Vulnerability time again.

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

@alice My (uneducated) view on dreams is that a lot of the time they're not an indicator that something is wrong, but more of an indicator of anxiety that something is wrong. But then most of my life rn is characterized by anxiety. ymmv.

Smart people are the most attractive people, imo, and people who don't rate intelligence are the least attractive. But that's me, and I'm mostly asexual.

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

@alice ugh this is why I hate being perceived. Basically up until college, I was never perceived as attractive because I’m Asian (yay, racism) and inter-racial relationships were still a big no no. Then I got to college and it flipped and made me so uncomfortable. To this day, I’m still uncomfortable being perceived but I know a lot of people think the opposite because I like clothes and shoes and girly things. During the pandemic, I realized that it’s really a body dysmorphia thing because people so strongly do not perceive me the way that I perceive myself in person but over video with video off is reasonable for me.

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

This is, of course, not a fishing for support or compliments sort of post. I wanted to share so that folx have a little window into how our society forces unrealistic expectations on all of us in different ways. E.g. when everything is a competition, everyone loses most of the time.

@alice I am angry at your ex just reading this. It's so shallow, i think it's very difficult to find your specific kind of kind person.
Hugs!

@alice I see you. And you’re not just a pretty face, you never have been. You’ve always been scintillating and smart and well read and fun. Easy on the eyes conveys some privilege, but not enough to invalidate all the other good things you are and you do. 🥰

This is, of course, not a fishing for support or compliments sort of post. I wanted to share so that folx have a little window into how our society forces unrealistic expectations on all of us in different ways. E.g. when everything is a competition, everyone loses most of the time.

Vulnerability time again.

So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.

Why? Well strap in...

All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.

¹ not that kind of plan B

And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".

I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)

I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"

So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.

I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.

Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.

I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.

#Beauty #Dreams #Therapy #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Abuse

This is, of course, not a fishing for support or compliments sort of post. I wanted to share so that folx have a little window into how our society forces unrealistic expectations on all of us in different ways. E.g. when everything is a competition, everyone loses most of the time.

@alice Wait. You´re cool and awesome and all... Love your brains, fwiw... (not a zombie! I promise!) ... And I am still mad at your ex...

@alice

Agreed. A lot of people just get told to not even try unless you do/are perfect at it from the first go.

Which is just bonkers. You do not have to be the best, you can be quite horrible at something - as long as you learn or have fun. I am horrible at singing, but that won't stop me from humming or singing along.

And making mistakes is how you learn. You didn't fail, you found a method that didn't work. Attempt again with new information and insight.

This is, of course, not a fishing for support or compliments sort of post. I wanted to share so that folx have a little window into how our society forces unrealistic expectations on all of us in different ways. E.g. when everything is a competition, everyone loses most of the time.

@autisticplushy @alice Same, especially when papers are generally reviewed by people who have no fucking clue of what you look like. (Ideally, double blind review means they don't even know your name, and reciprocally, but apparently that was not the case for your paper).

Also, I had no clue you had some academic papers. Did you get a PhD out of that ?

And sending hugs !

This is, of course, not a fishing for support or compliments sort of post. I wanted to share so that folx have a little window into how our society forces unrealistic expectations on all of us in different ways. E.g. when everything is a competition, everyone loses most of the time.

@alice May I remind you that the vast majority of us has never seen your full face? Those of us who call you pretty on the internet mostly extrapolate from your taste and style. You'll keep those all your life even if (not when!) nature takes away your pretty face and smooth skin.

People might not call you "hot" anymore when you're 80 but they'll for sure say "damn, I wish I'll look like that when I get to your age", pointing at one of the coolest outfits ever seen on a retiree.

@sasutina13 I've moved on and forgiven them for their part in our toxic relationship, but I can't forget *why* they're my ex, lest I look back at just the good parts and second guess my decision to run.