My story seems very prosaic to me and uninteresting in anything, except for the fact that it is interesting to other girls. My cousin said that she likes to read my works where I write about the relationships between men and women.
The world is full of lonely women, and I was once one of them.
It's like a good movie with a happy ending, where the princess marries the prince and then they live happily ever after. Translation: boring and bland. Nobody is interested in the life of a groundhog. You could still watch a film about infidelity, divorce or problems with conception, but nothing more.
And in fact, it’s a sin for me to complain. I love my husband, he loves me, we are faithful to each other and all our aspirations are directed in one direction. We are friends, relatives, lovers, colleagues. Every day is similar to the previous one, with the rare exception of periodic events that we arrange for ourselves.
But women's problems do not end with the wedding.
Here are the options for the most common torment of the weak half of humanity, which also affected me:
–I'm ugly, no one likes me
–masturbation is a sin
–the coolest guy is already taken
–defloration
–lesbian tendencies
–what if I’m on a vow of celibacy (the existence of which, of course, only God knows)
–painful breakup
–treason
–ten guys in a year and no one worth it
–Igor, Alexander and Sofia
–financial insolvency
–HPV, ureaplasmosis
–menarche and “it would be better if I went to the army”
–first depilation, hair removal. Why can't a woman be a yeti?
– fibroadenoma of the mammary gland
–a man twelve years older
–first fart
– goodbye friends
–man with child
–moving, goodbye university
–poverty and luxury
–painful breakup after two years of relationship – flirting
–marriage
–painful breakup after five years of relationship – hysterics
–orgasm and frigidity, search for marital sexuality
– miscarriage, do I even want children?
–existential crisis – I haven’t achieved anything in my life.
In this book, I will try to reveal each of the problems described above, tell my example of ruthlessly dealing with them, and show how they could be solved in a different way from the height of the knowledge that exists now.
Go.
“I’m ugly, no one likes me”
In those days, when I still believed that the thunderstorm was moving away from the ritual “Holy, Holy,” I was worried about the question of why cute boys loved other girls, but did not notice me.
One day my mother and I were sitting in the room on a summer evening, shaking with fear. A thunderstorm was raging outside the window, the light and, in principle, the electricity in the house was turned off, the mirrors were curtained, the only refuge – the sofa sheltered two frightened women, forty-year-old and five-year-old me. We moved our palm near our foreheads and drove away the thunderstorm with the words “Holy, holy.” Now my husband and I are holding our stomachs when I tell this story, but before everything was very serious.
Of course, I believed in supernatural forces, including my own, because the storm was leaving.
But I believed even more that if someone doesn’t love me, sooner or later they will love me.
Back then, I didn’t know that this was just the art of PR.
I grew up as a very serious child. But at the same time, she felt inferior.
I was considered eccentric, and the girl next door fueled this idea in the minds of other guys, so the anti-PR really ruined my life.
Where it all started.
In kindergarten, I liked a boy to whom I wanted to show my coolness by the fact that Jean Claude Van Damme would come and pick me up from the garden, proudly carrying me on his muscular tanned shoulder. And in this way I wanted to solve the problem of my unlikability. Coolness is an alternative to lack of beauty. Well, that's a great idea, isn't it? And now many people think so, making friends with stars in order to raise their ratings instead of changing themselves.
A little later, when nothing worked out, I began to think about real ways to attract his attention.
And I realized that I was in trouble.
I’m five, and I can’t put on makeup and preen myself, because my mother sees me as a baby bug, and not a woman. Yes, mom, because she was my only teacher in those days, she didn’t let me listen to my sister and dad, “they say two boots are a match, if they don’t listen to her, that means they’re bad.”
The other girls were pretty, one had her ears pierced since she was three! And they cut my hair into a bob, supposedly so that my head wouldn’t hurt.
“I can’t be a woman at 5 years old.” – this is the bitter realization of that period.
I have always been an order of magnitude more ridiculous than my most advanced peers.
Slightly worse outfits, shorter hair, full belly, stooped, pale skin, blue bags around the eyes, snub nose, often sick.
No, I wasn't ugly. And I had my own fans, even girls. I just didn't think I was beautiful enough for the people I liked.
Do you know what all this means?
And the fact that all children are the same adults, only locked in small bodies and forced to wait until the body gets stronger in order to do what an adult should.
So, if parents learned to give their children the opportunity to feel like adults, then we would see not infantile schoolchildren and students who, even at twenty-six, are not able to take responsibility for themselves (and even more so for anyone else), but brilliant teenagers , who have graduated from school externally and are already creating new inventions, works of art and other things useful to society.
