Bath and body works rogers ar

With the wildfires in Canada causing extreme smoke & air pollution, I just wanted to share tips for my trans folks, particularly those at a greater risk if they bind. In general, there are tips that will help anyone.

• Stay hydrated!!! This is super important.
  
• Stay indoors, with the windows shut. You want to prevent as much of the smoke and air pollution from being inside your home as possible, especially if you have plants and animals!
  
• If you must go outside, wear an N95. If you don’t have one, any face coverings will help.
  
• If you bind, it is in your best interest to give your body a break while it’s working extra hard to filter the toxins we are breathing in. If you feel that you cannot forego the binder, even just changing into a looser one will help.
  
• Avoid exercising outdoors
  

We only have one pair of lungs, so please care for yourself! Watch for symptoms in yourself and your pets, and above all: stay safe!

Hi, I am a 20y male who as of recently has dealt with a lot of fear around my gender and cross-dressing.
Ever since I was 12 years old I have had some sort of curiosity about being the other gender. I used to dream that I woke up as a girl and could wear girly clothes and have girly body parts. I even considered the thought of being trans when I was 12, but it just didn't fit, I don't know. But then the dreams just sort of stopped and I didn't have any until I became 15. And then they came back hard. It was really confusing and overwhelming so I decided after a while to give in to those thoughts and make them a reality. So I began to crossdress in private. I used to come home every day after school snap some of my mother's clothes (especially underwear) out of her closet and try them on in the restroom. And to my surprise, I actually enjoyed it a whole bunch. I really liked looking like a girl and felt so comfortable in the clothes, but after 2 weeks of doing this I just stopped. I think I was ashamed and afraid, so I thought it was best for me to just stop. And during the next year, I was really stressed with this part of me and used to distract myself all day just so I didn't have to think. And it worked to some degree because, during the next three years, I was actually becoming happier and happier being a boy and also more confident in myself which felt really nice.
However, those thoughts (about wanting to be a girl) came back to me this year. It got really ambivalent until recently where I could 1 month not wanting at all to be a girl and the next month actually wanting it. And it was really tiring since I always had to prove to myself that I am a man. And when my summer vacation started last month it hit me harder than it has ever done before, I think (I can't really compare). These thoughts took up all my energy and I began distracting myself again. I got really scared again because of the intensity. Ever since now, it has always felt like I had them under control, but now it feels like they are taking over me. I am really scared of losing the part of me that wants to be a boy and I am terrified of ever taking an operation or begin to publicly wear female clothes outside. I don't want people to think that I am a girl because I don't really feel feminine, but I am also afraid that I could be feminine if I really gave in to these thoughts.
Today I tried my mother's clothes or especially her underwear and bra again since 5 years ago. It felt really good and was nice to let that side of me shine again, but it also made me even more terrified. I got scared of the same things as above, but now I realized that I also gave in to my thoughts and that this could actually be my first step into becoming a woman (Which I don't want, I think).
I wish I didn't have any of these thoughts and dreams because it just makes me so insecure. I have never felt like I was born in the wrong body, but I still sometimes want to be reborn again as a girl.

