This is such harsh advice until you realize it’s the truth

(via kyssthis16)

What we call ‘community accountability’ (some call it transformative justice, others call it as many names as there are people) has existed for as long as we hold collective memory. A simple definition of community accountability: any strategy to address violence, abuse or harm that creates safety, justice, reparations, and healing, without relying on police, prisons, childhood protective services, or any other state systems. Instead of police and prisons, community accountability strategies depend on something both potentially more accessible and more complicated: the communities surrounding the person who was harmed and the person who caused harm.

Many people are also working with the term ‘transformative justice.’ The organization generationFIVE defines transformative justice as ‘an approach to respond to and prevent child sexual abuse and other forms of violence that puts transformation and liberation at the heart of the change. It is an approach that looks at the experiences of both the individuals and communities involved, and the larger social conditions at work; an approach that seeks to integrate both personal and social transformation.

Excerpt from The Revolution Starts at Home by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Here is the full PDF 

(via labrujamorgan)


"I think about how in queer communities, especially queer people of color communities, you know how much shit your lovers/partners have been through. How they are often survivors, if not of physical or sexual violence, then definitely of the violence of oppression. How can we hold them accountable and still get them the support they need for the fucked up shit they have been through and still keep ourselves safe? How do we share community? How do survivors get past the shock that “one of us” is recreating the violence? The guilt of not wanting to add to our lover’s oppression or make their situation worse? The fear that the community we found or created will hate us, shun us, expel us for shaking up the foundation of trust we thought we shared?"
—jai dulani “the revolution starts at home: pushing through the fear”

so i’m pretty sure this zine is just going to have me sobbing the entire time.

When a story is told or collected, silence is broken. This is no small thing. Isolation is a key factor and tool in perpetuating violence. Survivors of violence often find themselves silenced or stripped of power by their abusers, by the criminal legal system, or by the shame and fear that often accompany survival. Sharing stories allows the telling and retelling of what survivors - people who so often have been told that their voices are not worth hearing - have weathered and withstood. At its strongest, the act of naming the violence breaks an essential circuit in the cycle of violence.
from “Making Our Stories Matter” by Rachael Herzing and Isaac Ontiveros, featured in The Revolution Starts at Home.

  1. You are stronger than you realise.
  2. You are crueller than you realise.
  3. The smallest words will break your heart.
  4. You will change. You’re not the same person you were three years ago. You’re not even the same person you were three minutes ago and that’s okay. Especially if you don’t like the person you were three minutes ago.
  5. People come and go. Some are cigarette breaks, others are forest fires.
  6. You won’t like your name until you hear someone say it in their sleep.
  7. You’ll forget your email password but ten years from now you’ll still remember the number of steps up to his flat.
  8. You don’t have to open the curtains if you don’t want to.
  9. Never stop yourself texting someone. If you love them at 4 a.m., tell them. If you still love them at 9.30 a.m., tell them again.
  10. Make sure you have a safe place. Whether it’s the kitchen floor or the Travel section of a bookshop, just make sure you have a safe place.
  11. You will be scared of all kinds of things, of spiders and clowns and eating alone, but your biggest fear will be that people will see you the way you see yourself.
  12. Sometimes, looking at someone will be like looking into the sun. Sometimes someone will look at you like you are the sun. Wait for it.
  13. You will learn how to sleep alone, how to avoid the cold corners but still fill a bed.
  14. Always be friends with the broken people. They know how to survive.
  15. You can love someone and hate them, all at once. You can miss them so much you ache but still ignore your phone when they call.
  16. You are good at something, whether it’s making someone laugh or remembering their birthday. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that these things don’t matter.
  17. You will always be hungry for love. Always. Even when someone is asleep next to you you’ll envy the pillow touching their cheek and the sheet hiding their skin.
  18. Loneliness is nothing to do with how many people are around you but how many of them understand you.
  19. People say I love you all the time. Even when they say, ‘Why didn’t you call me back?’ or ‘He’s an asshole.’ Make sure you’re listening.
  20. You will be okay.
  21. You will be okay.
21 things my father never told me (via motelstyles)

(via orobolicious)


In health class we were given sheets of paper and told to write a message we would want someone of the opposite sex to know

She read some examples

The girls were like: “Hey can you please not treat me like shit”

The boys were like: “Spray tans look ugly I hate when girls wear too much makeup and don’t lead me on.”

(via fridek)