Too much.

When I was seven years old I got in trouble at school for asking my classmates if I made them horny. I didn’t know what it meant, but my family had just watched the movie Austin Powers, a new release that year, and all I knew was that he kept saying it and everyone in the room was in stitches with laughter.

I liked making people laugh, even back then, and I was learning that I was pretty good at impressions, so… why wouldn’t I test out this newfound material on all of my classmates the next morning?

My teacher did not find me nearly as amusing. Nor did my mother when she got the phone call from my school.

Or at least that’s how I remember it. Honestly, if I was the teacher in that situation I would have a really hard time hiding my laughter while also trying to discipline an obviously hilarious star in the making.

That’s the first time I remember feeling like I was too much.

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It’s a long story. Link in bio.

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I’ve been listening to an episode of The Guilty Feminist (one of my all time favorite podcasts) on this very subject - not weird kids who impersonate Austin Powers, but women who have been led to believe they are too much - and while I generally relate to every episode of this podcast, this one hit really close to home for me.

I’ve always been too much.

All my life I’ve been too loud, too chatty, too tall, too colorful in my appearance, too childish, too nerdy, too skinny, too emotional, too goofy, too open, too curious, too messy, too enthusiastic.

How the heck can anyone be too enthusiastic, by the way? If anything, we should all be enthusiastic about whatever we’re doing, shouldn’t we? Even if I’m planning a funeral, I want to be enthusiastic. It shows that you care. That you’re invested. The same goes for being too emotional. I remember being told once that I was letting my emotions get in the way of my voting choices during the presidential election. I was too emotional about human rights and too emotional about feminism.

I’ve been told I’m too emotional about animals because I’m a vegetarian and I spend money on my dogs’ healthcare.

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Family portrait (Mr not included)

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I’ll allow the too messy thing. I’m a terrible housekeeper, and to be honest, that’s not something I can be proud of. I’m very lucky that The Mr cares about having a clean home and reminds me to get off my butt and do some laundry. It’s not that I don’t care or that I don’t notice the mess, it’s just that I’m, well, too easily distracted.

I’m sure we all have our own lists of too much for ourselves. Some of you have been told you’re too quiet or too heavy or too sexually open or too easily persuaded. Maybe you’ve been told you’re too desperate or too bossy. Too old. Too young. Too nice. Or maybe you like horses or Harry Potter too much. You watch too much tv or spend too much time on instagram. You drink too much coffee or you’re too spiritual.

Maybe you look too much like your dad.

Am I going on about all of this too much? Too bad.

Maybe like to dress up like a centaur and gallop around your yard with your best friend. As long as you’re both happy, I say neeeeeeeigh to the nay-sayers!

Maybe you like to blog about your life and tell funny stories on the internet and there’s some person in your life that thinks you are way too open with your personal life to the general public. Well, maybe they’ve missed the fact that you’ve found a real community of people on the internet who get you and who like your stories and that you’ve been growing as a person both mentally and creatively because of how open you’ve been. Hypothetically.

Obviously all of this too-much stuff is malarky. We’re all exactly as much as we’re supposed to be. Sure, we can all grow and change and none of us are exempt from criticism every now again, but I say that as long as we’re not intentionally or knowingly causing any harm with our too muchness, we’re doing every just fine.

All I really want to say is this: You are magical. You’re not perfect, but you are magnificent. And you, my darling reader, are, if anything, just right.


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I cannot attend a march, but I can make hats.

I'm unable to attend one of the marches on Saturday, which breaks my heart, but I found out about The Pussyhat Project a few weeks back and I've been crocheting like mad ever since, because while I cannot attend a march, I can crochet. The idea is simple: Make a pink hat for people to wear while marching in support of women's rights. Give these hats to someone who will be at the march and that person will distribute them. Hopefully this will create a sea of pink hats, which will look amazing. Also, they have cat ears, which is just a delightful feature that I am obsessed with. If you are attending a march and if you have the skills, there are patterns on the Pussyhat Project website that you can find and use at your leisure, and I highly encourage you to do so. To all of you marching that day, know that I am with you in spirit. I wish I could be there for real, but I can't. So fight the good fight and stand up for what you believe in and what we all deserve. Keep spreading the love and don't let violence sway you. Remember: the best fights have been won through non-violence. We're all angry, but let's redirect that anger towards love and support of one another. When we lift each other up, we win. When we love each other, we win. Because love wins.

So, my sisters, let's do this. Let's get out there and make ourselves impossible to be ignored. I'll be doing my part from a bookshop in a tiny town that day, but I'm hoping that the hats that have been made by myself and many others will be on your heads, and I hope that those heads will be held high.

Be safe, my loves, be warm, be strong, be peaceful, and rock on.