Waking up next to Stanton, our clothes were all over the floor. Blushing at last night’s activity, I checked the time. A loud scream burst from my lips, the book club was in ten minutes. Crashing to the floor, Stanton stirred awake. Panicking at the time, the floor shook as he crashed to the floor. Searching for anything to wear, he was already tugging on a black band t-shirt and ripped jeans. Fixing his hair, my hand settled on a black and white striped swing dress. Slipping my feet into my boots, he brushed my wild hair into a simple side bun. Kissing me on the forehead, he dropped a random book into my palm.
“I will hang out with the husbands to analyze their behavior. Get those hens talking about their men.” He said simply, ignoring what we did last night. “Try and drink some coffee with them. Tell them that you have a stomach sensitivity.” Focusing on the book, scarlet colored my cheeks. It was one I had written and published fifty years ago, his brows furrowing.
“You’re telling me that I have to go and sit with a bunch of women while they misinterpret what I wrote.” I groaned bitterly, wishing that he would acknowledge last night. “Whatever. At least I know the plot.” Hooking his elbow into mine, we walked across the street. The husbands welcomed him with open arms, Susie yanking me in. Pulling me into the kitchen, she slid me a cup of coffee, my stomach churning. While most vampires enjoyed it, I despised it with a burning passion. Taking a sip, the pungent taste reminded me of a bunch of pennies.
“Tell me about sleeping with him. Was it fun? My husband is so boring.” She pleaded desperately, pressing her palms together. “I also asked for you to come because you look a lot like my favorite author.” Hitting the wall, a secret shelf with every single book I wrote covered every inch of the damn space. Think of an excuse, you idiot. Stanton looked up from his own conversation outside, my lips pressing into a thin line.
“My mother wrote them.” I lied seamlessly, Susie buying into it. “She was a lovely woman.” Lie, that was a lie. My mother was a poor Irish vampire who ditched me at the ripe age of three, her next question causing me to spit my coffee out.
“When is the sound of tiny feet entering your home?” She trilled sweetly, cupping my hands. “You are the first to know that I am pregnant now. I have been trying for years. Maybe you can get pregnant soon and we can have them be best friends.” Horror hid behind my polite smile, a long squeal escaping my lips. Like hell I would go along with her sick little plan. Something felt off, my vision blurred. A purple liquid swirled on top of the coffee, my body hitting the floor. A rough darkness devoured me as coffee pooled around my head.
A yellow light swung over my head, something else feeling off. Clammy sweat drenched my skin, a fever burning my cheeks. Susie towered over me, a spike spinning in her palm. Attempting to crawl away, her heel dug into my back. Unable to move, this felt like something else. The desire to take Stanton nearly controlled my mind, the claws extended from my fingernails. Spinning another needle of the liquid in her palm, she jammed it into my leg. Extreme nausea wracked my body, the beginning of a heat cycle disabling me. Parting my lips to speak, I needed his blood to survive or that was what it felt like. Only wheezes poured from my lips, she jammed another needle into my leg. Sending me into the next stage, every touch raised an incredible amount of goosebumps. Shivering in my spot, the last time I felt this was one hundred years ago when a handsome stranger caught my eye.
“I used to be a hunter.” She bragged gleefully, sitting down on top of me. “We have to finish before the book club arrives, you fucking idiot. I meant what I said about you getting pregnant around the same time. I know the serial killer lives among us. You have to trust me with that.” My eyebrow twitched with a mixture of bewilderment and irritation, a snarl curling on my lips. All of this was too much, my knee meeting her face. Crawling onto the living room floor, my legs felt like rubber. If she hit me with another needle of that liquid I would be pregnant within the next few days. At the current level in mine, three months remained before anything had to be done about that. Stumbling out, blood poured from her nose. Struggling to my feet, my shaking fingers opened her fridge to see what I needed. The process had already begun but I could delay it for a while. Pulling out a needle full of a milky liquid, she cried out as I jammed it into my thigh.
“I am not ready for that quite yet, Miss hunter!” I shouted vehemently, fuming darkly on the stool. “How can I know that you aren’t the serial killer?” Pausing in her spot, her slender hands jammed her nose back into place. Wiping the blood out from underneath her nose, she sat down across from me. Chuckling softly to herself, her fingers drummed on the stainless steel counter top.
“They killed my sister and her family a couple of weeks ago. I have nothing to gain from this.” She informed me briskly, holding her stomach. “I am the neighborhood watch and I can’t stand that someone is slicing their way through our little piece of paradise. Revenge is in my plan but now I have to be careful.” Seeing things through her point of view, the fact that she sped up my natural reproductive cycle ticked me off.
“I figured I might kick start things for your body. The sooner you get pregnant the happier Stanley will be. I always catch him watching the families walking by with a longing look. I am only doing it because he doesn’t suck up to me which makes him my favorite stranger.” She expressed with her real smile, pointing to me. “You are a purebred vampire. Such luck should be blessed in your eyes. You can give birth without dying. I met you once when my old man came to talk to you in your jail cell. I don’t know if you don’t remember him but his name is Father Rowell.” All of my breath escaped my lungs at the mention of his name, my mind flicking through the memories of every person who had visited me. Come to think of it, a redheaded woman did accompany a priest that one time. How did I not make the connection? Laying my head on the table, several women ran in. My eyebrow twitched, the perfectly dressed woman interrupted our conversation. A sea of blonde haired women shoved me aside, a couple of them shooting daggers from their eyes. Stepping back, Susie tugged me close to her. A bout of nausea wracked me, the combination of the potion she had injected with me mixed poorly with my sudden social anxiety. Dropping a tray into my palm, her gentle touch dragged me to the four ivory walls she called her living room. A brown leather set reminded me of my cell, the tray crashing to the floor. Glass shattered everywhere, my immediate response was to run. Apologizing profusely, I bolted out the door. Ignoring their looks, I ripped off my boots. Sprinting down the street, a masked individual slammed into me. Crashing to the ground, the pavement felt cool against my face. Still weak from earlier, I couldn’t just fight them off like normal. Quivering on the pavement, a disguised voice sent chills up my spine.
“Goodnight, my dear!” The robotic voice laughed evilly, a knife slamming into my body repeatedly.” Copper poisoned my taste buds, the person whistling. A rusting van pulled up, the license plate number 568 4325 stuck into my memory while my blood pooled underneath me. Tossing me into the van, Stanton barely made it onto the street. Locking the door behind me, I leaned against the wall. Pulling out my silenced phone, my vision blurred as I turned on my location. Hiding my phone behind a dusty box, a darkness swallowed me alive.
Jerking awake once more, this trend had to stop. Groaning in pain, a yellow light swung over my head, a rough rope cut into my wrists. Struggling only made the knot tighter, the killers having to be boat owners, hunters or some sort of boy scout. Glancing around, no weapons lay around. Talk about being professional. Muffled yelling stole my attention, a filthy redhead tugged on chains against the wall. Two small children hugged her side tightly, silent tears staining their cheeks. One, a pair of worn steel toe boots came into view. Two, the other shoe appeared. Three, his masked face poked around the corner. Four, Five, Six, one of the killers were at the bottom of the stairs. Seven, he towered over me at six foot seven. Lifting up his mask, relief crashed over me at the sight of an anxious Stanton. Seconds from cutting her rope, the boss stomped down the stairs. Pulling his mask down, the boss cleared his throat.
“Cut off her fingers until she talks about how she found us.” He demanded via a thick distorted voice. “Never mind, give me the knife.” Snatching it from Stanton, he could only watch with horror as the man held my finger straight. Three red dots blinked in the corner of my eyes, the operation making sense. This asshole was running a torture to murder show, a lump forming in my throat.
“Thank you for your payment of a million dollars. We shall gut her like a deer.” He mused darkly, tracing the knife along my flat stomach. “Then I will play with the guts to please you.” A scream burst from my lips the moment the blade glided across my stomach. Fighting the urge to vomit, my steaming guts poured out onto my lap. Playing with my intestines, the money began to pour in. Choking on the blood building up in my throat, a hack sent it all over his mask. The questions were sick, a clammy sweat drenching my skin.
“We have a vampire.” He announced with wicked laughter, my heart sinking in my chest. “This is going to be fun.” Stanton held his composure, the back of the metal chair bending underneath his grip. The heat potion kicked in, one accidental touch clouding up my mind for a moment. Bending down to my level, his next words sent chills up my spine.
“The boys are coming. We have to keep him occupied for about thirty minutes.” He growled through gritted teeth, the man asking him to run the computers. Touching my shoulder one last time, the chair squealed the moment he sank down into the chair. Shoving a slender flash drive into the USB hole, he was gathering the IP addresses. Shoving my guts back in, childlike wonder brightened the killer’s tone at my wound sealing shut. Susie’s sister held her hands over her kid’s eyes, the knife sliding in and out of me. The wet noise did little to help me, the potion making my stomach churn worse than normal. The money kept pouring in, the welcome sound of chaos woke me up from my sickly state. The agents from before piled down the stairs, Stanton ripping off his mask. Cutting the rope, his touch made me jump a couple of feet into the air. Popping to my feet, every footfall echoed in the concrete cell. Assisting Susie’s sister, her arms embraced me desperately. Every emotion soaked my shoulder, another touch from Stanton resulted in a tender blush on my cheeks. Shooting me a thumbs up, his lips brushed against the top of my head. Helping the woman to her feet, Stanton scooped up the children. Bright flashes blinded me, the news crew attempting to speak to us. Climbing into a tinted SUV, the children bounced into their mother’s arm. Fishing around a bag, he held out packages of cheddar crackers. The boys accepted them graciously, the car heading towards the hospital. The door ripped open, nurses ushering the family inside. Scanning me up and down, Stanton held me by my hips. Sniffing me real quick, fear flashed on his face. Not having time, Susie smashed into me. Desperate tears flooded from her cheeks, her quaking hands cupping my face. A deep crimson painted my cheeks, a newfound respect for me glowed in her eyes.
“Thank you so much for saving them. I don’t know how I could ever thank y-” She blubbered uncontrollably, my hand raising to stop her. Smiling brightly in her direction, this reaction made it all worth it. My lips parted to speak, a nurse dragging her off before I could explain myself. Stanton dragged me back to the car, a snarl twitching on his lips. Slamming me down into my seat, the partition hummed its way up.
“Your heat is supposed to be for another year! Why do you smell like you are three months away?” He demanded hotly, the crack of my hand meeting his cheeks stunning the both of us. How dare he ask after not talking about last night! Clenching my fists into a ball, I turned my back.
“You haven’t talked about last night. We had fun and you acted like nothing happened!” I blurted out venomously, happy to have it off of my chest. “You already forced me into a marriage, and now you want me to ignore what happened last night. Fuck you. I had fun but here you are. Was it that bad? Susie sped me up so we could be pregnant around the same fucking time. Did you know she used to be a hunter? She opened right up to me. In fact she knew me.” Spinning me around to face him, an apologetic smile dimmed his features. A piece of hair fell in front of his left eye, his hands rubbing my shoulder.
“I can’t tell you why that all scares me.” He mumbled under his breath, sliding me a large emerald box. “You need to get changed into your uniform to enter the facility.” Peeling off my destroyed dress, his eyes couldn’t leave the angry scars covering my body. Flipping the box open, I pulled out a lightly armored leather number. Tugging it over my head, the onyx leather covered my arms. Hiding my bloody hands underneath the bell sleeves, the deep v-neck showed off my ample breasts. Sitting back in the seat, the A-line skirt floated away from my body. Scooting closer to me, he offered me his neck. Sinking my fangs into his tender flesh, every gulp revived my health. Curling my arms around his neck, he drank away. This time a wave of euphoria crashed over me, a long sigh pouring from my lips. Unable to stop, fright rounded my eyes the moment his hand curled around my neck. A muffled protest stopped him, an oppressive silence hung between us. The car skidded to a halt, an impressive navy marble building towered over us. Helping me out, the numb look on his face scared the shit out of me. Marching in aggressively, the way he was acting reminded me of the first time I met Father Powell. Hugging him from behind, his muscles relaxed.
“We all lose control at times.” I assured him lovingly, the tone taking over my voice for the first time. “If I can gain control, you can do it.” Cupping my trembling hands, an agent was attempting to remember the plate number. Typing it in for them with my free hand, a grateful expression met my exhausted face. My legs gave out, Stanton placing me on his back. Ignoring the jeering whispers, the rumors spread within minutes. Bursting into the interrogation room, a shaggy haired man with angry dark eyes watched him set me down in the chair across from him. An unkempt beard danced with every growl in his throat, his scarred face informing me of a rough life.
“I am not the only one in this plot. Do you remember that serial killer club on the news a couple of years ago? I am the bottom tier.” He bragged gleefully, the sweet smell of poison wafting from his mouth. “We must all die with honor.” His heart beat one last time, Stanton calling for help. Help wouldn’t come soon enough, this was a magical poison. Dragging him out of the room, I climbed into the driver’s seat. A skill I had learned the moment cars had been invented, the modern car proving far easier to drive than those things. Stanton hopped into the passenger seat, my fingers typing in an address into the GPS. Driving for too long, the brakes squealed to a halt in front of a bustling night club. Taking off his tie, the poor thing floated to the back. Roughing up his suit, he protested as I messed up his hair. Letting my hair down, a familiar face had to be spoken to. Sauntering up the door, the bouncer let us both in. Loud music worsened my migraine, a scantily clad blond guided us up to the office. Opening the door, my fingers curled around the neck of my old friend. Pinning him to the wall, his scarlet curls bounced around. Ruby eyes glowered back at me, his garish velvet suit irritating me further.
“Who are you selling your poison to, you fucking idiot?” I interrogated him intensely, Stanton yelling at me to calm down. “I know what you sold to Susie. That I can let go but sell some sort of poison to a serial killer after school club! You are playing with fire.” Cocking his brows, he slammed his knee into my chest. Every rib shattered upon impact, all the breath leaving my body. Coughing on the floor, he picked me up by my hair.
“I refuse to let a runt like you run my life. I sell my magical drugs and that is that.” He snapped hotly, my bones fusing back together. “I don’t know or care what they do with them.” Wicked laughter rumbled in my throat, the heel of my bare feet slamming into his jaw. Raw energy built around my fist, his bones shattered upon the impact of my fist. Sliding down the wall, my bruising fingers picked him up by his collar.
“I don’t care that you make drugs. That isn’t my department but when they are used for suicide I have an issue. Who ordered it!” I screamed furiously, a glob of spit landing on my face. “Just answer the fucking question. I will break every bone in your body. You still owe me for you selling me out. I fucking let you keep the reward money.” Clicking his bones back into place, he struggled to his feet. Unlocking his cabinet, he pulled out an ancient ledger. Dropping it into my palms, he sulked to his desk.
“Take it. I have to start another one anyway. I will call you if somebody uber weird pops up.” He commented kindly, pulling out a new one. “Don’t charge me, ‘kay. I provide loads of hunger suppressants for the monsters in the area. I also help monsters get pregnant faster. The poison was only meant to be sold for someone who was going to die. You know that I can see reapers as well as you can. Watch your temper with that heat potion coursing through you. Your powers are going to be a little wacky for a bit.” Mouthing a silent thanks, a triumphant grin spread cheek to cheek. Walking through the club, another discussion had to be had once we got into the car. Climbing in, dread bubbled in my gut.
“Give up why you were in prison.” I demanded sternly, leaning on the steering wheel. “Don’t lie. I can sniff that shit out.” Tears welled up in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. Storm clouds rumbled to life, heavy raindrops crashed to the top of the vehicle.
“You weren’t my first partner.” He uttered bitterly, chewing on his lips. “I had a romantic relationship with her and she turned out to be the serial killer. The bodies piled up behind me, and I didn’t even know. We were incredibly intimate. She lied with the biggest smile on her face. I enjoyed our evening together and that you only drank from the serial killers to survive. She was what the agency calls a binge eater. Devouring person after person and I was the one to put her down. The difference was that I didn’t love her like I love you.” Covering his mouth, a further explanation needed to be heard.
“What do you mean by love me?” I asked politely, attempting not to lose my cool while pulling into a Cally’s. “Don’t lie to me. I have been through enough hell today.” Refusing to look in my direction, my hands cupped his face. Gritting his teeth, his hands cupped mine.
“I observed you for months and fell in love with the way you helped the prison when you could. I loved it when you would spend weeks buried into an inhumanly huge pile of books.” He choked out awkwardly, fresh tears flowing from his eyes. “I sound like a creepy stalker but I needed to make you my mate from the instant you met me.” Nodding my head, my lips kissed his hungrily. Scarlet colored his cheeks, his hands falling to my flat stomach.
“I love you too.” I choked out just as awkwardly, hoping not to upset him further. “Watch this book, I will be right back.” Swiping his wallet, I ran into the department store. Ignoring the bright lights and horrid smells, I paused in the baby section. Closing my eyes, the sweet sound of my mother singing an Irish lullaby soothed my nerves. Snapping awake, a tiny girl had crashed into my legs. Instead of crying out in fear, she began to giggle.
“You are so pretty.” She sang adorably, her horrified mother scooping her up and running away. Getting a couple of packages of toy cars and a beautiful bouquet of white roses, hurt dimmed my eyes at the cashier watching me in pure terror. Paying for the items, silent tears stained my cheeks. Not saying a word, I punched in the address for the hospital. Cursing to myself, we were four hours away. Setting the stuff in the back, I chose to turn on the radio to drown out the chaos in my mind. Sobbing the whole way back, this world was no different. The only thing missing was the torches that had hunted my mother down. Getting there in record time, I ditched my partner to catch up to me later. Stopping at the desk, the nurse didn’t show the same fear as the people in the store. Tucking a loose piece of caramel hair behind her ears, her gray eyes twinkling with joy.
“Thank you for bringing them in.” She returned with a genuine smile, pointing to the last room down the hall. “Visiting hours are over. Surely, they want to see their hero. I will pretend I looked the other way.” Winking in my direction, she turned her back to me. Running to their room, an exhausted Susie lay on her sister’s bed. The children perked up at me, smashing into my legs. Crouching down at their level, I presented the packages of cars. Pecking my cheeks, they ran off to go play with them. Rising to my feet, I presented her with the flowers.
“How does your sister like her coffee?” I inquired with my genuine smile, the mother’s expression softening into a gracious smile. My lips parted to speak, the woman’s head shaking. Coughing a bit, blood covered her hand. Seconds from pushing the nurse button, her raspy voice stole my attention. Stanton hovered in the door, the mother’s heart monitor going nuts. Looking closer, a bony hand rested on her shoulder. Following the arm, a reaper held her shoulder. Death had come to her, the option not working for me.
“Is there anything I can give you in return?” I begged with my palms pressed together, knowing that those kiddos needed their mother. “How about this?” Snapping my fingers, my stolen reaper’s scythe rested in my palms. Snatching it from me, the cold hand curled around my neck. Gasping for air, his yellowed skull hovered inches from my face. Biting down on my arm, he gulped down enough to figure out who I was.
“I recognize your stupid face.” A chilly voice thundered evilly, the other finger playing with my hair. “You vampires are the bane of my existence. I can’t take your souls when there's none to take. I will spare her this one time but she will have to go next time regardless of what you have.” Dropping me to the floor, he was gone. Coughing up a storm, one of the kids hit the button. A look of horror dawned on his face, his tiny body smashing into my legs. Crouching down to his level, he shivered in my arms.
“Was that a reaper?” He stuttered brokenly, my head nodding. “Will they ever hurt me?” His tight red curls tickled my face, the other twin watching from a distance. Their emerald green eyes watched me as the nurse brushed past me.
“No, they won’t.” I promised them warmly, taking him to the waiting room. “Let’s go play while they take care of your mom, ‘kay.” Susie snapped awake, picking up her other nephew. Crashing into the nearest chairs, they played with their cars. Susie rested her head on my shoulder, snores echoing in my ear. Letting her sleep, I was thankful for my current life.

