Citrine and the Cost of Happiness: How Conflating Money with Success Keeps Us All Trapped
If citrine is supposed to bring you abundance, what might it bring if you didn’t need so much wealth in our capitalist hellscape?
No one stopped to specify the difference between making money and maintaining your integrity, or completely changing your sound and vision solely for the promise of cash. Then again, I’m not sure there was a difference to the accusers: Money, fame, all the traditional trappings of success were viewed with suspicion.
I hate those people who love to tell you / money is the root of all that kills / They have never been poor / They have never had the joy of a welfare Christmas
Falling in love, cherishing a friend, feeling emotionally fulfilled—those are the successes that aren’t quite recognized, aren’t quite believed. Sure, they’re great, but wouldn’t they be even better with money behind them? With a stable job? You wouldn’t have to worry. In other words: You’re happy, but you’d be happier with all that and money, too.
But if I’m unwell, I can’t focus on work. If I can’t work, I can’t do the thing that makes me happy. My health and my happiness are directly tied to my bank account.
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It’s easier to cut people out than to learn to differentiate between the chronically demanding and the occasionally needy. It’s war, we tell ourselves.
When we dress up, when we experiment, sometimes it’s because we are trying to discover who we are. But sometimes it’s because we already know and have nothing to hide.
I’ve been wondering what my edges really are, and finding they don’t exist. I feel myself shimmer with every conflicting thought.
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The Rose Quartz Ceiling: When It Comes to Love, Men Are Praised for What Women Are Simply Expected to Give
When love and femininity are intertwined, only some of us are expected to do the job of loving.
Bees do not attack—just as trauma survivors do not attack, but rather defend. She will not sting you unless she believes the colony’s life depends on her defense. Because when she stings you, she dies.
Those who spend their lives in bodies others deem unworthy grow accustomed to building our own self-worth.