Authenticity – (Dis)Abled Creations

The Hardest Part Was Coming Home

When you leave medical-treatment, there is something no one really preopares you for.
It is not illness itself, nor is it the routines you’ve come to recognize.
Its not even the mental and physical exhaustion of planning, packing, unpacking and resetting. It’s quite litterally coming home.

While I touched on this a few weeks back, and (tecnically) was preopared for it – the true impact of coming back home really hit me right in the face this week!

Because, while in treatment, everything has a structure to it. Your days are held, limits respected (or at the very least acknowledged!) – and when you need to, litterally laying in bed all day feels totally normal.
So in a way, this daily structure acts as a rhytm that moves around your body, instead of constantly pushing against it.

And then suddenly, you come home.
And from one day to the next, it’s as if the world expects you to fit back into a life that no longer fits you.
The structure is removed, and everyone (including yourself btw!) keeps pushing your body and your mind into a rhytm that doesnt sound right anymore.

When real life begins again

No matter how hard you try, coming home from medical rehabilitation is not a return to life as you know it. Instead, it is a negotiation between what you learned in treatment, and what real life demands of you.
You try yur best to hold on to the routines that helped you grow as a person, while also recognizing that your daily structure has completely changed. You may be aware of your limits, but real life is often messier. Much less predictable, not to mention less forgiving.

So as the days go by, you encounter expectations; spoken and unspoken. Things that needs to get done. Things you feel responsible for, even if no one explicitly asked you to carry said responsibility.
– And slowly, almost without noticing, you begin to strech yourself again.

Spring cleaning with a body that has limits

In my case, the diswasher broke about a week after my return (which I had nothing to do with, btw!) – but it was older, and it was bound to happen.
The fact that it happened at this particular time of the year, however – doesn’t exactly help!

Spring in Norway comes with its own structural rhytms; light returning, (most) people’s energy rising, and with it, the almost ritualistic need to clean, reset, and start fresh.
And I am definately a part of that!

At current, I live in a basement apartment in my parent’s house. I pay nothing to live here, and because of that – I feel a deep responsibility to contribute; especially through cleaning.

The thing is: my own space takes maybe five minutes to clean. I am very tidy, very structured – and I organize (litterally!) all of my belongings every season.

The rest of the house is another story all together. Due to this, cleaning – and especially Spring Cleaning becomes something else entirely. Its not a quick task to finish and complete, but an ongoing cycle, that no matter how much I do – seems to return within a few days.

So it leaves me either feeling constantly tired and irritated at the lack of organized, tidy spaces – or stressed out of my mind from trying to keep it organized and tidy!
And because I feel grateful to be able to live here – truly grateful – I keep doing it.

I do it, even when my body doesn’t quite have the capacity.
Even when I know – realistically, that I only have the energy to do it once a week.
And I keep doing it, even when it starts to take from the things I am trying to build on my own.

You can be grateful and still overwhelmed

Personally, I think this is the part many people (myself incluced) struggle to accept. Because, I am grateful – and I am overwhelmed!
Both are true!

I am grateful to have a place to live, and grateful for the support of my family through decades of balancing and navigating diseased/ disabled-realities, with life experience.
I am grateful that I don’t stand alone through this.

But I am also highly stressed;
Physically exhausted from trying to balance exersize, cleaning and basic health goals, and mentally drained from the constant awareness of what still needs to be done.

And perhaps, most importantly – I am fully aware that much of this pressure is internal. After all, no one is forcing me to clean beyond what I can manage. No one here (beyond myself!) is demanding perfection.
But gratitude, when it turns into obligations, can feel very heavy.

It can make you prioritize everything except yourself – and call it responsibility.

When helping starts to cost too much

As we keep pushing ourselves to keep going, there is a quiet line somewhere, between contributing and overextending.
And I think coming home has made that line very, very visible for me!

On the one hand, I want to help, give back, and be someone who contributes – yet on the other, I am also someone with a body and mind that has limits.
And when I ignore said limits – when I clean instead of resting, push instead of pacing – and on the whole, choose responsibility over sustainability – it can cost me!

It costs me stability, it affects my sleep, my stress levels rise – and it depletes my ability to focus on the things I enjoy doing; the things I am trying to build. Whether it be work opportunities, creative projects or even my future potential as a whole.
And this is not a fair trade.

What I am trying to learn now

If being in treatment taught me anything, it is this;
Structure is not something you leave behing when you go home. It is something you have to protect!
This means making choices that might feel uncomfortable;
cleaning less, resting more, allowing for things to be imperfect – and allowing myself to prioritize long-term stability, over short-term satisfaction.

