Monday, October 17, 2016


When I sold my car, one of the primary concerns of those around me was that I would now be vulnerable to the unexpected violence of strangers.

As a young woman in a rape-culture society, I’ve been programmed to view walking or taking public transportation alone as something between a valiant act of courage and reckless endangerment. 

Naturally, I expected to feel some discomfort and moments of panic as I find myself in such close quarters with complete strangers. And yes, during my walks from the bus stop to my house, I do check behind me every so often to make sure I’m not being followed.

But the kind of vulnerability I’m truly afraid of is my personal discomfort and insecurity pushing itself up from deep within me as I navigate the new territory of asking others for help. When people offer to give my rides—people I know and trust—I struggle to accept. In my head, I tell myself they’re only asking to be nice—not because they care and want to help me out. And yet, how many times have I genuinely offered to give someone a ride? Why am I not able to allow others the same standard of generosity I possess? Why must I isolate myself by denying others the chance to show their care and kind hearts?

For some reason, I’ve convinced myself I must work harder to receive the same amount of love, respect, adoration, and care that I freely give to the world. For some reason, I’ve decided I am not as worthy as everyone else. Instead, I am a burden. A nuisance. I’ve convinced myself I am selfish whenever I accept the care and kindness from others. Selfish to accept love. Selfish to want it. Too worthless to deserve it.

I’m so sick of this sabotaging self-talk. 

The monsters in my head are much more real and harmful than any potential monsters I may face during my new car-free life. 

But this is exactly the kind of stuff I was hoping to confront. 

With each passing day, I will crush these monsters, and treat myself to kindness.

 Because I am fucking worth it. 

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