If my childhood desire to be liked by the best boys had not been suppressed even then, if this issue had been resolved then, I think I would have been able to calmly switch to my favorite writing path, never again worrying about problems with my appearance.
However, the unresolved issue of self-sufficiency hung over me for the next twenty years, until I finally achieved what I wanted.
Parents should instill confidence in their children regarding appearance. They should help to see in themselves who the child considers himself to be. Every child initially considers himself a successful, handsome, smart superhero, and not a chubby little pooping dependent.
There will be no delusions of grandeur if you allow your child to consider himself grown-up and cool. There is no need to convince him that he is better than others; let all children be cool and capable.
There won't be any orgies if you let the girls consider themselves fatal beauties. You can explain the rules of decency and teach self-defense, and not convince her that she is just a funny farting child.
Mom, dear, if you are reading this book, then please do not be offended. It's not about you, I'm sure you were raised the same way. Many other women around the world are raised this way. That's how it is. Either because we are afraid of pedophiles, or because of social security services, we try to deceive our plump dependents for as long as possible that they are children and have no business playing adult games.
Maybe something should be changed? What do you think?
"Masturbation is a sin"
Raise your hand if you've never done this.
Now raise your hand, those who were embarrassed to raise it. Wow, there are a lot of us.
I will not speak out for or against this event, we will just discuss it and tell my example.
Masturbation comes in different forms. Like sex, it happens with and without perversions. Those who advocate letting off steam talk about how useful it is to sometimes have sex with yourself, especially if you don’t have a boyfriend, and in polite society it’s not customary to sleep with the first guy you come across.
Opponents of pornography, especially with borderline almost illegal entertainment in the frame, advocate sublimation, and beg not to engage in masturbation, exorcise the devil, shame or educate about the dangers of such an act.
Malakia, handjob, masturbation – all this is still under a moral prohibition. It is not customary to talk about this even in a very advanced society.
I have never seen a parade for masturbation. LGBT communities constantly organize mass protests in their defense and promotion of tolerance. But I didn’t see women, even feminists, who would picket in defense of masturbation.
When I was three years old, I discovered an amazing feeling in my lower abdomen when I thought about intimacy with a person I liked. I didn’t know anything about the genitals yet, but an impulse arose in my body that demanded an outlet.
The head, heart and lower abdomen are fixated on one image.
Not understanding the situation, I tried an action that was unusual for me – squeezing my thigh muscles and imagining the image of that person.
Yes, you heard correctly, my first masturbation took place at the age of three.
The next one was already at school, I was afraid to repeat what adults could scold me for.
My father had videotapes with erotic and pornographic content in his closet, which I later used for pleasure.
This is an indescribable delight, but it is also pain from the fact that I am doing something indecent and hiding it from others.
I didn’t know then that everyone was doing this.
I did not yet understand that even the most holy person is, in fact, none other than a hypocrite.
He also locks himself in his room and masturbates, driving himself into a frenzy; he simply carefully hides this behavior from his students.
No, I’m not arguing, there are very depressed people who have been so shamed that at the mere mention of “sin” they immediately become indignant and turn red as a tomato. Not only do they not masturbate, but they most likely do not experience orgasm at all.
In my opinion, one should be wary of masturbation not because of the opinions of others, but because it diverts all attention inward, thereby holding back a person from realizing his abilities and talents, from actions and attention outward.
But, if you are alone and have never experienced an orgasm in your life, then you should listen to your body, look for the right points, places, the right impact on them, and bring yourself to bliss.
Once, twice, to find out your capabilities. No perversion, no harm to yourself or anyone else. Just have fun.
It’s a funny situation – they convince us that we should love ourselves, but they make it difficult for us to love our body.
“I love my intellect, but my genitals scare me.”
“I like that guy over there, let him love me, and I will love him” – this is where a painful dependence on men arises. A woman does not love herself, does not excite herself, so the only one who can benefit from her is the one who is aroused by her. This one disappears, happiness disappears.
Ha. Have you seen this in yourself? Who had this?
I have had. If a woman does not see herself as a sexual object, she will depend on the attention of someone who sees this sexual object in her.
Masturbation, of course, does not completely solve this issue. Here we need to work deeper, with soul. It is necessary for a person, a woman in our case, to see in herself the only one she loves, wants, admires, with whom she is not bored, to whom she is ready to give all of herself.
In my opinion, this is self-sufficiency.
