@ShashaSelflove 11/20/18 – Be Less


There is a “stand still” moment, you have put in all the work and all your effort into a purpose. The wave of anticipation rolls over you, you have placed importance into every detail and poured your experience into every space that needed to be filled. “How will my work be received?”, that question has been answered so many times.

“Could you not be so….bossy?”, there has been someone who has been accusing me of being “bossy” for about 2 years now. Am I? Hmm. I would say that I am direct, I am a no nonsense person who likes to get my work done. I have been leading an office that has faced the largest of hurdles, together we have tamed a monster. My colleagues call me “Mama Bear”, because I am overprotective of my cubs. What I heard the person say was, “Could you be less?”. I heard…

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@ShashaSelflove 11/13/18 – Another Voice


Photo Credit: Instagram @writehiswrongs

How are you feeling today? You don’t have to say the automatic, “good” because some days you just aren’t. Some days you want to toss everything out the window and move to another planet. Some days you are exhausted of taking care of others and yourself. Wouldn’t it be great to have someone show you the love and care that you give? Would I (or you) allow someone to say that they are going to take care of me because I am deserving of such a gesture? The concept sounds easy enough but it requires trust, it requires someone that had the right intentions and wants to be your peace.

As I have gotten older, I talk to more and more women about self love, about not feeling guilty about taking time for the little things they like to do and how it is perfectly fine…

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Incredible Views

An empty tomb

via An empty tomb


An empty tomb

Idiot Joy Showland


You don’t remember the dead of the First World War.

Nobody does, now, or almost nobody. At most, you might remember the ones who survived. There’s a photo, hidden away somewhere, of great-grandad in his old army uniform, and if you look at it you might notice with a kind of sickly horror that he looks a bit like you did at that age, that you’re now already so much older than this old, old man. Maybe there’s a box with some old medals, or even a decommissioned revolver. Pieces of someone who died much later, surrounded by TV and pop music, dreaming the blanketing dreams of the nuclear bomb. Someone who lived to see a different country, one that throbbed in full colour. The hole left in the world by those bullets and shells and clouds of poison gas one hundred years ago was not left in your

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“It’s Just Lipton’s”

Just Left Awkward, Suddenly Approaching Old

Young friends have a baby due soon. At their shower, I watched the mom-to-be unwrap soft blue outfits that made the room go, “Aww.” On still evenings this summer, I sat outside with the dad, talking about how life is about to change.

Now it’s time to start planning the dinner I’ll make for them. I have a signature dish for celebration and a different one for grief. I’m big on making food no matter what, a product of my upbringing. I grew up believing that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Apparently, I internalized that aphorism more seriously than my grandmother’s warning about giving away the milk for free.

For a new baby’s arrival, I usually go with Chicken Tarragon Crepes. It’s fancy but mild. It’s showy, but it’s only chicken, so how fancy can it be? I chop the tarragon and make the crepes…

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“It’s Just Lipton’s”

via “It’s Just Lipton’s”


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