My baby is great at sleeping from 8pm to 630am. But, getting her down to sleep is tricky. I kinda use a Ferber ish method.
We have a routine of bath, book, brush teeth. Then, I hold her for 8 minutes and put her in her crib. She’ll sometimes still be a bit awake but then dozes off or she will have her eyes closed.
But, some nights her eyes are open and I put her down, but then she screams 5 min later.
Then I wait 12-15 min (depends if she sounds super angry) and pick her up again for 8 min until she is calm and not sniffing. Then put her down again.
Some nights she will stop crying after 5-10 min and put herself back to sleep.
I don’t want to baby her and I want her to self sooth. I hear her wake in the night sometimes but she doesn’t cry and she puts herself back to sleep.
I also would like to not hold her for 8 minutes. Was thinking to try to decrease hold times but she is too awake.
If I put her down with her eyes open she cries immediately and it gets worse and angry. The cry it out method does not work with her.
Any thoughts?

Hello, I'm Christina and something to know about me is that I’ve been working to become the best version of myself for my son since he was born really, but really got serious about it when I decided to get sober. I’ve been consistently working at it for about 5 years now. My son is 7, and here comes my old story full of my old wounds if never feeling good enough. In general I’ve struggled with this feeling, but parenthood has its unique way of surfacing all of my deepest darkest habits. Lately I’ve noticed I’m cold towards my son. I feel annoyed that he wants to show me things all the time. I posted in a Reddit forum and received amazing support and insight. Basically when I was 7 my mom abandoned me, officially, and I became a little grown up. I think I’ve unconsciously been expecting my baby boy to do the same. I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to be cold towards him, which is why I’m here. Once I become aware of my coldness I’m able to break it by becoming present and making a conscious effort to show him love and attention when he asks for it. That being said, I’m good as of now, but I’m nervous I’ll slip back into my old habits of saying “I see you” and never meeting him w excitement. I know I have a hard time experiencing joy and pleasure, and enjoying the good things in life. I’ve done enough therapy to realize I need to put it into practice and just start feeling happy about life. But I guess my traumas still get the best of me, as I feel safest when I’m sad. I understand the body’s resistance to change to I understand why I feel the way I do. Perhaps I’m having a hard time letting go of the wounded part of myself, as she’s kept me safe for all this time. I know I would benefit from saying my farewell to her and owning who I am now, a strong and empowered wise woman. All that being said, what’s your morning routine look like? I now have a 4 mo son and my 7 yo son. Give me the details. I need a good routine to keep me grounded.

Graphic description of bleeding below.
So I started hemorrhaging at work 10 days after my CKC with D&C. I’m talking geyser. It was like post birth level terrifying bleeding. Went to the ER x2. The second time they put monsels solution on my cervix but saw no active bleeding. They said my HGB dropped one point in 1 day. But it’s still well in normal range. I saw my Gyno and she did silver nitrate. If I stay in bed and lay down the bleeding stops eventually. I can’t live my life like that though. I have to work. I’m a single mom of a four year old. So… what do I do? What’s going on? My doctor says I can return to work in 1 week. That will be a little over two week post op. Why am I bleeding like this? Do I really have to bleed to a point of needing a transfusion for anyone to care? Also my OB is retiring at the end of the month. When I bleed like that I can’t even walk without pouring blood out of an adult diaper and onto the floor. Sorry if this is graphic. It’s literally like turning on a tap. I’m scared to use the restroom. I’m scared every time I have to walk to the sink to wash a dish so I can drink water. I’m scared to bathe. Help.

I have successfully made a MCT based tincture. I didn't care for the oily feeling. I have been using my d8 distillate in butter and baking cookies etc. I am so burnt out on baked goods lol so I saw a TikTok of someone dropping an alcohol based tincture on store bought gummies and wanted to give it a try. I used a few different articles/calculators but I'm not sure if I did it right.
I was trying to make an extremely potent tincture ao each candy would only need a few drops.
I used 35ml of everclear and 9g of distillate.
According to an online calculator and my own rough math I thought each drop would be about 10 mg so each full dropper would be about 200mg (ish)
It all mixed up great. I melted my distillate in my silicone double boiler and had the everclear in a small bottle that was sitting in a hot bath. Once the disty was melted and the everclear was warm I mixed them together in the silicone bowl for a few minutes then funneled it back into the small bottle.
According to the video I watched I would just need to drop my desired amount onto the gummies and let it evaporate.
I probably let them sit out about 1.5 hours they no longer looked or felt wet. I put them in a zippy.
Tried them for the first time last night and felt minimal buzz. I ate 2 pieces of candy that I had dropped 5 drops on each so I thought it would be roughly 100mg. I usually eat anywhere between 100-200mg. Very little buzz. I got a body high but that was it.
Did I do something wrong? Is my tincture just trash now? Maybe didn't mix it long enough? Didn't let it sit out on the gummies long enough to evaporate before bagging them up?
I ate 3 pieces of candy before writing this so I'll post an update later. In the meantime Any advice/suggestions would be helpful. I don't want the 9g I used in it to go to waste!
Thanks! ❤️

This reminds me how much I hate Grandpa Joe.
He spends 20 years in bed. 20 years.. Why won’t he get out of bed? Because the fucking floor was too cold for his gnarled old feet. He sat on his wrinkled, smelly ass for two decades, smoking his pipe, living off his daughter’s hard work as a laundry wench. He just sat there, undoubtedly smelling of foul cabbage farts and old man stink. If he didn’t get out of bed, he probably had to use a bed pan to expel his watery cabbage shits. Charlie’s mom gets done washing Rich people’s shit-stained underwear for 14 hours, and what does she get to do? Sponge bathe an old, stinking man. The fucker couldn’t have even been old when he first got in bed. I mean, what did he do? Turn 50 and just crawl into bed and fucking quit on life? Because his FEET WERE COLD?
Keep that all in mind, when you consider how he reacts to his grandson winning a tour of a chocolate factory. He sees this precious boy, who works to feed his aged ass, holding a golden ticket, and he starts to FUCKING DANCE AND CLICK HIS HEELS.
Now, left to his own devices, Charlie just wins the factory, incident free. Those other little monsters all bite the dust, and but for that sack of fucking feces Grandpa Joe, Charlie would have made it through the day clean as a whistle.
But no. Grandpa Joe just got out of bed for the first time in Charlie’s lifetime. What’s he decide to do? Steal. He decides the best thing he can do is make his grandson into a petty fucking thief for the sake of drinking magic La Croix.
Grandpa Joe almost cost Charlie fabulous wealth and security for a soda. And he isn’t even sorry about it. Wonka points out the devastation his detour from the visit to the factory will cost him, and Grandpa Joe shouts at him. His bellowing isn’t even forceful or intimidating. His cries are the cries of a shriveled, weak old coward. He has no remorse for the harm he causes anyone. He is a heartless piece of shit sociopath. He does that disgusting thing old people do where they leave their mouth open for too long and then frown because they ran out of energy before they could bitch and moan about something that doesn’t matter. He is a lazy, fraudulent sack of human excrement. He is the devil on his grandson’s shoulder.
He deserves to burn in hell for the rest of eternity.

i cried so hard at work today i got sent home
the boy i’ve been binging with for the last two weeks has plans that don’t involve me today
i don’t want him to know i’m bothered but i want him so bad
i ran through all of my savings
i’m in bed by myself trembling i cant keep drinking today
i’ll take a gabapentin and ride it out i guess but every bone in my body wants to self harm so bad right now
i’m so fucking suicidal
i wana go back to normal how help :(

My husband and I split up Decmber 2nd 2020. We had just become really good friends, nothing more for years and I called it a day. Only we have struggled to move on as we had no money to. 2 years on, we were still living together when I became sick. I need a transplant and he is going through the process of getting tested, as well as my family to see who is the best match. We have children together. He is a great man, and a great father. I love and care for him but only as my childrens father. I would do anything I could to help him & do so when I can.
Over these years, I had made it clear we needed to move on from each other at some point. He would tell me he would unalive himself. I then began to feel quite trapped in the relationship. For a number of years he has seemed miserable, angry and frustrated. I believe he's depressed and have tried to help him but there's been no change, hence the eventual breakdown of our marriage.
Since I've been ill he has had to take on a larger role. I understand its difficult and frustrating, and sometimes I feel he thinks I'm exaggerating how bad I feel. I've had to do stuff before I'm ready leading me to feeling weak, shaky and sick.
I've also found him making sparky comments at me which he's never done so I've assumed he may have met a girl. I then saw some messages pop up on his phone from a young woman who i know works with him- didn't read them, not my business. I then was in the bath and asked him if he could measure the curtains for me at some point in the week and I heard him hit something downstairs and shout 'doing my F***ing head in'. So I asked if he meant me? And then I told him to leave or see his girlfriend to which he denied.
One of our kids is also ADHD, and hardworking. He is violent and hyperactive and I cant deal with him on my own in the evenings anymore when my husband works. I'm too ill too handle him. I've asked my husband to change his hours at work so he can be here to help in the evenings and he's ignored me 3 times, which means he doesn't want to do that.
I don't know what to do. He is potentially going to save my life and I'm very grateful, but at the same time, I'm sick and need more help and feel so rude and selfish for expecting more from him, but also back to feeling trapped in this relationship. Any advice would be much appreciated.
Tldr- Husband is being tested to see if he can donate an organ to me. Our son has ADHD and I cant cope with him on the evenings when husband works. Husband is ignoring my requests to change his hours so he works days and can be home so we can handle son together. I am too sick to do it alone and son is often violent to other children.