Self-sufficiency in itself already attracts the attention of others. People do not like half-hearted and broken, wounded and wretched people. Adequate people run from energy vampires. Nobody likes to be forced to love, we like to consciously give our sympathy to an attractive person.
Therefore, my recommendation to you, dear women, is to love yourself entirely.
Transcript: start seeing in yourself the only person you love, with whom you want to have sex, with whom you admire, with whom you are not bored, to whom you are ready to give all of yourself.
Try it and write me your results.
And we move on to the next chapter.
“The coolest guy is already taken”
You know how it happens, the hero of your novel appears on the horizon, a tall, broad-shouldered brunette with a set of the most worthy qualities, and you’ve already fluffed your feathers, put on lipstick, and then suddenly another one appears next to him.
And not some bush muskrat, but the real Angelina Jolie.
It was a setup. The blue-eyed handsome guy found a match to match. Slender with glossy hair and skin without a single hair, the pastor's daughter instantly took in the man whom I had already planned for my husband. I was twelve and head over heels in unrequited love.
Who has this happened to?
Maybe you were that same Jolie and my situation is not familiar to you, but so far I have only met those who have encountered unrequited love at least once in their lives.
This is true. Ironically, that same pastor’s daughter, after breaking up with the hero of my novel, fell in love with a local rapper completely unrequitedly. My evil side rejoiced. The kind one understood and sincerely sympathized.
The beautiful brunette never became mine, even during the breaks between other women. I lost interest in him only ten years later, having already met many people. By the way, in my book “Sugar…” I wrote the main character from him, and embodied on paper what I couldn’t do in reality. These are miracles, only for this is it worth being a writer. You create new worlds instead of burying your fantasies deep inside your soul. My husband is not jealous, don't worry. There is love in everyone's life, a lot of love, there is no need to be jealous of the past.
And now in more detail what happened to me and how I dealt with it.
Now my stepdaughter is in love with a guy who also has an uneasy relationship with her. Their situation is similar to mine, with the exception that Katerina herself is the “pastor’s daughter”. Let me be clear, my husband is a very influential person, just like me. And we have proven ourselves well, so the employee of the organization where Katerina went to work respects and values us, and this greatly influences his attitude towards the girl.
Yes, the girl is not yet a swan, she is not at all prettier than me in those years when I suffered from unrequited love, but she has an advantage. The same "Jean Claude Van Damme". Do you know what I mean?
PR. If your qualities are lacking, then you take advantage of the protection of another person. If you are the protégé of someone whom your lover values, then your status increases greatly, attention to your person grows, it doesn’t even matter that you are nothing special.
Not only was I nothing of myself, but I was also from a poor family of elderly parents, I was conceived at thirty-six by people already worn out by life, who, moreover, did not love each other. Why they needed this, only God knows, but now they are finally divorced and happy with this fact.
Olya, a tall, blue-eyed brunette with Barbie hair, always combed and thick (as if her mother did nothing but scratch her all her free time), was charming at fourteen years old, not only in appearance, but also in her relationship with an equally handsome and stately Pastor of Holy Gospel Lutheran Parish. Her father was a true leader not only for widows and orphans, he led everyone, smart and capable, men and women, teenagers and old. The hero of my novel spent all his time outside of school with this man. It is not surprising that Olya caught his eye more often than I did, and in the light of the great pastor she looked different than she might have if she were from my family.
Now I understand that she also had complexes, small breasts, high weight (due to her height), and a quiet voice. For some, this is a plus, but apparently that boy rapper did not appreciate Olya, which developed self-doubt in her.
I tried my best. The complexes consumed me so completely that it was impossible to even make a list, there were so many of them. I cried every night, and during the days I turned into a warrior, put on makeup again, dressed up and put on a smile to appear at least a little more attractive than a log.
It's true, don't laugh. Okay, I laugh too. It’s funny now to look at your past from the position of a mature, self-sufficient woman, knowing what could have been done then and changed everything, but then everything seemed so unsolvable, serious and tormenting.
If now a time machine transported me back to when I was twelve years old, I would go in for sports, get braces, it was still free. I would take vitamins, run in the morning, grow my hair, which I also comb. I would force my parents to sell their damp, cold apartment and move to a comfortable one. I would move to another school and take up dancing.
I would take first place in competitions and my PR would become more serious than the PR of a pastor, and even more so his daughter.
Remember, it is much more important to attract attention to yourself with your own merits, and not with someone else’s.
There was one incident that I will never forget as an eternal shame and stigma of stupidity on my self-confidence.
