You don’t have to earn the right to call the suffering you went through abusive.
I keep seeing people say, “I don’t think I have a right to say I was abused because it was never physical,” and “I don’t have the right to say I was abused because it wasn’t that bad,” and most infuriatingly, “I don’t have the right to say I was abused because I know I was loved.”
Please. I am begging you.
I was abused in countless different ways for a long long time, and I am telling you, you are allowed to call your situation abusive.
You don’t need permission, and I don’t care if someone else ‘has it worse.’
You are allowed to call it abuse.
It’s okay. You aren’t disrespecting anybody. You aren’t taking attention away from “real victims.” You can acknowledge your situation is fucked up. You can call it abuse.
it’s not that I “prefer” you don’t touch me, it’s that being touched makes me feel like my skin is on fire. it’s not that I “prefer” you don’t make loud or squeaking noises around me, it’s that they literally make my ears hurt. I don’t just prefer to wear sunglasses and headphones, I need those things to function
yes, you should still try your best to navigate peoples preferences. but with sensory issues, it’s a matter of accessibility. some sensory input causes me pain. some cause me to have a meltdown. but either way, I will not trust you if you continue to trigger my sensory issues despite me telling you not to
Bad at self-discipline, good at acts of love through service. So I’m gonna clean my house pretending it is the house of someone I love who’s been too depressed to clean. She’s gonna be so surprised.
I cleared the whole counter that hasn’t had space to set a plate down in weeks, at least, so it would be easier for her to cook instead of just eating snacks. I put away everything on the sofa that wasn’t a blanket or stuffed animal so she could stretch out if she wanted. I SWEPT and everything looks less lighter and less grungy. There were a bunch of sewing pins spilled to one side of the coffee table that I still hadn’t picked up because whatever, I’ll get to it, nobody ever walks on that side of the table anyway, but I picked them up because I was worried about her feet.
…I should be a good friend to myself more often.
Okay since this is going around a bit today and everyone’s adding their very sweet nice versions while I am spending my day off once again Cleaning For My Sad Friend, I wanna add to this a little bit.
my usual method has been to invite people over so I Have to clean, but this has… stopped working. mostly because it is KIND OF guilt and shame motivated, for me! I don’t want my friends to see my house like this, so I have to clean, but then I just feel gross about it and it saps my energy.
turns out it is imperative that this is 1) not my mess and 2) not for me. Because if it’s my mess, I just end up thinking how did I let it get like this, why can’t I just keep my house clean, and if it’s for me once all the bad feelings bog me down I inevitably go eh, it’s good enough, it’s better than it was, I can live like this.
If it is someone else’s mess, I’m not judging them for a second. I look at it and think damn, they’re going through it. This must be rough to live around. And every time I feel like stopping I look at what’s left and think nah, this isn’t good enough for my friend, they deserve a better head start on their mental health than this.
This probably says concerning things about my self-compassion, but hey! easier to work on that part in a clean house.
You don’t have to “make up” for your disability. Even if you never study, never work, never do anything independently, have zero special skills or talents and create nothing, you’re still a human being worthy of the love, support and care you need - and no level of disability will ever change that fact
ALT
