... your smoke too hot.... they will kill you #NOOOOOOO the clone of my beautiful dead wife died just like him.... face down...#the old man is dying and zoro knows....#shryer is alive who woulda thot.....#'be serious' 'im always serious... didnt i get out?' this is him. omg #sanji with the cooking hacks for the fight.... i am sure of it... also sanji spy come back to me....#THE BOY IS THE SISTER??? AND THE OLD MAN AND ACE CLONE ARE BLOWN UP???#it is flour lmao they got their ideas from the fight with crocodile #everyone is alive and well 👍🏻including the hat #that was kinda beautiful with that plot twist and everyone wanting to live and all....#nami strangling zoro!!!! more!!!#talking tag #watching one piece #watching one piece movies

12 notes · View notes

pawbeanies · 4 months

Text

hii can we smoke together but i'm a beginner and dont know how to use a lighter so you laugh at me (softly) as you light it and show me how to take a hit before handing it off to me....... can we....

#embarrassing and silly but this did hapen to me once. the one time i smoked JFKSJD #but like in my defense .! i am like. a boy who does not get out much and doesnt do dr*gs or anything #censored in case the tumblrs will banish me for it.#so a high school friend (but like we were in uni atp) lit it for me and liek. had me take a hit #head spinny thinking abt it a little like. weh #they were so nice abt it too n talking me through it like. deep breath... hold it #smiling n laughing a little bit when i coughed bc id never smoked before!! or even like. vaped or anything bc im a COWARD #n then going like. do you want to try again? :)#and then i snuggled w them and their bf and we got italian beef afterwards and watched hells kitchen which is like. so nice #but also like who the hell designed lighters i still don't know how to use one. like real #my hands are too weak to use lighters im a weenie #but also also like i would do it again. i am a boy w too much anxiett and brain thoughts and it was so nice to not have thoughts for a bit

11 notes · View notes

alex-the-librarian · 1 year

Text

POV : Jon zoning out while on his 5th smoke break of the day because Elias banned smoking inside the Archives

#jonathan sims #jon sims #the magnus archives #tma fanart #thought about this on my smoke break #suck a dick Elias #oh wait you can't cause you got divorced again

78 notes · View notes

sealrock · 3 months

Note

SCOLDED.

ask meme

cw: depiction of corporal punishment

(ty for the ask @abalathia!)

The unnatural humidity clung to his hair as he sat by the riverbed. His clothes unpleasantly stuck against his skin, meaning he would have to take a long bath afterward. The now lonely moon peeked through the canopy every now and then, its white glow illuminating an old pipe held between shaky hands. The trees were silent. He scratched at the still-healing tattoo near his cheek. The evening song of cicadas, crickets, and toads grew louder as the minutes passed. Thirsty mosquitos bit into Achille's bare arms and exposed lower legs with vigor, leaving behind swelling welts as he contemplated in solitude.

No one's around to see me, it's ok.

Everyone else's doing it.

Nel and Nilo'ya keep making fun of me. They call me a bloody altar boy. They piss me off sometimes.

If this was so bad, why do adults smoke it? Seems to be pretty good, I'd imagine.

A warm summer night such as this, especially deep within the southern parts of the Shroud, should be spent listening to bard tales around campfires with friends and family—on any other day and not in the aftermath of an apocalypse, not hidden away in the thicket of the forest alone... Alone. That's how Achille spends most of his nights recently. His foster father, Chiron, began working evening shifts at the mines after they moved to Boughbury roughly a few moons ago to escape the permanent winter that fell upon the lands when Dalamud fell. But Boughbury was not home—home was up north, in the crisp, open space of Coerthas. Besides his two only friends, Achille hated Boughbury—and the feeling's mutual with the older locals.

Chiron wasn't due home until late into the night. Achille was independent enough to make his meals and look after the cottage, and Chiron trusted him not to make a mess of things now that he was older. Achille had his chores to keep him busy—clean Talona's pen, feed Talona, scrub the floors, wash and fold the laundry, and inventory the food stores. But menial tasks led to boredom, which quickly led to mischief, and Achille found himself leaving the relative safety of his home to partake in youthful disobedience—such as drinking, stealing, and smoking.