It means accepting that contributing does not have to mean exhausting myself to the point of breaking. And that not doing so, to protect my own healt – is fully my own responsibility.

A small pause

So yesterday I chose something different, I took a small break.
A small break from cleaning, a break from writing – and just paused.
Instead I went to the hairdresser, and sat down while someone tended to my hair.
I brought a book to read, was served coffe and snacks – and a weight was lifted off my shoulders.
No cleaning. No fixing, and no adjusting.
Just sitting, reading and existing in my own space.
And maybe that, more than anything, is what coming home is really about;
refusing to return to what was – but slowly learning how to live,

differently than before.
—————————————

A bend in the road is not the end of the road…Unless you fail to make the turn. – Helen Keller

A small task for you, reader…

Before you go to bed tonight, take a moment and ask yourself;
– What is one thing I can let be good enough this week?

Then allow yourself – fully – to leave it there.
Remember, rebuilding a life is not about doing everything. It is about picking and choosing what really matters, and letting the rest wait…

– Silje

The room you thought was a hallway

On Identity, slow-living, and the power of not apologizing

I like to think of my identity as a house. Different rooms in said house represents different aspects of my identity. Some rooms are small – other big, some are practically libraries, or warm kitchens full of memories. And some rooms are locked, as we’re still not sure how to enter them. Regardless of their size, and whether we are aware of them or not, each room represents parts of ourselves.

The problem arises however, when the rest of the world barges in, points at the first hallway they can find – and claims that «this is you, this is all that you are!»
For me, in recent times that hallway has most often been named «disabled».
They see the seizures, the paperwork, the pacing. They see my body moving differently or my voice halting from aphasia and assume that this single narrow corridor is the entire structure of who I am. But here’s what they don’t know:

That hallway leads to a whole damn palace.

Yes, I am partially disabled. I’m queer. I’m a woman. But use any stereotypical elements to describe me based on these categories, and you will be completely wrong. OK, not completely – as I do have a love for septum-piercings and I do have big hips. But that’s about It.

«Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)»
– Walt Whitman

So who gets to name your house?
Your Identity is not a one-room apartment. It’s a wild construction project of life experience, desire, emotion, history and sometimes even trauma. But the world doesn’t like mess or multiplicity. It wants easy-peacy simple signs; «woman», «disabled», «burdensome», «Inspirational».

I am a women of intellect and instinct. Highly ambitious but with a slow-living agenda. I’ve had a feminist, political rage in one hand and a childlike wonder in the other. I carry the knowledge of centuries of cultural memory, dreams for the future, and griefs I haven’t yet named. I am both very kind, and very stoic; higly neurotic – but also very practical. At this day and age, most of my doors are open, and I will not allow myself to be reduced.

Because too many of us, whether we’re disabled, queer, neurodiverse etc – we learn to play small. To shrink ourselves to the stereotypes that does not match us, just so that other people can place us in boxes we’re way too big for. We decorate the hallways of the house that is ‘us’, but never dare to open the door to the art studio, the debate chamber or the garden; rooms where our joy lives without supervision.

«I will not have my life narrowed down.
I will not bow down to somebody else’s whim, or to somebody else’s ignorance.»
– bell hooks

Personally, I believe we have no other choice than to open these doors. To fully accept and reclaim every inch of the internal home we’ve built, even the parts that seem broken, and in need of repair.
It might take a while, but with the right mending, it will be repaired!

Now I know, the world runs fast – and I don’t. That’s not a flaw.
Whether I like it or not, being disabled, while not my entire identity, does influence parts of it. Amongst other things, my pace is often slower. I get easily interrupted or paused – not because I lack drive, or lack the ability to multitast – but because my brain will litterally stop me from doing anything (including stop me from breathing) if my body feels too stressed, too exhausted or too tired.
This used to make me feel bad and broken. Used to make me feel lazy and lost.
But then I realized: everything sacred in nature moves slowly. Seasons don’t rush. Trees and flowers doon’t bloom on demand. Grief, love, healing – all of it takes time. Why should my life be any different?

«Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience».
-Ralp Waldo Emerson

Slowness and slow-living taught me to think even deeper. To notice what other’s speed past. In turn, it is rare that I watch a movie or a new TV-show without constantly guessing right about what’s to come (White Lotus, anyone?). Or meeting a new person and just understanding who and how they are within the first 30 minutes.
Not because this is particularly special in any way, but because allowing yourself to work, think, see and act slowly – also (quite often) leads to more detail-oriented steps ahead.
It has certainly helped me to build ideas brick by brick instead of by burnout.
And by showing me that being slow doesn’t mean being less – it just means being highly intentional.

