It appears, Dear Reader, the time is again upon us to discuss the sexual selfie. When do you take one? Why do you send it? Why would you choose to keep it or skip the entire practice? But first, let me make one thing perfectly clear:
This is not intended to slut shame you, your exhibitionist best friend, or any celebrity whose boobs you’ve seen outside of an R-rated film.
If taking naked pictures truly gets you going, then by all means – pick out flattering lighting and do what you need to do. But like we (should) tell kids before they have sex, you need be prepared to face the consequences before you snap that pic.
You can purchase this sign on eBay, FYI.
Ask for help, learn, keep moving.
Everything changes at some point. They rarely happen overnight and often without you realizing you’re any different from before. Some changes, though, spring from great purpose and effort.
I, for example, would be a miserable person without the support of my family, friends who saw more in me than I saw in myself, and some strategic medical attention. I get anxious. My battle with voices telling me I’m not enough is constant. The chemicals in my brain sometimes make me believe the world is dark. I recognize all these things about myself, and I work every day to change them. I take a deep breath. I find a friend who gives good pep talk.
Most importantly, I ask for help.
Look how far I’ve come! I am a different person than the one who sat in her dorm room playing Bejeweled ten years ago. That Kaitlin would never have walked into a party by herself, gone to brunch a book as her date, or write things on the internet without the anonymity of a screen name.
We need to be open with our struggles. You’re allowed to be sad, to feel pain, and to have setbacks. You will make mistakes and fail miserably. I err with the best of them. It knocks the breath out of me and makes me wonder why I bother. Then I remember the last time I screwed up, fell down, and said something stupid…and how I fixed my mistake, stood up, and laughed at myself.
That’s the point of life, isn’t it? To learn from your mistakes. To improve and make yourself better. How else are we supposed to change the world?
If you’ve been keeping up with me on Instagram, then you might know that while I’m happy to celebrate Chicagoversary, Monday also marked five years since my dad was diagnosed with and died due to the big C. I don’t like to say lost his battle with leukemia, because that implies the fight was fair to begin with – and it most definitely was not.
Since this week is about the last ten years in Chicago and the adventure that’s made me who I am in this moment, I’d be remiss not to talk about him. My dad was a complicated man with whom I had a complicated relationship, but at his core, I know that he was good. He was generous, he was funny, he was blunt, he was the greatest friend I’ve ever seen in action. I love him and think of him every damn day.
Anyway, I have enough of a tendency towards depression without adding sad stories to the world, so I’ll share a story that my dad loved to hear me tell. Full disclosure: this story is also one I shared as part of his eulogy, so I guess it is kind of depressing that way. Per his request, I opened the show.
Everyone’s dad is embarrassing, right? Normal dads make bad puns or wear lame clothes or call you childhood pet names in front of the cool kid you want so badly to be your friend. My dad absolutely did all those things…and then some.