Achille considered robbery immoral, and drinking dulled the senses. He tried a mug of ale once, it was disgusting. His peers, those he tried to integrate with, would hurl all kinds of names at him for his perceived self-righteousness, and Achille would respond with harsher insults and physical violence. But Chiron raised Achille with concrete morals and beliefs, like a true monk he once was. Chiron refused to indulge in these activities; to indulge in the base excesses of man would be to sever the connection to the Destroyer. He raised Achille to follow the same beliefs: he must never drink, smoke, or use violence for the sake of violence. Chiron had broken the creeds in the past, and he toiled every day to make up for it.

Unfortunately, this would make Achille the target of social pressure; as the new kid on the proverbial block, Achille was an outsider looking in. Nel and Nilo'ya, fellow outcasts in the tumult hierarchy of adolescents, saw Achille as a kindred soul. They, too, followed the rules set by their elders... When they were being watched, of course. Nilo'ya, a rambunctious Keeper boy with a blinding smile, gave Achille the initiative after snatching his grandpa's smoking pipe and tobacco for Achille to try out.

While Nilo'ya tends to snort the stuff as dried snuff, he considered this to be "too easy" and that "the reward must equal the risk." Achille was reluctant at first, but after watching Nilo'ya make smoke rings as effortlessly as he skipped stones across the water, Achille was quick to change his mind. Alongside Nel, a lively Duskwight girl as tall as Chiron, they taught Achille the know-how of pipe smoking. His heart hammered in his chest with excitement, but Achille's stomach rolled with anxiety. He drew in a few deep breaths to steady his hands; Nilo'ya would cry if he were to drop his grandpa's pipe into the water and lose it. From his front pocket came out a tiny pouch of fresh tobacco; it reminded Achille of mulch.

As instructed, Achille carefully packed the bowl with at least three pinches and packed it down with his thumb. He tested the draw once, twice—it was just right. All that was left to do was light it. He took a glance behind his shoulders on the off chance there was someone nearby who could spot him. He had walked a suitable distance away from the village, and no one besides his friends knew about this particular spot in the woods. It's now or never.

He clutched the mouthpiece between his teeth as he struck the match, watching the flame sway in the light breeze of the night. His hand was still trembling as he watched the flame dance across the top layer of tobacco. He could hear Nel in his ear telling him not to inhale the smoke as soon as it hit his tongue, just let the vapors roll around in his mouth before he released. Nilo'ya said to draw in small puffs to keep the embers lit, or else he would have to relight. Achille blew out the smoke slowly. It disappeared into the night air.

Achille took another draw, and before he knew it, he was smoking as if he'd done so for years. The flavor was something to get used to, however. It had a bitter taste as it sat on his tongue, and it almost put Achille in the mind of Gysahl greens. How did Achille know what Gysahl greens tasted like? He ate some on a dare once; he had to clean up the vomit before Chiron came home.

Thankfully, Achille didn't get hit with a sudden wave of nausea. The tobacco, or at least the thrill of smoking, calmed his nerves and settled his stomach. Achille couldn't find any reason not to smoke now that he was doing it, displeasing taste aside. But, like all things, Achille would get too bold and disregard consequences. Thinking himself a master, he drew in a deeper puff he wasn't ready for. The smoke reached past his mouth, slithered deep into his chest, and burned his insides. Achille dropped the pipe as a coughing fit overcame him, his eyes stinging with tears the more he hacked and wheezed up the smoke, his throat crackling from the dryness. Desperate for relief, Achille took a few gulps of river water, careful not to let the pipe roll away from where it fell into his lap.

"Who goes there?"

Achille nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice—he knew that voice. He tried to speak, but his throat was still raw. A flurry of coughs spilled from his lips instead, thus making the voice come closer to his location. In his blurred vision, Achille could make out a large and dark figure in the low light, and it carried a small ball of light that swung from left to right with every footstep. Achille rubbed at his eyes to see Chiron standing before him, confused and shocked to find him sitting here in the dark. Soot and dirt dusted Chiron's clothes, and the lamp he carried cast a deep shadow across his face, revealing a drained appearance.