And if the world in their ‘one hallway view’ calls that weakness or laziness, I call it a revolution.
___

Because, I do not apologize for being fully myself!
I’ve opened all the doors, and I let them stay open.
Because, being wholly yourself is not a performance, it’s a right.
I have known white – hot rage as a child, watching how I was treated in school. I’ve felt heartbroken over things I may never experience, and fear over what epilepsy and aphasia means for my future. I’ve also felt fire and brilliance move through me like a thunderstorm, and extreme joy over fun, life-altering experiences.
And none of it cancels anything else. Each room belong in the same house.

We are not meant to live inside the hallway. We are meant to inhabit our homes fully; to bloom in all the rooms built for us. Without apologies, without shrinking ourselves intoo palatable versions to make other’s comfortable – but with the soul-deep knowledge that this body, this mind, this identity is ours.
An no one else gets the final word on what that means.

So take up space, and let them misunderstand. Speak without softening your syllables, and let them question. Let them knock on doors they’ll never be invited through, and live like your voice is proof that you belong here –
Because it is. Because you do.

Lastly, a task for you, reader:

Take a moment today to explore the house of yourself.

1. What rooms have you been hiding?
2. Who told you they weren’t worth showing?
3. Where have you rushed when slowness would have healed?
4. What would it mean to live your multitudes without apology?

Write a list. Make a drawing. Take a photo. Share it or don’t. Just begin.
And if you ever feel someone trying to reduce you to a single hallway, smile, and say: “You haven’t even seen the rooftop.”

– Silje
_______

Want to go deeper? Try these books:

“Sick Woman Theory” by Johanna Hedva – an essay and framework about invisible illness, resistance, and political care.

“How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy” by Jenny Odell –
a lyrical call to reclaim slowness, attention, and meaning in a world obsessed with urgency.
___

Let them look: Disabled Presence and the art of being seen

There are days when I feel invisible. And there are days when I am seen too much. The latter are days when every glance feels like a question I don’t wish to answer. Days when just existing in public, in my disabled body, feels like performance art.

Even when ‘invisibly disabled’ there will be days, hours or minutes when your disabilities are exeedingly obvious and recognizable. And, to be visibly disabled in a world that doesn’t always know what to do with us, is to live at the edge of attention. We are watched. We are avoided. We are misunderstood, pitied, admired – and completely erased, all in the space of a single afternoon.

It can be exhausting.
It can be powerful.
It’s always complicated.
Because being seen is not the same as being understood.

Sometimes I want to be seen – truly seen, as myself, for who I am. Not just on the basis of my diagnosis, or list of ever growing symptoms.
At other times, getting reciognized for my diagnisis, is equally crucial.
As I said – Complicated!

Whether it’s the one or the other, I do wish people would put a bit more emphasis on the character of Silje. Because, while I’ve often been called «brave» or «inspiring» – I often think; because of what? I’m brave and inspiring because I choose to wake up in the morning – when the only other option is to roll over and die?

Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to get good compliments from time to time! But my choice to get on with my life, has nothing to do with my diagnosis/ everyday symptoms – and everything to do with my strengt of character. I choose to get on despite my disabilities, because to me, there are no other options.

But what does this have to do with public recognition?
First of all, there’s a difference between being seen and being witnessed. And for many of us, that line blurs. Especially in public, when fatigue, pain, mobility aids or sensory limits aren’t just private realities but viable facts.

As Dietrich Bonhoffer once wrote:
«We must learn to regard people less in light of what they do or omit to do, and more in light of what they suffer».

This quote has lingered with me, as a quiet reminder that visibility alone isn’t care – it’s how we are seen that matters. In my case, I’ve been fortunate and unfortionate enough to experience both;

It’s the way people, just out of the kindness in their hearts have followed me home from the buss, out from a ditch in the road or in the middle of a store / or waited with me out of a seizure untill the ambulance arrived.

It’s also the way I’ve experienced the opposite; of being thrown off a buss and robbed during a seizure, of people being afraid to sit next to me in class, and of being stared at at a store – minutes upon minutes at a time.

These event have had the complete opposite effects on me; the first are the times I’ve felt the most human in my entire life. The second is a feeling of being forced into a cage, just to be on display.

