Sandrine Charron > Recent Status Updates

The love stories sold us the wrong thing.

The best kind of love doesn't happen on moonlit walks and romantic vacations. It happens in between the folds of everyday life.

Unhealed trauma is a crack. And all the little hard things that trickle into it that would have rolled off someone else, settle. Then when life gets cold, that crack gets bigger, longer, deeper. It makes new breaks. (…) Being broken is not an excuse for bad behavior, you still have to make good choices and do the right thing. But it can be the reason. And sometimes understanding can be what helps you heal.

I'm a fixer by nature. I've spent most of my life believing that if I didn't step in, if I didn't manage the situation, things would fall apart. I had to be the one who kept everything together; even the emotions of the people I love.

And when something didn't go the way I expected, it felt like a reflection on me. I had to fix it, change it, control it.

I spent years trying to be everything for everyone else, thinking that if I could just do enough, say the right things, and keep everyone happy, I'd finally feel good about myself.

But what happens instead? You work harder, bend further, and shrink yourself smaller, and still, someone is disappointed. Still, someone criticizes. Still, you're left feeling like no matter how hard you try, it's never enough.

Life is way more fun when you just let yourself feel and don’t bother with psychoanalyzing every moment to death.

Because the only thing more painful than the company of a disappointing man, is chafing.

People gambled and golfed and planted gardens and traded stocks and had sex and bought new cars and practiced yoga and worked and prayed and redecorated their homes and got worked up over the news and gossiped about their neighbors and pored over restaurant reviews and founded charitable organizations and dined and travelled and distracted themselves with all kinds of gadgets and devices, (…).

I felt... happy. It was such a strange, unusual feeling-light, calm, as though I'd swallowed sunshine. I was getting used to feeling the range of available human emotions, their intensity, the rapidity with which they could change. Until now, anytime that feelings had threatened to unsettle me, I'd drown them. That had allowed me to exist, but I was starting to understand that I needed, wanted, something more.

Most beautiful, good things are done by women people scorn.

J’ai trop lu de trucs intelligent (et trop travaillé) dernièrement, j’avais besoin de nettoyer les circuits neuronaux de mon cerveau avec le truc le plus romantico-trashy que j’avais dans ma liseuse.

Mais les mots ont cette faculté de persister, surtout si on les bannit.

How the same smile that now makes her want to scream used to make her feel like she'd swallowed pure sunlight.

"We're all monsters in the end. At least mine lives in the light."

"Bad things happen to good people sometimes."

"Well, if you would stop nearly breaking your neck jumping to conclusions, I could tell you."

She stared. How could this confident and powerful god feel unworthy of his peoples' celebration? "If they feel you're worthy of celebration, don't you think that's enough?"