"Achille? Seven hells, what in the world are you doing out here this late at night?"

Achille couldn't answer. His foster father must've got off early, of all the nights. He could feel his face burn from embarrassment, his ears drooping from being found out. Achille tried to hide the pipe from sight, but he couldn't conceal the lingering stench of tobacco.

Chiron sniffed at the air. He narrowed his eyes, "What are you clutching?"

Achille hummed in ignorance. Chiron set his jaw.

"Show me. Now."

Chiron's tone of voice was something not to argue back to. Achille had only heard it a few times in his life, and he could count on one hand how many instances Chiron was this cross with him. Unable to talk his way out of this situation, Achille shamefully gave the pipe over to the now greatly disappointed man before him. Chiron's shoulders sagged as he inhaled a steady breath, his nostrils flaring and eyebrows pinched. Achille awkwardly rubbed at his neck, his mind flailing to find an excuse, an apology perhaps. But no amount of pious posturing would make up for this latest act of rebellion.

"Achille," Chiron started, voice low, "I raised you better than this. I've tolerated your behavior because I can understand what it's like; becoming a man in this world, especially the world we have now, is not easy. A boy's coming-of-age is full of many trials. But this crosses a line that I cannot accept. You have disrespected me, my rules, and my teachings. We monks must keep our bodies and minds unclouded, and we must be diligent in our pursuit to become one with the Destroyer. You have used our techniques for petty squabbles and disregarded our truths as fiction. It's dishonorable."

"But Baba, it wasn't me, it was-"

"Not," Chiron's eyes grew dark with rage, making Achille shrink back, "another word. You will go home, and you will wash off this taint... And you will prepare the salt."

Achille's eyes grew wide in fear. He shook his head in a panic as he began to plead and beg, but Chiron grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and ordered him to walk. Achille only experienced this punishment once when he was younger; he acted particularly ornery one day and said something he shouldn't have. Punishment was swift—kneel in a line of salt until his kneecaps bled. The monks in Ala Mhigo used this against new initiates to fortify their resolve, a type of thick salt that could cut through flesh. But Achille broke down after ten minutes in tears and wails. It was an experience he wouldn't forget for as long as he lived.

The second time around was worse. Achille had done what Chiron requested: he washed away the stench and prepared the salt. The whole while, he willed himself not to cry. His fifteenth nameday was approaching, and men did not cry. Chiron sat at the kitchen table, his face stoic and hands clasped on top of the wood surface. Dressed in his smallclothes, Achille stared down at the salt before he lowered himself on top. The pressure from his weight allowed the sharp salt to pierce the skin almost immediately.

Achille bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out. His back stayed rod straight, and his hands were clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. His face started to turn scarlet from the pain, but he kept his eyes on Chiron with an unwavering stare.

"I hate to make you do this," Chiron had a tinge of guilt in his voice now, "but you know the rules, my son. You must endure it, embrace the pain."

My son. Spoken with the unconditional love of a parent. They weren't related by blood, but Chiron never saw Achille as anything else.

Achille wanted to cry. The more the crystallized salt dug into his bleeding wounds, the more Achille's resolve shrank. He felt himself double over, his nail-bruised palms flying out to keep him from falling facefirst into the hardwood. The fringe of his red hair kept his watery eyes hidden, but the tremble of his shoulders gave him away. The sob that threatened to spill from his lips caught in his throat; it was getting harder to keep his composure.

The dam finally broke when Achille adjusted his legs to keep the numbness away—the overwhelming pain was too much. His forehead met the planks of the floor as he wailed, tears and snot and drool staining the wood. Achille lost track of how long he stayed on the floor, but he wanted it to end. He screamed himself raw:

"Make it stop, Baba! Make it stop! Please!"

Before he knew it, Chiron lifted Achille into a tight hug, the air of the room cutting into his bleeding wounds. He openly sobbed into Chiron's shoulder much like he used to do as a child—he still was a child. Chiron shushed his sobs as he walked to the bathroom to clean and treat the wounds.

"You're alright... You're alright, my son. It's over, it's all over."