When you're rich enough, you get perks you can only dream of. Literally. But somehow, my paradise turned into hell.
And now I'm paranoid.
Have you ever had a dream so amazing, you wished you could relive it? Explore it? Relish it? Well, when you're rich enough, you don't have to wish. It's a reality thanks to dream banks. You may have heard of them and their pricy services, which include recording, saving, and projecting dreams.
For example, if you'd like a dream recorded, you can book one of their luxurious suites for the night, where the dream techs will fit you with a special helmet, offer you a sleep-friendly snack, and leave you to rest. The next morning, they'll replay the recorded dream for you via the helmet and ask if you want to shell out the extra bucks to save it. If you don't, they'll delete it and you can pay to book for another time to try again.
If you do decide to save it, you must select an item within the dream that will act as the exit key. (This will come in handy during projections.) While still wearing the helmet, you must touch the item, and the dream techs will label those electric signals as the key.
Afterwards, everything is saved under your name, and you can now relive your dream at any time by booking a suite for three, five, or eight hours. Unlike recordings, during projections, you don't have to wait for sleep to come. After you enjoy a snack of your choice, the helmet is fitted and you're immediately transported to your dream, where you have free will and can enjoy it at your leisure. And if you ever need to leave early, this is when you touch the key, which will shut down the helmet right away.
In my case, the key is the stegosaurus leather rug I have hanging on the wall of my throne room. I never have a reason to touch it otherwise, making it a perfect key. I've also never had to touch it. Experiencing life as an all-powerful, worshipped being who lives on my own planet and hunts dinosaurs in my spare time, I relished my dream to the last second.
Yes, the fees are exorbitant, but at the time, I felt it was worth it. The techs were skilled, the system was sleek, and the dreams were private. Each could only be unlocked by the unique brainwaves of the dreamer.
Or so I thought.
My literal nightmare began when I booked a five-hour projection on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. After taking a sip of champagne to wash down the cranberry brie bites, I settled into the cool silk sheets with a smile. My usual dream tech smiled back as she fastened my helmet, and the last thing I heard was her wishing me pleasant dreams before I was plunged into darkness.
I waited for the split-second adjustment from reality to the dream world, and my confusion grew when I didn't find myself on my throne surrounded by fawning gods and goddesses.
Instead, I found myself in the middle of an endless street. Alone. There were no cars, no life, not even wind. Towering street lamps lined the sidewalk as far as I could see, arcing over the road and tinting everything an eerie red. Behind them, identical buildings stood side by side, silent, their dark, narrow windows hollow.
My pulse spiking, I whipped around. The other direction was just as endless. Uneasy confusion prickled beneath my skin. This had to be someone else's dream. The techs must have made a mistake. I didn't know how it was possible, but there was no other explanation.
My unease piqued as my situation sank in. I was in a stranger's dream and I didn't know the key. I was stuck here until my five hours ran out. Or until the techs realized their mistake. I was ready to rip them a new one once I was out, but until then, I had no choice but to wait.
I studied my surroundings with a frown before I walked over to the curb and sat down, and that was when I noticed I couldn't feel anything. I also noticed I was naked. It didn't matter. There was no one here, and none of this was real anyway.
Time passed, and I tried to distract myself from my nettled offense by humming, but no sound came out. Sitting up, I took a deep breath and screamed. Not even a squeak was heard. I slapped my hand against the ground. Nothing. This place was like a black hole of the senses.
Sighing, I lay down on my back and stared at the red light above me, wondering if I could fall asleep in a dream. I tried, but the more I wished to escape this silent, crimson prison, the more it seemed to come into focus. Soon, the utter lack of noise and movement grew from slightly unnerving to completely intolerable.
There was no way I could wait. I'd go insane. I had to get out of here. I had to find the key.
Jumping up, I ran to the nearest building and wrenched open the door, and a pitch black void greeted me. I gasped, and gasped again as it felt like my very breath was being suctioned out of my lungs. Panicking, silent wheezes rattled in my chest as I struggled to yank myself out of the vacuum, jerking my limbs and bucking my body until I toppled over backwards on the sidewalk.
Gulping in fitful breaths, I scrambled to my feet and ran down the road without looking back, my wide eyes scanning the horizon for salvation. I just wanted out of here, but the hellish path stretched on forever, making me feel like I was running in place as every identical building and street lamp mocked me. Even my silent stomping and mute panting served to draw insanity closer.
And then, a person showed up.
There, in the distance.
With my hope spurred, I raced towards them, desperate. I didn't care who they were. I needed to break this monotony.
As I got closer, hope morphed to confusion, and then to despair. The person was me. It was a mirror, propped up across the entire street.
Sweat-soaked, I slowed down to a jog before I stopped right in front of my reflection. It was me alright, naked, exhausted, and frustrated. But the eyes, something was off about the eyes. With an anxious frown, I stepped closer, staring into them, and they stared back …
… until they glanced behind me.
I gasped and jumped away, and so did my reflection … before it glanced over my shoulder again.
A chill trickled down my spine. My reflection had nothing behind it but the empty street, so I gulped and turned around, and my mouth fell open in a silent scream as a lovecraftian behemoth barrelled its way towards me. With its slick shell gleaming red beneath the lights, it slammed down one spiny tentacle after the other as its five mouths bared their dripping, concentric fangs.
Drenched in undiluted horror, tremors gripped my body as I stumbled away until my back was against the mirror. I knew death was a foolproof key in a dream, but I didn't know if this creature would kill me right away or leave me to suffer in agony until my five hours were up.
With it only inches away, I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed myself into the mirror, and my stomach flipped as I fell backwards. I opened my mouth to gasp, but there was nothing for me to draw in. Floating in an airless void, I flailed and thrashed, my wild eyes scanning the darkness for answers as I began to spin around.
Although death would free me, one of my greatest fears was suffocating. On one of my weightless rotations, a red, glass cube passed me by, and I grabbed it, hoping it was a breathing device. I brought it close to my face, and I gawked at what it held within.
Me.
Surrounded by identical buildings and red street lamps while a lovecraftian behemoth tore me apart.
Horrified, I threw the cube as far as I could and increased my efforts to escape this void. Yet all the flailing and thrashing was for naught as the darkness revealed no end. My eyesight began to go red as my lungs spasmed, and I clawed at my throat as my pulse stuttered in my chest.
The red kept growing and growing until it engulfed my entire vision, and I gave up. There was nothing to do but face my fears and die. With my straining heart lumbering, I let myself go limp as I stared at the red and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I wasn't dying.
In fact, I could breathe just fine.
Frowning, I opened my eyes, and intense unease spread through my core. Above me, a red moon had taken up the entire sky, each one of its craters crystal clear, like eyes watching me. I turned my head away, and I realized I was in a park, laying down on the grass. Sitting up, I blinked in surprise at the pond right beside me, its opaque water reflecting the moon's red light. Ducks were swimming in a circle across its surface, their movements smooth with nary a splash.
Trees surrounded us, so dense I couldn't tell when one began and the other ended. It was mind-numbingly quiet here as well, and I still couldn't feel anything or make any noise, but at least the ducks were moving. This place seemed more tolerable than the last, and I was willing to wait out my five hours here. I hoped at least an hour had passed already, but with dreams, one never knew. All I knew was that I was too exhausted to search for the key. And too scared. I didn't know whose dream this was, but they had to be masochistic if they saved this nightmare.
Curling up beside the pond, I worked on calming myself down as I watched the ducks swim in their systematic circle over and over and over. I tried counting the rotations the way one would count sheep, but that still didn't lull me to sleep. I wished I'd chosen the three-hour projection, but at least I hadn't chosen the eight-hour one.
Distorted circus music crackled around me and I jolted up, my heart ricocheting in my chest. There was finally sound, but the last thing I wanted to hear was a cliche horror movie soundtrack. Gulping, I looked around. The music was coming from the trees, and my stomach dropped when I spied a shadow behind one of them. Then another. And another. They emerged into the crimson moonlight, and my blood turned to ice.
Clowns.
I whipped around, trembling to the rhythm of my frantic pulse. They were surrounding me. Dozens of them. As classic as any clown could be. Colorful clothes, big shoes, silly hair, exaggerated makeup. I wasn't scared of clowns, as long as they were where they belonged. And they didn't belong here, staring at me with empty eyes and toothy grins.
I tried to convince myself that they weren't dangerous since they didn't have weapons and didn't seem monstrous, but when they took a step closer in unison, I jumped back, nearly falling into the pond. The ducks remained oblivious, still swimming in their circle. The distorted circus music got louder, and my hair stood on end when I saw the grass ripple in front of each clown. They were sending something my way through the ground.
Panicking, I jumped into the pond, and I screamed as I sank right in. There was no bottom. There was no water either. The pond was filled with red, translucent spheres, each the size of a tennis ball. Still able to breathe, I began swimming through the spheres with clumsy breast strokes, just hoping I could end up as far away from the clowns as possible.
After swimming for what felt like enough time, I tried to swim up, until I realized I had no idea which direction I was facing. Remember a trick for those stuck in avalanches, I spat, but my glob of saliva just hovered in front of me. Before panic could set in, I noticed what looked like an office desk floating amidst the spheres in the distance. After blinking a few times to make sure it was really there, I swam towards it, desperate for any change in my situation.
It was an office desk, a wooden one with carved borders and locked drawers. Tucked beneath it was a stool, and the moment I pulled it out and set it under my ass, an office replaced the red spheres.
I grunted as gravity returned, and I looked around in bewilderment at the cluttered bookshelves and grimy floors. Dust was floating everywhere, highlighted by the red light filtering in through the blinds behind me. I jumped as a clock hanging on the wall chimed. Its glass was too dirty for me to tell the time, but I was glad I could hear. I coughed at the dust. And I could make noise. I dusted my hands. And I could feel. I could even smell, which I now wished I couldn't as I wrinkled my nose at the faint stench of rot.
After failing to read the spines of some of the books on the shelves, I studied the shadowy corners of the room. A slack-jawed skeleton hung in the far end, and a faded poster with anatomical diagrams curled off a cupboard. This had to be a doctor's office. Was the creator of this dream a doctor?
A silhouette slid in front of the frosted glass door, and I gulped as the knob began to turn. A hand reached in, gripping the edge one finger at a time, and my heart dropped as I knew this horror cliche was only going to be followed by another. Having no time to think, I slid off the stool and crouched beneath the desk, my hand over my mouth as cobwebs clung to me.
Praying spiders wouldn't swarm me, I peeked through a small slit in the wood, and I froze when an emaciated nurse walked in the room. Layers upon layers of blood coated her scrubs, so much so that I couldn't even tell what color they originally were. She had no shoes. No feet either. Just ankle stubs, and my stomach turned as I heard bone clunk against the tiles.
A surgical mask covered her face, as bloodstained as her scrubs, and grimy lab goggles obscured her eyes. I was grateful, because judging by the pus leaking out of her scabbed, balding scalp, I didn't want to know what her face looked like. The closer she got, the stronger the stench of rot became, and I struggled to keep myself from retching.
She stopped halfway into the room, and I gawked at her hands. They were transforming. Her fingers elongating into razor-edged blades. She then began to hunch over, and I cringed as her spine cracked and popped until she was as bent as a candy cane, her face staring at her pelvis.
As if that wasn't unsettling enough, her head creaked as it spun around 180 degrees, now facing the front, upside down. Right after, her arms shot to the ground, and I watched with increasing dread as she bent them at the elbows and wrists so they flanked her head like distorted T-Rex arms.
She spread her fingers out and took a few more steps towards me, and I held my breath, hoping she couldn't hear my rabid heart or smell my fear. Her ankle bones clicked and clacked against the tiles as she made her way around the desk, and I cowered as my frantic eyes searched for a weapon. I found none, but I did spy a brass button beside my head.
With her legs now an arms distance away, I had nothing to lose as I jammed my thumb into the button. The back of the desk flung open, and I scrambled to my feet and dashed out from my hiding place, screaming in response to the nurse screeching behind me. Bursting through the door, I held up my fists and began punching like a maniac in fearful anticipation of a horde of nurses swarming me.
Except I was no longer in a hospital. I was in an outdoor parking lot. Alone. And judging by the roiling red clouds, a storm was brewing. After a second to collect my bearings, I dove into the closest car, thankful it was unlocked. The moment I slammed the door shut, lightning blinded me as thunder cracked and the downpour began. Sighing in relief, I tried to shake away my adrenaline, but the bloodshot eyes in my rearview mirror reignited my panic.
Before I could react, a belt snapped over my neck, pinning my head back against the headrest. With a frightened wheeze, I clawed at the leather, and I flinched as hot, heavy breath wafted across my ear. Gagging at the putrid smell, I reached over, desperate to scratch my strangler's face or poke their eyes out.
I felt their hair and tried to pull it, but my fingers refused to hold on. I tried again and again, but the strands just kept slipping out of my weak grip. Shifting focus, I tried to claw at their eyes, but it felt as though I was moving through molasses as my hand slid down their face. Even when I felt a wet, bulbous eye, I didn't have enough strength to do anything.
My frustration clashed with my terror and I tried to punch them, but my arm swung back in slow motion and merely prodded a stubbly cheek. Tears welled in my eyes as I writhed and gasped, my strangler's laugh adding insult to injury. Despite knowing death will set me free, fear and self-preservation rummaged through my mind, searching for a solution. And they found one.
Hoping I had enough grip and energy, I reached down and found the reclining lever. Wrapping my fingers around it tight, I jerked it up and heaved my body back, and I gulped in a deep breath as I fell backwards, the belt now slack. Not at all prepared to face my attacker, I slipped out from beneath the belt, flung open the door, and zoomed out into the storm.
Sheets of rain obscured my vision, but not enough for me to see that the keys were left inside a red convertible. After making sure no one was hiding in the back, I jumped in, started the engine, and took off, the wheels squealing through the puddles. A sole street curled down a hill, and I took it, adrenaline pumping in waves through my quivering body.
This rush was a confusing mixture of exhilaration and apprehension. I wanted out, but I wasn't giving up. I made it this far, and I was going to survive every cliche this masochist dreamed up. Spiders? Snakes? Zombies? Bring it on. And afterwards, I was going to detail every single trial and tribulation I went through as I sued the dream bank for all the trauma they caused me.
Up ahead, the road curved, and I gasped as it ended in a cliff. I slammed the breaks, but they didn't do anything. Breaking out in a cold sweat, I slammed them again and again as I yanked the hand break as far as it would go. The car refused to slow down, and I cursed myself for not anticipating this cliche. In a move of desperation, I swerved, but it wasn't enough as the car careened over the edge and took me with it.
My heart hung in my throat as I hung on to the steering wheel, my knuckles white, my screams frozen in my lungs, the raindrops like needles. An endless body of water spread below me, and I knew sharks were my next challenge. I screwed my eyes shut as I awaited the inevitable plunge …
… and I gasped as a gentle hand woke me up.
I sat up, my pyjamas plastered to my damp skin, the silk sheets soaked. The tech gave me a sympathetic smile and asked me if I wanted to review the dream or if I wanted to delete it right away, since she could sense it was a nightmare.
I stared at her in furious disbelief as I yelled and cursed, accusing them of misconduct, and she gave me a confused frown. She said I had booked a recording session, not a projection one. After I called her a liar, management got involved, and they showed me my file with proof that I'd booked and paid for a recording session.
I told them they must have mistakenly charged me for a recording session, but I was one hundred percent sure I went through a projection session. I asked for five hours on a Tuesday afternoon. Not eight hours on a Tuesday evening. I had champagne and cranberry brie bites, not chamomile and honey-glazed almonds.
Their concern increased as they told me I was wrong. They said it was Wednesday, I'd slept the entire night, and they had my recorded dream to prove it. I demanded to skim through it, and they obliged. There it was, every scene of that nightmare. But it wasn't mine. It couldn't be. Could it? I hated scary movies. I also rarely had nightmares unless it involved me going broke. Why would I dream of an amalgamation of every horror cliche?
For a second, I was afraid I was still in the dream. This nightmarish scenario would fit right in with the others, taking it to Inception levels. But everything seemed real. I could hear, feel, and speak. No one was growing tentacles or blades. Nothing smelled pungent. Nothing glowed red.
I groaned and buried my face in my hands, confused and uncomfortable. I didn't know what the truth was anymore. One tech reminded me it was impossible for dreams to be projected to anyone but their creator. Another tech gently touched my shoulder and suggested I see a doctor if I continued to get spells of confusion like this. Not knowing how to reply, I paid them to save the nightmare before I got dressed and left.
Back home, I talked to family and friends, nothing seemed suspicious. Nothing seemed ready to kill me. I'm typing here on Reddit, and I'm sure I'll get replies. I'm out of the dream. I'm certain of it. But that leaves two other options.
Either I really did book a recording session and had my own nightmare, in which case I should take the tech's advice and see a doctor because my memory doesn't add up …
… or something sinister is going on at the dream banks, and they're using their clients as guinea pigs. Perhaps they're planning on branching out and creating a mental house of horrors where clients can get a near-realistic experience without fear of death. But why wouldn't they ask for volunteers instead of traumatizing loyal customers?
So I have to ask, have any of you experienced something similar? I know the odds of finding another multimillionaire who frequents dream banks is slim on Reddit, but even one other account can help my case.
SR