David, that was the name of my hero, went to the same only decent disco in the city that I did. Even then, he was already meeting Olya secretly from the parishioners, but he still could not refuse a fun time with friends at the club. I knew this and believed that either now or later it would be too late. I asked him to walk me home, saying that we are from the same church, as a friend you are obliged.
He reluctantly left his friends and we wandered two blocks through the winter night. He walked and I flew.
I was just fluttering around, I was incredibly happy, which now seems simply ridiculous. Imagine, I believed and hoped that now he would understand everything.
He will see that I am beautiful, smart, cheerful, kind, cool, after all, at the age of fourteen I already went to an adult nightclub, smoked, drank, danced, guys liked me, they invited me to slow dance, and in general I became quite famous as… who?
I can’t even find the words right now. My reputation was twofold. Among my mutual acquaintances with my neighbor, thanks to her gossip, I was considered a strange but brave ugly girl. Among those who saw me for the first time, I was a cute, slightly frivolous wit.
Do you see how much anti-PR can ruin your life? Even then, I needed to deal with my critical villain, but I lacked gunpowder and intelligence.
True, if, as I wrote earlier, from the age of twelve I had taken myself more seriously, cast aside my laziness and begun to invest all my resources in my potential, then by the age of fourteen I would have been a completely different Margarita. By the way, this way I could get rid of my envious, evil neighbor.
So that night, in the light of lanterns and shining snow, I did an irreparable act, which I later had to fight through for years in order to even begin to even look at David directly and communicate.
Oh horror, when I reached my house, I took a step closer. And even then I could understand that it was not worth going further. He didn't respond with a reaction.
Due to his height, I was forced to make a not very easy maneuver. I had to not only pull him towards me by the jacket, but also stand on tiptoe.
All this had to be done in a second, so that the boy, many times stronger than me, would not run away.
I decided to kiss him.
Well, how did you decide? Eighty percent. Twenty percent of my modesty, unfortunately, worsened the reaction, and I froze mid-step.
What it looked like.
Step forward, tiptoes, head and neck stretched forward and upward, lips stretched into a pipe.
“Dudok” – yes, yes. The same one, only without fillers; back then they didn’t know about them in the Russian outback.
And I froze with my eyes closed.
This moment did not last long. David gently pushed me away from him by the shoulders and said, “It would be wrong, I can’t.” And after politely saying goodbye, he left.
“OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Do you want to know what I would do now?
The same. But she would see it through to the end. Before he came to his senses, he had to finish what he started, kiss him and be done with it.
Most likely, he also refused me due to his relationship with Olya, but I would have regained control. I wouldn't be a cowardly and insecure girl. Self-doubting.
It is important for a person to start, change and finish things. Three stages of action – start, change, stop. This makes him feel mentally healthier.
Perhaps even then I could stop loving David.
Well, for example, we all know that women are very important to details. A man is already less beautiful than a woman. Even the most handsome man will be an order of magnitude worse than the most beautiful woman. How? His genitals will spoil the appearance, unlike women's.
Well, it’s true that this Georgian image attracts few people. Dwarf nose, practically. The curly bangs turning into a long drooping nose are like something out of a horror movie.
I'm joking, of course, for many this organ is an object of great adoration. But personally, I know few women who feel admiration at the sight of a naked phallus. The majority groan and look away.
Okay, a couple more things that I noticed in men that irrevocably distracted me from any physical contact. And this is untidiness. Bad breath, bugs, eyeballs, plaque, the smell of sweat, bad body odor in general, comedones, pimples – all this caused and still causes me a gag reflex and disgust.
Remember the movie “What Else Men Talk About?” One of the heroines, imagining betrayal of her husband, says: “Legs. Just imagine. Ugh".
That's what we're talking about, until you love a person completely, with all your soul, until you get used to his farts and farts, all these little things will be in the foreground, they will distract even from romantic feelings in general.
If then, having kissed David, I had smelled an unpleasant odor from my mouth, or from him in general, if I had seen roes, comedones, lumps in the corners of my eyes in such a bright light that night, then I think I would have stopped loving the pleasant image forever and started doing something… then to others.
David, if you are reading these lines now, then perhaps everything was fine with you in those days, and you were perfect, and I would have fallen in love even more. But let it remain a secret. And I prefer to think that all boys are the same. And if there were no women, you would walk around in only underpants, or naked at all, you would not wash for weeks, or even months, you would fart, blow your nose and smoke as much as you wanted.
Men, you are wonderful creatures, and we love you for your spontaneity. If it weren’t for you, we would simply be bored in our ideal world of women.