So, if you can’t control which of these situations you encounter on specific days, all you can control is how you show up.
Because, while I don’t always feel strong, some days, just showing up as yourself in general is strengt!

Like wearing my red lipstick (my litteral recognizing factor) even when I’m exhausted. Or going out and into buildings wearing my dark filtered-glasses, even if there’s low brightness inside. Like resting openly in the middle of the day – or saying no to overexhaustion. Choosing day-to-day joy, not performance.
These are not small things. These are soft rebellions.

When I was younger, I used to thing pride, pain and productivity had to be loud parades, speeches and declarations. But I’ve learned through time that it can be equally simple and quiet.
That it can look like just using a mobility aid with elegance and confidence. Or asking for help, not because one is weak – but because people deserve support. Like dressing up just for myself, or refusing to rush when my body needs to move slowly. Or even just letting my needs be visible, even when it makes other people uncomfortable.

Because these aren’t acts of defeat. They’re acts of presence.
And to live truthfully in a world that demands constant performance is radical.

«Let them look. Let them wonder.
You don’t owe them invisibility».
– Original

Or, as Audre Lorde said:

«There is no such thing as a single-issue struggle, because we do not live single-issue lives.
– Audre Lorde

So, choosing to be visibly disabled in the event there is a choice, is not just about our bodies. It’s about how society responds to difference, to slowness, and to truth.
It’s about justice, compassion, and the radical idea that we deserve to be seen and held as whole people. To be treated on the basis of character and ability – not disease and disability.

So how can we be seen as whole and sovereign beings, while also living (at times) semi-independent, adaptable lives?
Firstly, if you’re disabled and visible – know that your presence is not a problem. Instead it’s a statement – a soft rebellion against erasure.

Because, you don’t have to be loud to be powerful.
You don’t have to constantly explain yourself to be ‘real’.
And your body, with all its abilities and disabilities, deserves to take up space.

So, dress up with whatever your heart desires, Rest openly under the clear sky.
Be bold. Move slowly. Laugh fully.
And let them look.

Because, even if it might feel like it at times, you are not on display.
You are simply still alive. And that’s more than enough.

– Silje

Disabled and Proud: Celebrating Pride and Disability Together

June is Pride Month; a time to celebrate identity, love, resistance and resilience. For many it’s about waving a rainbow flag with joy and confidence. But for those of us who are both LGBTQ+ and disabled, Pride can carry an even deeper meaning. It’s not just about loving who we love – it’s about surviving, thriving, and finding pride in every part of who we are, even when the world makes it difficult.

For a long time I struggled with Pride. Not because I was ashamed of being bisexual, or ashamed of my disability – quite on the contrary. My sexuality has always been a non-issue in my family, and I’ve never seen a reason to be ashamed of being born with epilepsia – since It’s not my fault.

However, as an ‘outlier’ in both the queer and the disabled community (that is, I’m not gay or straight enough – and not visibly disabled enough; untill I am too visibly disabled in the midst of seizures), I have often felt very alone. Now, realistically I know I’m not. I also know this feeling is not connected to just these communities. Quite on the contrary, I’ve felt like this any time I join a new community. It’s a feeling of being included but simultaneously being completely on the outside. In many ways it has often felt like I was not made for this world. As one of my favourite writers and feminists, Simone de Beauvoir wrote in her book The Woman Destroyed: «I was made for another planet altogether I mistook the way» (Beauvoir 1967). I completely understand.

Luckily, throughout my life, the fog has gradually lifted.
Like the start of a quiet revolution within me, with age I began to realize that feeling pride wasn’t just about resilience or performing strength. It was about embracing truth.

Being queer and disabled means navigating a world that often sees both identities as tragic or invisible. Too often Pride events aren’t accessible. Too often LGBTQ+ spaces aren’t designed with neurodivergent or psysically disabled folks in mind. But we exist, and we belong. And there’s a power in that intersection. As disability activist Eli Clare writes in Brilliant Imperfection: Grappling with Cure (2017):

Pride means resisting shame. It means rewriting the meaning of body and mind. It means telling our stories on our own terms
-Eli Clare

So what is disabled pride? It’s not about pretending things are easy, but rather about saying: I am me – I am whole, exactly as I am. It’s about finding strengt in community, and about refusing to shrink.

«Disabled Pride 2»
Image by:
Silje Elsrud Yttervik

Disabled pride means celebrating what we’ve learned; resilience, adaptability, emotional intelligence. It means recognizing that our accomplishments may not look like others’, but they are just as real, just as powerful – and just as worthy of pride. Because, as Alice Wong (2020) would say; we are the experts of our own lives.

