The Beauty of Oppression

Most people today know that they are worth shit.

There are more minorities than majorities, and the former are invariably told from birth that they will have to try harder. Children of immigrants learn not to become a bother, women apologise repeatedly and LGBT folk learn to switch their personality on and off, because we have learned to regret existing.

My hardship has taught me introspection, and second guessing myself constantly. It taught me that anxiety can keep me safe but also sheltered, staying in staring at my door of fear.

I started small, proving to myself that I am worth it, because otherwise what is the point. Am I worth a friend group who understands me needing time for myself? Am I worth ordering takeaway that will leave me bloated or the extra 30min it takes to prepare a meal? Am I worth a clean flat, with sorted laundry and fresh bedding? Is my face worth lotioning every day, my legs worth exercising and my hands worth writing?

Now, when I leave the house, I know I’m the shit. I am worthy of being here and talking to you, because I made myself proud by eliminating all the little things I would have otherwise worried about. I can now fully focus on you, right now, right here, having dealt with any bullshit that would have otherwise drawn my thoughts away.

Every day, I check my privilege. What am I taking for granted? What am I not seeing because of the limited viewpoint of what I want, expected, feared? And it sure gets easier with practice when you constantly gotta defend yourself.

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