Hello there. I am a 20 years old guy from Romania, Europe. Lately I felt lonely and I decided to try my shot here trying to find someone truly special to share my days with. Currently I am working a full time job and I live alone in my own appartment. I am looking for someone to starts things slowly, not rushing it. I would like to talk about our daily routine, work/school, share our days about what happened or how we feel or any random topic we have in our mind. I am open to a long distance relationship. I enjoy videocalls and voicecalls aswell.
Some infos about my personality:
I am an introverted, shy and emotional. As a person I am caring, loving and protective and I give all my attention to the loved ones to make sure they feel good.
My appearance is the next:
Slim body type, 190 cm tall (6'2), 80 kg (176 lbs), blondish hair and blue eyes. I am open to exchange pictures too.
My hobbies and interests include the followings:
- Learning about new cultures and languages. Currently I speak two languages on native level which include Hungarian and Romanian and I would like to learn about other languages and cultures.
- History. My favorite topic of history would be the middle age (Eastern European) and the two World Wars.
- Geography. All the mountains, seas, rivers, lakes which are surrounding us are so beautiful. Since I live in a mountain city I used to hike too on smaller mountains.
- Sports. Mostly I enjoy playing and watching football which I used to practice too before, but now only as a hobby. Other sports which I like are handball and waterpolo.
- Music. I like to listen mostly to everything related to rock music and rap music. But I am open to other music genres too and I would like to hear about your music taste too.
- Gaming. In my free time when I am off from work I play games on my PC on Steam. Maybe we could play some games too together if you are up for it.
- Movies and series. I don't watch them that much, but if it's a good movie or serie I would not turn it down.
- Youtube. I like to watch travelling videos mostly. I like travel videos because one day I would like to travel too around the World if I have the opportunity.
If you are considering to send me a DM, make a small introduction. Mostly I use Discord to chat, if you are ok we can move there, but Reddit chat is fine too.

I am 23F 5ft4 62kg history of mental health, IBS, GERD, endometriosis, “flat back syndrome”, chronic tendinitis in wrists. Medication is omeprazole 40mg/day Trazadone 75MG/day 30mg of codeine if I need to I take over the counter stomach relief tablets when I need to. Bit of background, when I was 12 I had shingles(diagnosed by GP) and was quite poorly with it. Diagnosed with depress and anxiety at 13, as I went through puberty and growing up I got increasingly poorly with my stomach and just my body in general. Lots of infections, constantly tired, having unexplained pains, lost 6 stone in the space of 3 years. Going into mid teens I was really struggling mentally and physically. Got diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia. Around 3/4 years ago I was having to use a walking stick to get around. Couldn’t work at all. Last 2 years I had extensive therapy, managed to get into full time employment, my IBS symptoms are more manageable apart from the odd “gallbladder attack” which are being investigated. But I work full time, it’s a fairly physical job but is it normally that every day I’m so exhausted, it’s not just a “oh I’m a bit tired” it’s like I’m so tired I feel like I could collapse? And my body aches, it feels like I’ve been run over by a lorry. If I don’t go to bed at like 8/8:30 before work the next day I just can’t wake up, I can’t move I just feel crippled with pain and exhaustion. I just thought my CFS and fibro was bollocks cause I was miserable but is there something more serious going on or am I just in denial that I am actually chronically unwell.

Could our American friends stream or record and post the 1hr segment being aired this Sunday?
​
This Sunday at 9p/8c News Nation is airing their 1hr special of the interview with David Grusch, the highest ever ranking UFO whistleblower. He claims the USA has recovered and is reverse engineering crashed UFOs. He’s super credible.
​
I’m not in the USA and can’t access the news channel live this Sunday. I was hoping someone might kindly record or stream it so that the rest of the world can see it too! 💕 News Nation has not confirmed if it will post the full special on their YouTube afterwards.
​
If you’re not in the US and are willing to pay $65/m for 3 months you can sign up by following the links on the News Nation website. It’s just too pricy to me for one hour of news.
​
https://www.newsnationnow.com/channel-finde
​
Here is my summary of why this news special is so important (for those who aren’t yet in the loop) ** I might have gotten some minor details a bit wonky, so please correct me if I did.
​
The brief backstory of UFO/UAP disclosure:
The journalists breaking this story are the ones that revealed that the US had a secret UFO program.
The investigative journalists behind this whistleblower story, published on The Debrief, are Leslie Kean and Ralph Blumenthal. Leslie Kean was the one to break the New York Times story after she learned about the USA Pentagon's secret Advanced Aerospace Threat Identification Program (AATIP) from Luis “Lue” Elizondo. Elizondo had at the time recently resigned as the director of (AATIP). So Kean was really the one who brought the topic of UFO/UAP into the mainstream discourse and prompted Congress to ask questions. Congress is basically the elected politicians of the USA if you don’t know.
What happened after the UFO program was revealed?
This led to the creation of (AARO) All-domain Anomaly Resolution Office (part of Office of the Secretary of Defense). AARO is the agency that is investigating UFO/UAP right now. To encourage people to come forward Rep. Mike Gallagher, a Republican Congressman, has introduced an amendment, in 2022, to the Defense Authorization Act to offer new protection for UFO whistleblowers. This meant that people working in top secret programs were allowed to come forward with information without reprisal.
Who is this new highly credible whistleblower?
Then comes David Grusch, an Air Force veteran and former intelligence official. He worked for National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA) and the National Reconnaissance Office (NRO). He had such high clearance that he was entrusted to transport daily presidential briefings to the white house. He also served as the reconnaissance office’s representative to the Unidentified Aerial Phenomena Task Force from 2019-2021. From late 2021 to July 2022, he was the NGA’s co-lead for UAP analysis and its representative to the task force.
Why is the whistle being blown?
Grusch says that senior former intelligence officers, and even people currently working on reverse engineering UFO/UAPs came to him to tell him that they were part of these secret programs that even AARO (current agency investigating UFOs for congress) hadn’t been told about. Grusch was also told by these colleagues that several UFO/UAP had been recovered over the past 80 years, that they were made by “non-human intelligences” and that some recovered vehicles had contained bodies (aliens). Grusch also believes that many countries are aware of this, and that the USA pressures allied countries to hand over any exotic (alien) materials they collect to the USA. He also says that there has been a secret “eighty-year arms race” as the USA and other powerful countries race to reverse engineer the recovered technology in order to gain military advantage over each other.
Why did he come forward?
Grusch quit his job when he realized that he couldn’t both work for the Department of Defense while also sharing what he knew with Congress and AARO. He claims that these secret departments studying UFO craft and materials for decades and that the intelligence community were intentionally withholding this information from congress. Keep in mind that this guy had a really good job, and a stellar reputation. He left his career of his own accord and got permission from the Dept of Defense to start speaking about what information had been revealed to him.
Why isn’t he telling us (the public) everything he knows?
Now the permission he got has a lot of caveats, like he can’t reveal anything that would share military secrets with the world, so he can’t give a lot of specifics directly to the public (think documents, names of these secret departments etc.)
Who did he give all the details to?
Despite the bureaucratic muzzling that prevents him from spilling all his information to the public, he was able to give all the specifics to Congress and the Inspector General’s office so they can verify his claims.
Beginning in 2022, Grusch provided Congress with hours of recorded classified information transcribed into hundreds of pages which included specific data about the materials recovery program. Several current members of the (UFO) recovery program spoke to the Inspector General’s office and corroborated the information Grusch had provided for the classified complaint. The Intelligence Community Inspector General found his complaint “credible and urgent” in July 2022. It’s important to note that having given this testimony under oath, if he is proven to have lied, he could be charged with perjury and sent to prison.
After Grusch told the Inspector General’s Office what he knew, he suffered months of retaliation and reprisals related to these disclosures, which are now being investigated.
Why is this not in the mainstream news?
Several legacy and mainstream news outlets have passed on the opportunity to cover this story. One hypothesis is that they were pressured by the pentagon not to report on the story, or offered other exclusive stories as a quid pro quo. Currently NewsNation has the exclusive interview with Grusch. The reporter in the interview is Ross Coulthart. The difference between the investigative journalists and the reporter in this case is that Coulthart is the one on camera asking Grusch questions, whereas Kean and Blumenthal are the ones that wrote the story and initially investigated it. Coulthart interviewed Grusch for 3 hours in private, and then later again for 7 hours in a news warehouse set on camera for NewsNation.
What happens next?
For now, NewsNation is dropping short clips of the interview, which can be viewed on YouTube. These clips mostly lack meat on their bones, and often feature guests on air that speculate about the ramifications of such important news, or who challenge the veracity of the claims Grusch has made. This Sunday NewsNation with be airing a special on the interview with Grusch. It is available to stream on their site for people in the USA. For people outside of the USA there is the option to subscribe to Youtube TV for $65/m for 3 months, which is a shockingly prohibitive cost to access such profoundly critical information. Perhaps the use of VPNs would allow viewers to tune in to this American channel.
In terms of next steps, I believe that AARO is meant to provide further information sometime this month or next (June/July 2023), though I do not know if any of their information will be made public or if it will be only reported to members of congress.
I believe that it is up to the Inspector General’s Office to verify his claims.
**update : Speaking at the Capitol yesterday, Chairman of the House Oversight Committee, Rep James Comer told NewsNation: 'There will be a hearing on it, there will be oversight.'
​
Rep. Anna Paulina Luna (R-Fla) and Rep. Tim Burchett (Rep-Tenn) will lead the investigation.