Achille continued to cry, breathless and wracked with exhaustion. He felt Chiron's hand card through his hair, making Achille curl into his chest in shame. Chiron held him close; he said nothing for a long while until he whispered:

"You may think me cruel and even hate me for this now. This seems fun for your friends, and you think I'm being too hard on you. But please understand, my son, I made a promise to someone when I found you: I promised to keep you safe. Don't give in to the temptations of man, for you will be lost. I wouldn't be able to live with myself watching you go down the path of wickedness. You will overcome this, I have no doubt."

Achille had calmed to sniffles as he listened, his eyes swollen and face splotchy. His head throbbed. He let the words of his foster father—nay, his father, sink in. He didn't have the energy to talk.

"Everything will come together in the end. I'll be right here with you. I love you, son."

Achille felt his heart stutter. He swallowed back tears and buried his face into the fabric of Chiron's work shirt. His words were muffled and small, but the message was clear.

"... I love you, too, Baba."

#inbox #abalathia #a glimpse into achille's teenaged years with this one and his relationship with his dad. it wasn't the best during this period #but they got better over time. achille was dealing with stuff as most teenagers would #like i mentioned once before: achille got into a lot of trouble before he eventually ran off to ul'dah (probably when he was 18/19)#he was straying from the path so chiron had to set the record straight more than once. but this is the only time he truly got angry #so it may be extreme to some but so would any parent's reaction to finding out their kid has done something wrong #chiron had lost one son (during the rebellion mind you). he doesn't want that to happen again either way #chiron basically lives a straight edge lifestyle. it's why achille never drinks or smokes as an adult #it may be the sleep deprivation talking bc icr but i don't think achille has ever said a curse word in his life #moral of the story: smoking is bad stay in school #q.#mywritings.

7 notes · View notes

sage-nebula · 5 months

Text

I've decided to make my own post because I am not an idiot, but full disclosure that this post is 50% based on thoughts I was having while I was driving home from the auto repair shop yesterday and 50% a response to a post I saw just now that conflated "redemption arcs" (things fictional characters go through in fictional stories) with "community support" (things real life people offer to other real life people in real life) and how this relates to "fixing people" (making someone who mistreats or abuses themself or others not mistreat or abuse themself or others anymore).

Read my words very carefully.

In fiction, it is more than okay to like whatever type of toxic or fantastical relationship you want. If you like to read stories about toxic, codependent people who are absolutely horrible to one another and will never, ever change, you read those stories. If you like to read stories about a tortured man who just needs The Right Person to teach him to be better, and then he is, sometimes exclusively only to them though, then you read those stories. Sometimes you want to read stories where the main character says "I can fix him" and fails spectacularly, and sometimes you want to read stories where the main character says "I can fix him" and succeeds spectacularly, and either way, you read whatever stories you want, whatever makes you happy, I'm sure it's somewhere in this vast Archive that we call Our Own.

However, in real life?

First of all, "arcs" aren't things real life people have. An arc is something that has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Real life people don't have those, because our stories don't end until we die. Unlike a character, whose life presumably continues even after their story ends (except in circumstances where they die at the end but you know what I mean), we have to keep living day by day, with all the rises and falls that come with it. Now, this does not mean that a person cannot change, or that a person can't get better and learn from their mistakes; but it DOES mean that we can't have a "redemption arc" where we complete a checklist of story beats and then suddenly we're a better person who has experienced the necessary growth to be forgiven. First off, no amount of growth or change ever requires any victims to forgive. And second, that's just not how life works. That's not how change works. Change and growth are baby steps taken each day, and sometimes you go backwards, and you get angry with yourself, but then you pick yourself up and you try again the next day, and the next, and the next. It's an ongoing journey that does not end until you die. That's life.

But second and more importantly, the real idea that I think the original post was trying to get at, but missing the mark on was . . . okay.

So, the original OP of the post (and the person who replied to OP) got angry at the idea that the strawman they had invented (the person who had theoretically said "you can't fix him!") would deny support to someone who needs that help to grow and change as a person. The person who had replied in support of OP added that the strawman clearly believed in punitive justice over rehabilitative justice as well. On the surface, I can see where they are coming from. After all, on the whole humans are a social species and do need support networks in order to not only thrive, but survive. People such as drug addicts need support and assistance in order to get into better places in their lives, and the prison system has been proven to be far less effective at preventing repeated offenses than rehabilitative programs. This is all true.