This Pride Month I’m holding both my bisexuality and my disabilty in the light. I’m choosing to celebrate the beauty of intersectionality. So, if you are queer and disabled: your existence is radical. Your joy and happiness matters. Your story matters. And you are not alone!

-Silje

Ambition & Disability: When the Body doesn’t match the Dream

Ambition is often seen as striving; climbing; achieving.
But for many disabled people, this ambition is also laced with grief. Grief because the body (or mind) can’t keep up with the pace of the vision.

Because, how do you keep an ambitious mind, while also centering your lived physical experiences? This question is not just personal. It’s political, cultural and systemic. And for many of us, it feels like walking a tightrope between possibility and limitation every single day.

I know this feeling all to well, as I have always been highly ambitious.
A while back I was in the hospital for my epilepsi treatment. If you’ve ever had a «productive» day planned and ended up in a hospital bed instead, you know the mental spiral that can follow. With a to-do list completely untouched and goals practically put on pause, I felt like I’d hit a wall. With hopes, dreams and visions tucked neatly intoo my brain, but without a body or mind able to accomplish any of it. It’s heartbreaking. And even though I knew I needed to care for my health, I still felt like I had failed. And in many ways, I still do.

Because that’s the thing about ambition – it doesn’t dissapear just because your body needs to rest. Instead it just sits there quietly in the corner, constantly reminding you of all the things you aren’t doing.

However, some things have changed for the better.
During my 4-years spent in a hospital, getting worse and worse with the different meds, treatments, surgeries and whatnot; it also made me realize something else. I wasn’t the problem. My ambitions were neither dead nor broken, but the framework I was trying to fit intoo was.

Because, mainstream ambition – the kind sold by a myriad of different self-help books and productivity-gurus, are built on able-bodied norms. It expects consistency, stamina and independence by nature.

As writer and activist Mia Mungus explains in her work on access intimacy «we are taught to see interdependence as weakness». But what if that’s just another lie that serves ableism?. This notion is further exemplified by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha in Care Work: Dreaming Disability Justice:

«We are told rest and slowness are the enemies of sucess. But for us, they are survival. And survival is a form of resistance». (Piepzna-Samarasinha, L.L. 2018)

So, instead of ambition being something that crushes us, what if we imagined it as something that adapts instead? Something that bends to our needs, rather than breaking us in the process?
As earlier mentioned, McRuers Crip-theory asks us to challenge the standards of what a «good life» looks like. It doesn’t mean we have to give up on ambition, but rather that we reimagine it in a way that also includes us. Now, this is not easy, but begins by viewing ambition not as a latter- but rather as a network (= messy, meaningful and rooted in interdependence). Maybe it’s about being a mentor, an artist, a connector or a truth-teller.
Because, maybe ambition is about choosing your values, not just your milestones.

Since the hospital stay when I first hit a wall, now 3 years ago, I’ve been working on a new way of being ambitious. It’s nowhere near perfect, but it’s one that I feel comfortable and able to continue, one that flows with my body’s natural rhytm instead of trying to change it. As an example, my body needs ALOT of sleep. We’re talking 9-12 hours on an average day. Similarly, my energy rises and sinks at certain times most days, and these times are not always practical. So I ask myself frequently;
– what matters most today, given what my body can do?
– what version of a particular goal feels sustainable short and long-term?
– how can I break it down to easier tasks and still honour the vision?

I still have big dreams. I still care about growth. But I’ve stopped trying to meet standards that was not built with me (and my kind) in mind.
Ambition doesn’t have to be about pushing harder. Sometimes it’s about pushing differently – or not pushing at all.

[Image by: Miguel Bruna
«Unsplash]

«You are not lazy, unmotivated or stuck. After years of living in survival mode, you are exhausted. There is a difference»
-Nakeia Homer (ref:

To anyone reading this who feels like their ambition is broken – believe me, it’s not. You might be grieving an old definition, and that’s ok.
The truth is that the world needs disabled ambition. Ambition that is deep, not just tall. Ambition that honours interdependence, adaption and authenticity. That includes me – and you, not just our output.

So here is an invitation;
if you could have one goal to dream of – not in spite of your body or mind, but with it as is, what would it be?