Brian was sitting in his armchair watching conspiracy theory videos sprinkled with ones about the paranormal, as he does most nights for several hours, when he was overcome by a sudden primal hunger near impossible to ignore. His stomach felt like it was imploding. He shoved the feeling down deeper and kept watching. This time, it was an interview with very contrarian physicist and philosophy enthusiast.
"What if I told you the universe isn't real? In what is called a bio-centrist view, consciousness is all that exists, and everything around us is just like a user-interface that our brains make and give our senses. If a tree falls in the forrest and nobody is around to hear it, not only does it not make a sound, but it doesn't even exist until a conscious observer walks past it."
"Ok, um, is any of this provable? This all sounds a little woo-woo for me," his guest replied.
"It is. In fact, the famous double-slit experiment we discussed with our last guest definitively proved that the universe isn't defined until a conscious observer witnesses it. Reductionists used to argue consciousness is an illusion, but ironically, we now know there is consciousness but we do not know there is anything else. So, one could say the outside world is an illusion. What we believe to be patterns that reliably predict how the universe should work all fall apart on the quantum level. My very efficient machine of a brain constructs a framework for understanding what's around me, but I only see what fits into that framework. If you give someone with bipolar disorder an optical illusion, they will not be deceived by the illusion because their brain works differently, and the illusion was built for you and I. All of what us neurotypical people see is a shared illusion because we have similar constructs for interpretting the world. The real universe could be far more bizarre than we give it credit for."
The video ended, and with a deep breath, he pried himself from his armchair and stumbled into the kitchen. In his freezer were the remains of a pulled pork sandwich. Fighting his most basic carnal desires, he stared at it sitting in the freezer as cool refreshing fog surrounded it and gave an almost other-worldly ambiance to this heavenly meat.
In an instant, this 145lb 6'2" man's resolve shattered. He grabbed a plate, threw the entire sandwich in the microwave, and in only 90 seconds there was nothing standing between him and satiety. He sat at the table with a fork and knife, prepared to take small bites and savor each moment when just as suddenly as the urge to feed overcame him, a stronger urge not to compelled him to get up from the table and prepare for bed, putting the entire event to rest. He didn't put it back in the freezer but left it out, figuring the rotting smell would ruin his taste for the meat.
The next two days, he tried to eat various foods such as dried fruits, protein bars, vegetables, and small servings of oatmeal. He could barely get any of it down. All the while, this rotting meat was sitting on his kitchen table during a particularly hot week of summer, attracting flies.
Brian worked from home, but the quality of his work had been suffering lately. Barely having the energy to work, he sat at his computer and tried to focus on the task at hand when he heard a wet plop. He looked behind him and saw the dinner plate face down on the floor with his sandwich from several nights ago underneath. He slowly got up and attempted to clean up the mess when one of the most incredible events in mankind's history happened to this frail man in a crumbling old Kansas City apartment. His food spoke to him.
"Freeze me," it said.
"But you're a sandwich. Sandwiches don't talk."
"Brian, listen closely. I am God, and I can take many forms. Who are you to question me? If I wish to tske this form and ask you to helo me preserve it, you shall do as I ask."
"Alright," sighed Brian. He put the sandwich in the freezer. Then, he watched an episode of King of Queens and went to bed.
The next morning, he opened the freezer to check on his new friend, but it just sat there lifeless.
A couple weeks went by with nothing. Brian resumed his work and watched his videos. Everything became fairly routine again until he again felt what he called "an unholy cramping" in his stomach. He got up from the chair and managed to fight the temptation to disobey the sandwich for a few more minutes. He knew he couldn't hold it off forever. Again, he resisted the urge to feed, and again he left it out for several days only to be shocked that his sandwich spoke to him. It felt like it was happening for the first time. Even though the last time it happened was less than a month ago, it was barely a vague memory. Brian once again followed the orders of the sandwich and refroze it.
This cycle would soon be broken though. A few months later, a new family moved in next door and caught him in the hallway as he went to get his mail.
"Oh hi! I'm Susan. We just moved into 2C."
"Brian, I'm in 2D."
"Oh, so we're neighbors then!!!" she exclaimed and rushed in for a hug. "We just moved here from Sydney and are absolutely love this city's zoo! There is so much to do in this town. What are some good restaurants you'd recommend?"
"Oh, I don't eat out. I make my own food."
"Smart. I bet that's how you stay so fit. Listen, my husband Kyle and I would love to invite you over to our new place for a homecooked meal," Susan said with a warm motherly tone.
"Ok, can I bring my own food?"
"S- sure. Is 7pm tonight good?"
"Yeah, see you them" Brian said hurriedly as he darted back to his apartment, trying to give the vibe he was too busy to chat.
He stared blankly at his kitchen cabinets with a mounting sense of pressure. He would NOT eat whatever she prepares. He can't comtrol the calories, the macronutrients, the portions, any of it, and he knew if he were to arrive empty-handed, he'll have to eat whatever they prepare. He couldn't find anything hearty enough to look like a meal though. All he had in his cabinets were nuts, vegetables, and some protein bars. He knew there was only one food in his home that fit the bill. It will look like a normal dish, and then he can pretend he isn't feeling so he won't need to eat it. Such an excuse would be insulting if he doesn't eat their food, but who cares if he claims he's sick and won't eat food he brought?.
"But the smell. What will you do to cover the smell?" his sandwich asked him.
"Spices! I'll cover you in spices. The strongest smelling spices. He doused the burger in peppermint extract, which surprisingly, did fully cover the scent of rotting meat.
He spent the afternoon bathing it in a large bowl filled with peppermint extract. It was the strongest bonding moment the two of them had so far. They both were singing. Brian grabbed a toothbrish and whimsically pretended to be scrubbing it down. He had never had such a genuine connection with anyone before.
"Brian, do you trust me?"
He nodded.
"I require proof. Make a small inscision on your hand and place a piece of me in it. We are blood brothers."
Hesitantly, Brian obliged, and he shoved a small piece of this maggot-infested minty meat into his hand and promptly poured alcohol on it. He then bandaged up the wound. As he sat in his favorite armchair waiting for the dinner with his new friends, he thought to himself "I'm so glad I'm trained in first-aid. Most people wouldn't be prepared for this and wouldn't even think to rinse the wound with alcohol."
As the meal time approached, Brian changed the bandage, put on his formal attire, and reheated the sandwich once more to freshen it up.
He rang the doorbell and was already starting to form pit stains through his one dress shirt.
"Hi, come in! This is my husband Kyle."
"Brian."
"Pleased to meat you, Brian. Please, take a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Water please," Brian replied as he sat at the table.
The lunch sack he brought the sandwich in began to squirm. "Brian? Briiiiii-an... did you hear what the man said? Pleased to meat you? He knows. He has one of my brethren in his fridge. He calls it his meat-mate. His wife gets jealous. That's why she's so bubbly around you. She wants to make him jealous. Introduce me to his meat-mate. We can sort all this out."
Susan started looking concerned. "Brian? Are you ok? Hello? What happened to your hand?"
Kyle's demeanor quickly changed from one of sociable hospitality to distrust. He could tell there was something off about Brian.
Picking up on this, Brian attempted to build rapport. "I'm fine, really. It was just an accident in the kitchen."
Susan, trying to dismantle the awkwardness replied "ouch, I'm so sorry. Kyle just did that a few months back."
At that moment, Brian turned to Kyle with curiosity. He looked deep into his eyes and told him in a very heart-to-heart manner "I want to show you something."
He opened up his lunch sack and pulled out his slab of rotten meat sandwiched between two blue-green moldy pieces of bread. Ashamed he never married, Brian said "my beautiful wife was jealous of it at first, but we have a very different bond." Turning to Susan, he explained "the bond between man and woman is different from between man and meat. Your husband's meat can co-exist with you. You don't need to feel threatened."
"You need to leave. Meal's over, bud. Get out, Kyle said while clutching a knife under the table. As Brian grabbed his sandwich and was headed out, he saw the knife and grew concerned for Susan's safety. Clearly, Kyle had gone too far down this dark path and had become so fixated on his meat-mate that he was going to do away with his sweet wife Susan, Brian thought.
Sitting in his apartment, Brian wondered if he had gone too far himself. "I knew this was too good to be true." He grabbed the sandwich and decided to dispose of both it and Kyle's meat-mate, but he knew as they were blood-bonded, it was impossible for him to willingly destroy the sandwich. "Shit! Kyle's cut! He's blood-bonded to his as well, and they're both held captive by his sandwich. He wasn't trying to be rude to me. His sandwich wanted him to make me leave. The only way out is for me to eat Kyle's sandwich and him to eat mine. He's so deep into this, I know won't eat another man's sandwich though."
Over the next couple hours, Brian devised a plan to sneak into their home and incorporate small pieces of his sandwich into all of their food and of course, do Kyle the kindness of taking his sandwich out of the freezer and eating it for him.
He decided he needed to find out when they are having guests over next and incorporate it into their dishes then because they will be preparing enough food that he can spread it more easily amongst the dishes without getting noticed.
Unfortunately, as the weeks went by before they would have guests over, Brian's hand bwcame infected, and the infection was worsoning. It began to take on a repuslive smell, much like his sandwich, and the flesh of his hamd was becoming discolored. He noticed this was what happened to the bun. It had also changed color over time.
In another week, Brian's whole body was aching. He was feverish and throwing up what little he had in his stomach. "The meat is fighting back. I need to act soon."
The next day, once his neighbors left for work, he broke in and immediately searched their freezer. Unable to find meat-mate, he started mixing pieces of his sandwich among the foods they had in the fridge. Now, all he needed to do was wait.
The next day, Brian woke up invigorated knowing he had been cleansed, but he looked down at his hand, at it had even gotten worse. More drastic measures needed to be taken. He figured his hand had already metamorphasized into more rotten pork meat than man. It was too late for his hand, but perhaps the rest of him could be saved. As his luck would have it, there was a community potluck for the apartment the following evening. He promptly signed up to bring peppermint pork.