However.

The reason why "you can't fix them" is still true, and needs to be said and understood particularly by those who are susceptible to falling into abusive relationships (e.g. people who have been abused before, particularly in childhood or adolescence) is because of free will. Specifically, the free will that each of us has, but specifically the other person. Person A can want so, so, so badly to "fix" Person B so that they stop being an abusive alcoholic 75% of the time. But if Person B doesn't actually want to stop being an abusive alcoholic (even if they say they do during the 25% of the time they aren't smacking Person A around), and refuses to put in the work that it takes to become sober and be a better person, then guess what? Nothing Person A does will ever make them be a sober, non-abusive partner. They will be unable to fix Person B. It doesn't matter how much time, energy, money, or commitment they pour into that person. It doesn't matter how much they genuinely, honestly, earnestly love them. Because unless Person B wants to change, and will put the work into doing so, then they will not change, and Person A, for their own health, safety, and sanity, needs to exit that relationship.

Now, does that mean that if, ten years down the line, Person B decides they are ready to put in the work to get their alcoholism under control, no one should help them? Of course not! They should absolutely be put in touch with sober counselors, support groups, medical professionals, friends and family who can help them. Person A could potentially forgive them, if Person A chooses. But that willingness to change and put in the work has to come from within Person B first.

I've been in the position where I've seen people in awful situations just tanking their lives, people I loved and cared about, people I begged to just listen to me and get help, only for them to not . . . and ultimately I had to accept that I couldn't fix them. I could be there to offer support when they were ready to fix themselves, but the core work that needed to be done had to come from within themselves. I couldn't provide that. Not because I was inadequate, not because I didn't love them, but because I couldn't force them to do anything they didn't want, or weren't ready, to do.

So at the end of the day, "you can't fix them" isn't about not giving support. It's about recognizing your limitations as a human being. It's about knowing that:

You cannot force someone to do something they do not want to do.

You cannot force someone to do something they are not ready to do.

Not being able to help or save someone is not a moral failing of yours.

Not being able to help or save someone does not mean you do not love or care about them.

Providing support should never come at risk of your own health and safety, physical or otherwise.

When you love someone, it can be really hard to accept this. You think, "I know I can make them want to try. I know I can inspire them to want to change. I know they love me, so if I just love them a little harder, they will want to change." Nine times out of ten, though, that is just not true. And if someone is abusing you, it is not worth the literal risk to your life to keep trying. You are worth more than that. You are more than just someone else's band-aid.

Keep yourselves safe in 2024.

#not an abuse scenario but: my mom died of covid-19 #it's relevant to this discussion bc she was a trump-supporting republican who refused to get vaccinated #bc the far-right propaganda shows she watched told her the vaccine ''wasn't a real vaccine''#and i know this bc when i literally BEGGED MY PARENTS to get the vaccine my mother LAUGHED IN MY FACE and TOLD ME ''it's not a real vaccine #so anyway both my parents got it. my father almost died from it #my mom seemed like she was doing much better . . . except she CONTINUED to smoke heavily while both having covid #and recovering from covid #and once again i said hey don't you think you should not smoke cigarettes while recovering from a serious respiratory disease #and once again she laughed at me #anyway 2 months later her heart gave out in her sleep and she died #bc her body couldn't handle the stress of the cigarettes + alcohol (she was also an alcoholic) after covid had done its thing to her #she was only 56yo #so this was a case where i wanted to fix my mother. i tried so hard. and i've similarly tried to fix my father (who is still alive)#but i can't! my dad almost died and my mom DID die and my dad STILL won't get the vaccine #I HAVE BEGGED THIS MAN. WHO IS NOW 73. TO GET VACCINATED. AND HE STILL WILL NOT.#you can't fix people!!! you can't!!! you can offer them support if they want to fix themselves #you can help them fix themselves but you can't fix them. you just can't. no matter how much you love them #and in abuse cases it can be really fucking dangerous to keep trying.#anyway. that's my TED talk. thanks for attending or w/e it is they say

8 notes · View notes