– Silje

Setting Boundaries: A Path to Self-Respect

Self-respect isn’t something that comes or goes with sucess or failure. It doesn’t depend on how other people see you, how productive you’ve been or how many times you stumble along the way. Instead, it’s considerably deeper ingrained; rooted in the constant and consistent determination of our boundaries. In the words of Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend:

«Boundaries define us. They define what is me and what is not me. A boundary shows me where I end and someone else begins, leading me to a sense of ownership. Knowing what I am to own and take responsibility for gives me freedom… Boundaries help us keep the good in and the bad out. They guard our treasures so that people will not steal them. They keep the pearls inside and the pigs outside»
-Dr Henry Cloud/ Dr John Townsend, Boundaries, 1992

Like many other self-preserving elements, I was taugth the importance of boundaries early on in my childhood. I didn’t know it at the time of course, but looking back, it’s obvious that the main reason for my massive self-respect while growing up, even when humiliated, disrespected and underestimated, is due to a stark perserverance of my boundaries. A perserverance still relevant today.

There’s particularly three examples of boundary-setting that have been implanted into my brain since I was a toddler; The first is an example I know many people talk about today, which is whether to ‘force’ children to give hugs to their grandparents. My own parents never did this, yet I learned to hug them anyway. Not because I was coerced or forced to do so, but because I did what most children do – follow the lead of their parent’s. So when my mum and dad was giving my grandparents and uncle/aunts hugs, I started following along. Without coercion, and with personal boundaries and atonomy still intact. These types of boundaries are not just rules, they’re part of values. Values that taught me that my body is my own, and that honoring myself is nesessary for further self-respect.

The second was my mother telling me – probably over 500 times that if my dad ever became violent towards her or me, she’d kick him out of the house with his head first. This is because not tolerating any form of violence is one of my mum’s boundaries. This is a boundary she has never changed, and as I’ve (unfortionately) seen acts of violence happen to several childhood friends and their mothers (by their own father’s), It is a boundary I’ve always been inclined to introduce.

The third example is one of my dad’s boundaries; the financial advice of not borrowing money to friends, as it has a tendancy to lead to arguments over money. My dad originally brought this up to me as a pre-teen, in a discussion over money-management, as he himself had experienced friendship-breaks when asking back the amount of money he had lent away. As the discussion seized through all the ways borrowing money to friends could go wrong, and the amount of anger that could built up if it was discovered that some unaccountable person was using this money ‘impractically’, I realized that having the boundary of just not lending away any money would make life much easier. And it certainly has – as this type of rigid boundary has the added bonus of weeding out all potential ‘friends’ who’s only with you to take something from you. As a result I’ve never borrowed anyone any money, and I make it a point to tell people this when they first get to know me. After all, if you stand firm in a rigid boundary – and won’t let yourself be manipulated by people interested in getting something from you, they’ll eventually leave as it’s nothing to gain.

In regards to this last example, however, I would like to add an important factor; not borrowing away any money, does not mean that you can’t be generous. I personally think generosity is an important trait of having a good character, and tend to give things away quite freely and frequently. But giving something away is different from borrowing, and leads to people being able to choose to who – and how often they wish to do so. I much rather prefer this, as I can be generous to someone one time, but will only be generous to said someone several times, if this generosity goes both ways. And if it doesn’t, I will simply count my losses and move on.

Fast forward to adulthood. I’ve lost opportunities, ended friendships, made unpopular decisions – but one thing I’ve never lost is my self respect. Why? Because I didn’t give away any of my boundaries. Like I tell most potential romantic partners, they only get one chance with me – blow it by being unfaithful, abusive, untruthful or coersive – no thanks! Say you’ll do one thing, then do something else? Nope, adieu! If someone does not respect me, or chooses to betray me one way or another – I simply walk away.

The same goes for friendships. If you do not respect me – or yourself enough to be honest with me, only to then talk smack about me behind my back and lie to my face when asked about it; its not a friendship worth having. A few people have crossed minor boundaries, and I’ve accepted their apologies as I believe them to be genuine. However, those few people this is referring to, know that they will forever exist in limbo – where one other wrong boundary-crossing is enough for me to walk away from them.

This though process only exists however, as my boundaries are very strong, very obvious and very clear – and I communicate them quite ‘frank’ to everyone. Because, boundaries are not just about saying «no» to certain people or certain things; they’re also about saying «yes» to yourself – to your own values, morals, energy, time and what you believe is right. They’re how people stay grounded, especially when life gets a little shaky.

Some people think boundaries are walls meant to keep people out. I instead choose to see them as doors that determine who you choose to let in. Or; they don’t shut the world out, they invite in only what aligns. They’re not about control, but rather about clarity. Every time I uphold a boundary, I remind myself that I matter to me. That I don’t need to be liked by everyone. That my worth isn’t up for negotiation. And this has given me something no job title, or person ever could; peace of mind. And if I’m being completelty honest, I often get the impression that I have more self-respect than anyone I know – not because I think I’m better, but because I was taught, from the beginning to honor the space around and within me.

