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Emilee

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My front facing camera broke on my phone, making my already limited picture taking even MORE limited. Have a throw back from last spring. I have a blog post in the works. Life has been kinda nutty, my laptop *also* bit the dirt, and things have been kind of overwhelming. Y’all are always on my mind, though! You’ll be hearing from me soon. 💕
Classes yesterday brought to you in part by @leakycon (I don’t usually dress up for costume week, but i do try and incorporate Harry Potter to some degree 🤷🏼‍♀️)
New blog post, link in bio!
My friend Bailey and her company @companythreesixty made this and I have no more words to add. It’s perfect. #Repost @catchingbreaths with @get_repost ・・・ Why didn’t I report? I didn’t report because I thought that if I’m in a relationship with someone, it meant it was equally my fault. I thought the years of unhealthy feelings towards myself which ensued, were still invalid since it could have been worse. I thought I shouldn’t tell my Momma until a couple of years later on a beautiful mountain walk together, and even then, I softened the story from shame for how I’d appear to the person I love the most. I didn’t report because we live in a world where men use sentences like “it can always be worse” as psychological shrapnel. A world that tells us we should have done more to stop it. A world that, even when I remember the attempts to push away as clearly as consciousness cinema, I was scared to push too hard because I didn’t want to make someone mad. A world that makes me worry at sharing, because I have young students and ‘should be a role-model’: with a role model being pure, respectable, elite, undamaged. Now, a mother, wife, champion, boss... I still worry to report as innocuously as through a #WhyIDidntReport hashtag, lest I somehow appear less for having shared. But as someone who’s survived a darkness far worse than that described, and Shawshanked her way to a life of light- save for second glances over shoulders- I can say that the hardest person to report to is actually... yourself. It’s the you that you had once hoped to be. The you that you’ll never be again. The you that you wish you could go back and protect. The you you wish you had been (louder, less in shock, less weak). The you that once was but was taken. To all the Yous you once were reading this (and the You in me who still feels cemented by shame)... this should never have happened. It doesn’t matter how loud, quiet, forceful... how well you knew them.... You didn’t deserve to lose You because your body wasn’t left as yours. None of us do. None of us ever will. There is no good way to end this bit of writing, because the truth is: it hasn’t ended. A perfect sentence will not wrap this up. Y
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Teaching on my birthday is my favorite thing. Hi, I’m 30, and I gave full sized cupcakes to three year olds and I’m sure their parents hate me

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Discipline.

I think nowadays, people don’t learn what discipline really is.
Most people, that is. Some do.

In class, I find myself challenged a lot. And there’s plenty of times I can make excuses.
“I can’t do this on the right side because of my knee”
“I feel nauseous, maybe I shouldn’t go to class”
“I’m not as good as them, so I’m just gonna keep it low key so they don’t see me struggle as I try.”
“Um. I can’t even say that. It looks like a complicated prance. Maybe I shouldn’t try it today.”

And I tell myself.
“SHUT UP AND DANCE.”

If all I do is make excuses, then I’m never going to get anywhere. I’m never going to reach my goal.
The least I can do is try.
If it hurts, then I know.
If I can’t do it now, I can’t do it.
If I’m not as good as them, at least I’m on my way.
If I don’t feel good, I can always leave when I’ve had enough.

I’m never going to get anywhere with excuses.

Same with life.
Mine has been all over the place and really inconsistent.

I can make all the excuses in the world.
“I can’t eat better until I have my own place.”
“I’m not gonna cook, I don’t like feeling watched.”
“I don’t have time”
“I have too much to do.”
“I can’t do this until *insert excuse here* happens.”
And then whine about all the weight I’ve gained and how nothing has changed.

If I want there to be progress in my life, I have to first start.
I have to do what I can. I have to meet fate halfway.
At least.
I have to do something.
Something is better than nothing.

So I’m stuck in a building I can’t leave for 12 straight hours.
I can’t go to the gym, I can’t go walking, but there are activities I can do here.
I don’t have to get fast food because it’s easy. I can get premade sandwiches and salads and stuff that’s fresh and fairly healthy. Better than grease.

Pointe is, I can stop making excuses and start making progress.

(see what I did there?)

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