“Explain,”
“The constant barrage, and constant destruction, of meteors has begun to affect our farms and fisheries greatly. It is summer on our world and already the chill of fall has set in. The world is darker, and the days bear more clouds,”
I am forever grateful for this brave firm helmet, it does well to hide my disgust. My misbegotten and shameful pride. But I cannot throw away my soldier's lives pointlessly.
“How does your world harvest from the seas, good merchant?” I asked.
“Submersibles and diving suits, why do you ask,” the Erisian said.
“If you would stop the bombardment of that fortress then you will allow my forces to use your talents and your vehicles. Your artisans and forges will work on my command. For that I will spare your world the torment of prolonged bombardment,” I said.
“If we must, so we shall,” the Erisian patriarch said.
“Good, then let us proceed,” I concluded.
More days slip through my fingers like pebbles on the white-green beaches. Three months it took for even as bad a plan as this to be put together, to begin digging the tunnels, and selecting which regiments would participate in each element of the plan. The dogs whine, and the hastily recruited militia chafe under the rigidity of drill, but each does their part, and does as their told.
And, of course, the agony of waiting. As I stand upon these rough-hewn shores, crews of workers tunnel into the fortress, half a hemisphere away. Every day I further harm this world and its people for my own dreams of conquest. Every day I expect some disastrous news, of a tunnel collapse or, worse still, that damnable satrap uncovering our scheme.
It is Nendek who arrives behind me on the windy shore.
“The tunnels are complete, all they need is explosives and we shall sink tooth and blade into the Talti,” he said.
“Tell me truthfully, for I fear few else will, or have eyes that can see truth anymore, do you believe in this stratagem?” I asked, gaze fixed upon the horizon, as if the fortress were just over it.
“No,” he said, “do you?”
“Yes, though I fear the consequences of our victory,”
“I would,”
“Have your men ready for their part, and I will marshal the rest to do theirs,”
Dark clouds in the distance heave and flow, almost indistinguishable in the light of a most early dawn. Wings of light crown hundreds of skiffs, scant few feet above the roiling ocean. Low to ocean’s waves, at extreme speed, early in the dawn. All ideas of Nendek.
We knew the great batteries could fire upon their horizon, so coming high or deploying from orbit would play far worse. The best bet is to fly fast, fly apart, and fly low to limit how long we are visible to the dread guns. Of course, I am not willing to throw everything into the hands of Providence. A barrage of meteors, larger than any launched in the past two months, descended upon the fort, timed for precisely when we crossed the threshold. Immediately three white beams raised to the firmament turned rock first into slag and then into dust.
For thirty seconds we endure no counterfire. More of the barrage evaporates under the skilled gunnery of the fortress. Another minute passes as white spray cools my helm. The red balls of rock are halfway to their target.
One of the beams no longer faces the sky, a fireball erupts on the far right flank. Then another as the beam pulses again. And again, and again. The enemy has noticed us.
Uuo pilots the skiff expertly, shifting from side to side and up and down all while maintaining speed. He contrasts well with another skiff in my lance that drifted too low, violently bucking forward as it contacts the water, catapulting its crew and dashing them on the water’s surface.
Thirty more seconds. A second beam begins to melt the far left flank. Forty, no, forty two skiffs are gone, several hundred souls with them. Uuo asks me to reconsider the approach, we both know its foolish to even ask.
The red rock descends ever quicker, a scant mile above the surface now. The fortress nears. The Bazan skiffs begin to give fire, a false assurance at this range. One such absorbs a glancing hit from a shore battery, sending it to the depths below.
Just as our force is reduced further and further I see our salvation, three meteors of the nearly three hundred thrown, impact the earth. One of the outer bastions crumbles completely, alongside its fearsome gun, and the other two shatter the outer walls of the fortress with dust thrown about all the sky. The dust obscures their sensors and farseers, their guns begin to miss, scarcely, but they do, and one seems to have been eliminated outright.
Thirty more seconds until landfall, the great basalt columns that will make our tomb reach out to greet me. Shore fire erupts from several prepared positions, and rakes the decks of some of the forward skiffs killing many. Zzazzuu militia and pairs of Dedege give return fire, and many silver suited defenders dash their brains on the rocks below, bathing them in pink.
Then came the rumble and the roar, a mile inland dust and flame mixed on the outer walls of the palace, and doubtless my brave Andu in gold and my Zzazzuu in black march together, anointed by my red right hand. For only a moment does my mind wander to the siege of Ranne and the great siegeworks done there, but there is no time for such reminiscing.
I leap from the skiff onto a basalt column, joined by my sworn Khorkha, and join the battle in earnest.
Author's Note: Not dead, life happens.
Audience Engagement Section? Something I noticed reading through the previous chapters is that over time they've gotten significantly longer. Not really sure what to make of that, but its certainly a thing.

Hi Oura community, wanted to share a few new member stories that we've just published on the blog. Please feel free to share your own story with us here!
— Locke, editor of the Pulse Blog
At 66, This Oura Member Doubled His HRV and Improved His Health — Here’s How Oura inspired Jussi L. to quit his job, improve his diet, and finally combat insomnia.
This Member Ran 2 Sub-3-Hour Marathons in 6 Days: Here’s How He Used Oura To Train Marcus uses Oura to gauge his body’s recovery status between runs. But to Marcus, running is more than "going fast."
Oura Helps This Member Balance Full-Time Work and School See how Oura helped Nicole V. learn to balance her demanding schedule and avoid burnout by valuing rest and recovery.