So, if I could give one piece of advice to anyone struggling with self-respect, it would be this; check your boundaries. Where are you saying yes, when you mean no? Where are you betraying your own values just to avoid discomfort?
Self-respect isn’t loud. It’s quiet, steady and deeply powerful. It show’s up every time you choose yourself – not out of ego, but out of integrity.
Because boundaries are not barriers. They are bridges – to a life you can live with your head held high, even when things fall apart.

Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves, even when we risk dissapointing others»
– Brene Brown, from «The Gifts of Imperfection«

The Power of Self-Acceptance

In a world where apperances and personalities are often curated and filtered through social media, self-acceptance stands as a powerful act of courage and authenticity. It is not just a feel-good concept, it’s the foundation for how we present ourselves to the world, and – more importantly, how we connect (or disconnect) with other people.

The very first ‘self-identity’ advice my parents gave me, was to be myself fully and authentically – always. I don’t remember how young I was, but I know it was during a time when my general kindness often lead to people walking right over me. So for my parents, this advice was more about teaching me to stand up for myself, so as not to end up around a bunch of people who’d kick me under the buss later in life. And it certainly worked. First of all because, while I didn’t stop being kind per se, my kindness became much more exclusive – only afforded those who offerered me a similar kindness in return. Thus, if someone didn’t like me because of, well – Me, that was their problem. So everytime I decided something regarding my apperance or choices that was authentic to me – and my parents, friends, peers or other family members didn’t accept it, they knew I would just consider it their problem, as I was told to do.

Despite this, even from a young age, this would not have worked without the key ingredience of ‘self-acceptance’. Self-acceptance means embracing all parts of yourself; your strengths, flaws, past mistakes and unique quirks withouth too harsh judgement. It’s an acknowledgement of who you are at the base, and understanding that your worth as a human being isn’t conditional on your perfection, or on approval from other people.

Whats’s more, self-acceptance is also an important component of a person’s self-preservation. Because, without first accepting yourself – fully, self-preservation becomes a performance act; where you edit your personality to fit into other people’s idea of what is/ isn’t acceptible. This in turn leads to a whole can of worms, like anxiety, imposter syndrom and constantly feeling like you’re not good enough.
But when you accept yourself fully for who you are, your confidence becomes grounded in reality, and you don’t have to pretend or perform anymore. This in turn makes you magnetic.

To use an example from my own life; During my teenage-years, and early-to-mid twenties, I could at times be quite the drama-queen. It wasn’t often, mind you – but aproximately every tree – five years I would have a major drama-outburst, and act all crazy. It’s a bit fascinating too, because I hate drama and drama shows, and prefer to be left out of things that doesn’t involve me. But for many years this would happen. For a long time I simply ignored it, hoping it wouldn’t happen again, but it was only when I accepted that I can become this way – and that it was rooted in deep-seated wounds from feeling unaccepted and ignored by peers in primary school, that I stopped behaving this way. This does not mean that I condone shitty behaviour (neither my own nor others’), but knowing and accepting that It is a part of me at times, is the first step. So instead, I would talk to my friends about it, and be vulnerable (ps, I have good friends), and suddenly, drama-Silje was not a problem anymore.

Because, self-preservation does not mean that you are immune to being hurt, or feeling sad that you are aren’t accepted. It simply means that whether you are accepted or not, you decide not to change if and for anyone other than yourself. And, when rooted in self-acceptance, self-preservation is how you choose to show up: verbally, visually and emotionally, reflecting the real you.

Furthermore, this form of self-treatment also tends to lead to:
– Authentic relationships, as most people are drawn to those who are genuine.
– An Improved mental health, as there is less pressure to be perfect.
– Stronger communication skills, as you learn to express yourself clearly and honestly.
– A confidence that sticks, as it is not built upon other people’s approval.

However, self-acceptance does not just happen by itself. Instead, it is learned, slowly through practice. First of all you have to recognize your inner critic. Take notice of when you’re being unkind to yourself. Is this rooted in you doing something bad – or is it rooted in perfectionism? Secondly, Celebrate what makes you unique! Whether physical or mental- what makes you different from other people is what makes you – you. Thirdly, and this is one I struggled with alot: forgive yourself, and let go of your past mistakes. Learn from them, yes – but not at the expense of getting stuck in the middle of a growth-journey.

