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I grew up in the era of the Disney princess, a demure damsel-in-distress whose life began when her prince appeared and kissed her on the lips (Snow White) or put a shoe on her foot (Cinderella), awakening her soul. She’d finally found her other half. And happily ever after they went.
If you too grew up with Cinderella and Snow White, maybe you too internalized that as a woman, we just had to be a little helpless until a dashing prince came round to fix something and/or kiss us properly, catapulting us into happily ever after. You know, soulmates.
I really believed this, and it really fucked me up for a long time. I’m still mad at Disney for instilling this notion of one true love happily ever after. And while I was raised to be self reliant, I in fact was not, always believing deep down that a dude somewhere would come along and save me from life shit, and we would happily ever after. In fact I thought it would all be breezy, fun, and that when you found your soulmate, life would unfurl as a dream, endless happy days and romantic nights.
Except that’s all obviously bullshit. I learned the hard way.
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