Dear fellow INFPs,
I'm addressing this to people who feel like they're stuck mentally. Let me start off by saying eveyone has their own issues, some just bigger than other. Some have more unfortunate situations, others have not-so-bad situations but they experience them negatively, and then there's people who see the beauty of life. Whether you started out with getting help or not, I hope this piece gives you insight in what to do, but especially.. in what order. Looking on the internet there are 1001 ways of therapy, all kinds of guru's who tell you this is THE way! The ONLY way! I mean sure, much of it comes down to the same thing over and over again, but I'm convinced that some things are better before other. Take this account from someone who has been through it, who has tried 101 things, picked the useful ones, who got stuck multiple times, but ultimately can tell you my best experiences. But who am I, except for just another random dude on the intenet?
Where to even start. I've been thinking of writing this piece for a long time but always found reasons to postpone. Ironically. I've been insecure, depressed and suffering from general anxiety disorder for most my life, at least until some time ago. After I tasted the first moments of happiness I made it my mission to keep moving forward, every day possibly better than yesterday. Nine years, a lot of therapy and many hours of psychology self-study later, I want to share with you what I've learned in a condenced form. I'll start off with a little background information. Then I'll follow up with a listed summary followed by why I think doing it in that order is important. Lastly, I'll list a bunch of my sources that helped tremendously. I don't want to make this a feel-sorry story about me so I'll keep it short just for context. If you believe me for my word you can skip one paragraph.
I come from a family with an ISTJ dad and ISFJ mom, both horribly emotionally immature, unavailable, unpredictable and very suspicious of other people. They love me and my brother but were the worst in showing it. My dad hardly talked and stopped playing with us after a motor cycle accident. My mom was burned out most of the time and ready to explode. Now, what kind of things would that teach your kids? They had their own terrible experiences and upbringing, into which I won't go. Not to mention I was born 10 weeks early, lay alone in a machine much time with cordasol basically already coursing through my veins. All in all, me (the quiet good boy) and my brother (the ADHD ESTJ rebel) had completely different lives. He went all out in the rebel behaviour with his gang, vandalism and drugs, whereas I found out about Maplestory and built up an alternate life there, eventually also with drugs. (Real) friends, what are those? Getting beat up twice as freshman, who cares. The Fight/Flight/Freeze response was strong and consistent already at 15 y/o. I didn't know it at the time but the result was a near-permanent pressure on the Solar Plexus, always being tired and having burst of sweat when I came in social situations. The sweat didn't particulatly make it better. You want to try that new thing? Ah better not, you hurt yourself once as a kid so now everything is too dangerous.
The result is what you may expect. A very quiet, badly nail biting, skitterish mommy-child ' adult' who bursts into tears on random moments when alone, never knowing exactly what causes the pain. My first steps in self improvement happened by accident when I went off for further education in the capital. One roommate of mine studied psychology and he introduced me to a mindfulness training.
This is where it starts.
But now? What good is my story without a testimony? Now I'm finally starting a career, regardless of some obstacles. I don't nail bite anymore and handle stress way more easily. I was the star waiter of our restaurant and I'm having my first stand up comedy gig next week as well as acting school. Right now I work as the "very likeable" office manager at a sustainability company. Not everything is perfect, e.g. attachment to a partner and my ability in decision making, but it's all a process. Step by step. Keep your target (happiness?!) in mind and keep going.
(Step one and two are not processes but rather state of mind from which to work on. Let it sink in but don't get stuck on it.)
Step one: Acceptance of your own imperfection. It's okay.
This step sounds obvious but I don't think it is in practice. Too many people I've talked to are ready to talk about the bad things that happen in their life but as soon as you start about their OWN role in the situation, they will get all defensive and maybe even antagonized. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone has bad experiences that colour their judgement of things and the way they act. Only if you accept this and what you have done in the past as fact, only then you are open minded enough to change. Otherwise, whatever you'll learn what could've helped you, you'll dismiss from your mind as soon as you leave the therapist, either from stubbornness or as a unconscious selfdefence reflex because you don't accept that yes, also you have weaknesses. This counts especially for people whose insecurity is being percieved as weak, dumb or unlikable. You see, if your insecurity is that you're not good enough, then how painful is it to accept that yes, you have inherent flaws? LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE? That's what keeps people from learning. That's what's keeping people from changing. Accept that you're not perfect and have things to change. Why else are you looking for help? It's like an addiction where you don't like the addiction but the alternative seems worse.
Lastly, know that your perception of others is probably not true. Only you know you because you know your thoughts. You don't see the mind of other people. If only you knew. Other people may seem saint-like but they aren't. Even the nicest people have some dark(er) characteristics and their own insecurities. Once you recognize this you may not feel so crazy anymore. Guess what, the battle between your little devil and angel is a human thing. The difference, though, is that you're open to change. The difference is that you are not in denial or oblivious of your mistakes like your aunt Hilda.
Step two: Accept your own agency and so reject victimhood.
Let me introduce you to my ex-roommate Petrus (pseudonym), who always talked about his troubles in life and how life failed him. The thing is, he'd always go on and on about how it was the effing police who fired him, how it was the effing insurance company who effed him over, how it is the effing women who are all whores and bitches anyway so why bother. His near-exact words. Never him, though! Oh no, that would receive a "yea sure.... but..!" with a scowl. While deep down all this talk is fueled by deep rooted insecurities and pain. You think you're not like that, and you're probably right. At least not to the same degree as he. Be ready to take responsibility for your own (re)actions.
I understand that doing step one and two are actually quite hard. I just mean to point out that as long as you are aware of them, you can change. You'll find out along the way in what ways your own behaviour has shaped your life so far, and what you can do in turn to change it. Life is like a beach, it is up to you to make your sand castle with upcoming waves and running kids. Like everybody else. The roommate mentioned above never accepted his agency and so did NOT have any results from the same therapist that I had. And whom he quit after one session. Scary, I know.
I cannot stress enough that self-reflection is key for anyone who's willing to change !!!
Step three: What do I feel and why?
Or in other words: the popular phenomena called Mindfulness and Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. What it boils down to is the focus on self-awareness, to get a good insight into your own emotions and how it subconsciously affects your daily life. Before you quit reading: this is only the start. It is the difference between your mask and your underlying feeling. For instance, I would have the emotional 'mask' of being the joker and pleaser, only because WITHOUT doing that, I'd feel... well, uncomfortable. Now this uncomfortable feeling is important to figure out. For me I could summarize it with "I am not enough" and "I am not likeable". God it sounds so simple in a few sentences but this is a process of trying and trialing, where you'll think it was one thing, but it was something deeper, or they could all be summarized in one overarching insecurity. Finding out your mask personas is an important but scary step. Without your mask you'll feel remarkably vulnerable.
Now, I do not know where you are or if something similar is near to you. However, a good therapist will help you decipher your insecurities and underlying sadness. Understanding what you feel and why is step 3. You will NOT get here just through talking about your day unless the other specialist knows what they're doing, for the simple reason that many people are unaware of many of their reactions in daily life and what childhood trauma's they may have surpressed. Otherwise you'll just repeat the lines you tell yourself without going deeper. Such therapists should have their license revoked ffs.
Step three 'n half: grounding a.k.a. to get into contact with your feelings
There's much to be found online about grounding so by all means find other technique if mine doesn't work for you. I'd suggest you first try the most common way. Don't, the more you do it the faster you can do this. It takes me 20 seconds tops. Anyway: sit up on a chair without distractions nearby, eyes closed, hands on lap, feet on the ground. Take a couple of deep breaths. 4 seconds in, hold 4 seconds, 4 seconds out. Blow out like you blow out a candle. While you do this you repeat to yourself ' relax' or 'calm' or 'it's okay, you're safe' or whichever works for you.Then, take all your attention to your left foot. Feel the contact with the ground. Feel any (dis)comfort, any pain, itch, whether its cold, warm. Observe it, don't analyze it. It's not wrong, it's not good. It's just.. there. After you're ready you go to the left calf. Same thing. Feel the cold, warmth, the pressure, an itch, anything. It's not wrong, it's not good. It's just.. there. It's you. Hold your attention before going to your left thigh. Keep this process throghout your body. In the end, after your face is calm. Forehead is smooth. Eyes are relaxed. Jaw is loose. Deep breath and turn your attention to what you're feeling. Where is it? In your head? In your stomach? For me it's the solar plexus but it differs. Feel the emotion. It's not wrong, it's not good. It's just.. there. Accept it. Name it.
Side note: you may get distracted often. This is fine. Don't get mad at yourself as this only works negatively. Accept it, see it happen like a cloud drifting by and return your attention.
Side note 2: Accepting the emotion is very important. I had issues with that but getting mad at yourself for feeling something will only make things worse and is counter productive. Anyway why would you? Think of a friend. Can he feel lonely sometimes? Of course.
Congratulations, now you are what we call in contact with your feeling. This is DIFFERENT than the self-pitying saddness that's more common. THIS is the emotion that you can process. THIS is the emotion you can write down, cry out, talk about, whatever works for you. Also at the therapist. Especially at the therapist. It may feel redundant to do it with the little steps but believe me, if you're not used to grounding yourself then this is how to start. Sometimes it's harder than other, depending on your state-of-mind at the moment. Later you'll be used to it and 'go to your feeling' faster and more naturally than doing a detailed body scan. You're right if you think it's akin to meditation. Trust me. It's a human thing. You can do it too. Some people have put away their emotions deep down in order to protect themselves and for them it may be harder.
IMPORTANT: learning to ground may also mean you're nearer to your emotions. This is a good thing, as long as your work with them! Depending on the severity of your repressed traumas, it is highly advised to involve a therapist. You don't want to open up a well of misery only to do nothing with it. More on that in the next paragraph
Step four: Accept your past hurtful experiences. Process the associated emotions
This step is actually really important, and I wish I had done it way earlier. It would have saved me maybe three years. Okay so see it like this. Two things to remember. First: emotions that you experience but were unable to express will STAY in your body. Your body is like an emotional hard drive and somewhere there's tension building up. Second: this system you can compare to a hydrolic dam. Imagine: when there's a bit of water in the reservoir, there's no problem. When there's more water in the reservoir it's also okay, but the force on the dam builds up. Still more water all kind of okay, except that the dam is under a lot of pressure. A relatively small damage has to happen for cracks to appear and water to escape. This is exactly how it works with emotions. This is how people have sudden burts of rage, sudden burst of sadness, over relatively small incidents. They just... burst. This tension in addition with perfectionism are root causes for burn out as well. Just how much energy must it take? Anyway, as for the actual processing, I have a few tips.
The major one is a therapy called Somatic Experiencing. This is specialized in bringing up past emotions, even from when you were just a baby (I can tell..). All the stored up emotions will affect your daily life, likely without you noticing. It literally changes the way you react to things. E.g. how you react to some kinds of jokes, to how you may be very sensitive to situations, may feel angry or sad all the time, but also your attachment style in relationships. For me, processing all my fears and feelings of loneliness and betrayal on my innocense has given room for love, compassion, joy/playfulness and a general peace of body.
All in all, therapists are recommended.
Something else is a rage room. This is a place where people come together to literally scream and let emotions out. No experience there, just heard about it. I would think that the problem here is guidance. You can release stuff, but only things you are aware about. A good therapist can ask questions that will trigger things you can't do yourself. If you don't, you'll just scream from frustration which doesn't help much just like shower crying. Still, if you do it right I'm sure it may help.
NOTE: before going here, read the paragraph about grounding. This is an important asset without which you'll not get the results you want.
Step Five: self improvement. Learn by doing. Train your subconsciousness by experience.
It may feel like this step is late in the cycle, however it is not for nothing. To use the metaphor, Would it be easier to upgrade your dam into a hydraulic energy generating dam while the reservoir is still full, or while the water level is low? It is not to be underestimated how much internal conflicts will colour your perspective on yourself and the outside world. This is a major mistake I made, and what many therapists will still try.
Self-Improvement really means to use your self reflection to not just see what you do, but mainly what do you want to do with it? Let's say hypothetically you feel like you don't speak up enough. You've found out this is because of an underlying insecurity, in this case maybe that you feel unimportant because your parents never acknowledged any idea that you
I'd suggest journaling. Or rather, emotion analyzing and bring them up while writing. Ground yourself first. The goal is to FEEL the emotion and so process it without storing it up again. Cry about it if you need to. You know when children are sad, then cry a lot, then are running around happily again? Same with us adults. INFP or no. Except that we, with a little training, can actually name what we're feeling. Warning: this should only be really possible after some mindfulness. Firstly, because how else are you going to identify your own emotions? And secondly, you need to learn to 'ground' yourself, go into 'feeling mode'. Without it, it'll just be feeling sad because you feel sorry for yourself, instead of addressing the emotion itself. Wallowing in your sadness (this case: own victimhood) will only make things WORSE in an vicious cycle of negative affirmation. This happened to me. It's not pretty.
Look at yourself and the traits you want different. Maybe you want to be more orderly? Show love to people? Give a presentation without feeling like you're fainting? Write them down and what you would like instead. Don't push yourself by commiting to do everything. Just as much as you're comfortable with. Think of a dog for example. When a dog gets hit by a human he may just become aggressive or wimpering with his tail between his legs the next time he sees a human. Dogs are not aggressive or flightful from the start, but they learned that certain things are dangerous or scary. You teach an animal that something is not scary by slowly making it get used to the target. The same with humans, except that we're such complex creatures that sometimes it's hard to say exactly what makes you uncomfortable. This is literally what people mean with 'stepping outside your comfort zone'. It's not for nothing. It's not only for 'those bloody daredevils'. It's for a person to get used to situations. I had a fear in front of the class but I forced myself, after some proper therapy, to stand in front of a class to teach exams. Yes I was nervous. I had to calm myself several times, and I reflected on in afterwards. Well now, that actually went better than all the imaginative situations I had before! And even if it doesn't go well you can still write down WHAT you fked up and try to do better next time. Be mindful. Take steps.
Conclusion
It's a lot and I think I can add more but then it would be a book. I hope from this piece will bring structure to the whirlpool of information that's available. I'm not even sure 'regular' psychologists know this, as I've tried a bunch and they all start with something else. Every step is necessary, but some will work best only after the previous steps have been taken.
Now I'm tired. I'll write a proper summary after I see how this is recieved in the comments. Would love to hear feedback, questions, maybe even critique. Take care, you crazy diamond you.
Helpful sources:
Mindfulness training, meditation guides, Chakra healing (yes really)
Fysiotherapist on youtube to work on posture (you'll be surprised). I recommend Body Fix Exercises channel, to the point and effective.
Therapies: EMDR, Cognitive behavioural therapy, Somatic Experiencing
INFP guides on Personality Hacker
Attachment style podcasts (sorry mine was in Dutch)
Books / audiobooks
J. Peterson's 12 rules for life + many lectures on having a meaningful life. (whatever your stance or opinion on politics, his psychological knowledge is undeniable)
Lindsay C Gibson's Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents
M. Gladwell's Talking to Strangers
Mark Manson's The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck
Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now
I'd suggest audio book because it moves me more, however I guess it's personal.

I have a fully ambulatory and continent client with dementia who hasn't bathed or showered in I'm guessing over a year now. I started a few months ago and have made zero progress with it.
She is a mountain woman who is a recent widow and lives alone. I gather she and her husband have been somewhat anti-social their whole lives. She's a wonderful person but when she doesn't want to do something she can't be convinced otherwise.
My usual tactics have not worked. I've asked her what her husband would think of her not showering and she says he didn't ever concern himself with this. I've made sure the bathroom is clean and comfortable, turned on the shower and announced "shower time" or "hey I bet it would feel good to wash off" and so forth.
Every time she gives me the same excuses. "I'll do it tomorrow," "I'm done with that part of my life" "I'm not interested in doing things like that," etc. It seems she both doesn't have the insight to realize how long it's truly been, telling me she showered last week or something, and she doesn't care. I've talked to her about hygiene and she just laughs at me. I've gotten curious and asked her what it would take for her to wash her hair or shower, if there's something that would help make the experience better for her. She tells me she just "doesn't do those things anymore" and "that part of her life is done with." I've then explained "bathing is like eating, we don't really get to be done with it, humans are not self-cleaning like dogs, we need to very occasionally wash." She isn't buying any of it.
One of the other workers made an appointment at a salon once and tried to get her hair cut and washed and she refused this was well.
However, she does not (yet) stink. It's clear her hair and scalp are unwashed but her clothes stay pretty clean. If a social worker visits they might not notice much, and I'm not sure what a social worker can do anyway. I don't really know the consequences here, either. Is it neglect to not get someone showered, even if they refuse?