The fourth way to implement self-acceptance intoo your life, is to start speaking kindly to yourself. Think of yourself as your dearest family member or friend; if you wouldn’t talk to them the way you talk to yourself, then stop doing it. And finally, be consistent. Self-acceptance is a daily practice. Being accepting of oneself one day, and then talking absolute crap the rest of the week, is like taking one step forward and 20 steps back. so be consistent in your practice.

Because, self acceptance isn’t about giving up on growth – it’s about growing from a place of wholeness instead of lack. When you accept yourself, you give others permission to do the same. And when you present yourself with authenticity, you make the kind of impact that last.

– According to Silje

Embracing Authenticity, with a hint of madness

As far as introductions go, I have never been particularly practical. Instead I tend to take the opposite approach; present yourself as either a) a complete madwoman or b) the biggest snob you’ve ever met, and let those who haven’t walked away in complete disblief enjoy your middle ground – which in most situations is as close to your authentic being as possible. So with that said, here I am . Due to the random fact of where my parent are from, I am Norwegian. I was born in 1991, at a time where the biggest argument around my peers, was whether you were a fan of Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera – Westlife or Backstreet boys.

In no circumstance were you allowed to be a fan of both – and in similar fashion; if you didn’t like either, you were considered equally strange. Now, basic pop- music aside, being considered strange – while definately hurtful, has never been a problem for me. Partially, as I realised early on that what people tended to think me strange for, were just simple self – preservation tactics. Tactics that I began implementing during my elementary school years, in order to get through days of constant bullying. Of course it didn’t help that much of what I was bullied for (such as freezing completely in the middle of conversation, only to ‘come back’ and not understand anything) were in actuality some of the earliest signs of my epilepsia diagnosis, it was just not examined as my teacher couldn’t stand me, and just decided that I was doing it on purpose. So self-preservation it was.

Now none of this suggests that I am somehow a wackjob with very nice clothes, however, I guess its just one of those rumours that came about. Firstly, because my first tactic of self-preservation was to remove myself from those who wanted to harm or bully me. As a result, I spent most of the ‘outdoor’ period in primary school sitting by myself at the entrance to the forest, talking to myself. Thus I became known as the girl who spoke to trees and sticks. Not completely true, mind you – but not completely false either.

Secondly, I have always been good at understanding people, often long before they understand themselves. Due to this, I’ve always found most people very predictable. This fact became quite well known during my elementary school years, as every time I openly made an assesment of someone or the result of someone’s situation, I ended up being correct. This resulted in me becoming some sort of «child psychologist» that people (friends and foes) would tell their secrets too, and ask for advice. Of course, a few years down the line, this made quite alot of the schools self-proclaimed «queen bees» highly anxious around me, as I knew all their secrets about eachother. Little did they know that most of their secrets, backtalking and rumour-spreading ended with me, as my epilepsia gave me a terrible memory, and most of the things peope told me, I had forgotten within the year.

Thirdly, whether as a girl or a young woman, I’ve always had an extremely high integrity. This has become so apparant any time I meet someone who lacks it, that they litterally repulse me. As a child this was very difficult, as it makes you seem a bit entitled to other’s honesty. As an adult however, it’s great. After all, If integrity is important to you, then anyone who lacks it, who behaves dishonestly – or who seems unable to be self-aware, sticks out like a sore thumb. Henceforth, any potential aquaintanceship with said person ,breaks off very quickly. If you simultaneously add honesty as another self-preservation tactic, whereby being completely open and honest about boundaries, expectations, and what you will and won’t offer in retun, you’re pretty much set. None of this will work however, if you’re not also honest about how you’ll react when someone tries to break said boundaries: «you only get one chance with me» is a motto most of friends are aware of. This does not mean that I cut contact at any minor incident, but rather that If you’ve proven yourself to be unreliable, dishonest or unable to take accountability for the consequences of your own actions, It only takes me one time for me to «clock it and block it» as they say these days.

So in many ways, my authentic personality is a mix of someone kind and helpful, yet also exessantly rigid. A high self- image, but with many tactics to keep it that way. On the one hand this can lead to a good balance between self-awareness and practicality. On the other hand, mixing self-awareness with rigidity can also lead to perfectionism and neuroticism – both equally exhausting. As such, the best way to counteract this, is to allow yourself the time and place to let go and let loose – and bring on some madness.
-According to Silje

We all go a little mad sometimes
/ Norman Bates, «Bates Motel» 1960