This article is my life.
“The Confidence Gap,” Katty Kay and Claire Shipman, The Atlantic
The older I get the more I find there is very little reward in the work world in being a “good girl” in the sense of not asserting your rights, not claiming your place, not stating when you know you are right for fear you might actually be wrong and then any fallout will be on you and you’ll prove to everyone what you’ve always suspected about yourself because you are a girl or someone will say you are fat or ugly which is related to nothing, always being cooperative, trying to be a team player and not the squeaky wheel, sitting nicely with your hands folded before recess like you did in third grade, etc.
I see over and over men in my profession ascend in part because they assume they deserve it and don’t worry about “how it will look” to claim a spot and not attempt to please every single person in their professional world. Sometimes when I’m doing career planning, I tell myself to “think like a man.” It’s so complicated. Gah.
*nods to everything Sara Zarr is saying*
I’ll never be able to be quiet enough, able to act dumb and smile enough, to please people. It doesn’t work. The fact I ever tried showed I was caught in a trap.
Nowadays it’s different. Of course occasionally this means I turn into Streetfighter Sarah, yelling ‘Yeah? Yeah? Come say that to me again, I’ll bite off your nose and spit it down your throat!’ But on the whole I think it’s better.
Guys are promoted differently as it is, talked about differently, praised more and criticised less. We need to break out of promoting ourselves differently, more diffidently, as if we couldn’t possibly be worthy of attention.
requested by chipschallenge
At twilight on August the 25th 1999, one week before classes were to begin, Hermione Granger Apparated into Hogsmeade, a wand box clutched under her arm.
Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for her outside the Three Broomsticks. The two women greeted each other warmly, and then set off towards the castle. Or rather, towards the grounds outside the castle.
They chatted amiably as they strolled towards the groundskeeper’s hut. Hagrid, sitting outside and darning a pair of enormous socks, looked up as they approached.
“Good evenin’ Headmistress, Hermione,” he said with some gruff surprise.
“Good evening, Hagrid,” replied McGonagall. “May we go inside? I believe Hermione has a proposition to discuss with you.”
If you had stood outside the hut as the evening darkened and the stars rose into the sky, you’d have heard the rumblings of an argument coming from inside the hut. You’d have heard Hagrid’s gruff refusals, Hermione’s calm (and then not so calm) rebuttals, and the very occasional interjection of the Headmistress.
Hermione did not emerge until the moon had fully risen and darkness enveloped the grounds. But in the light of the nearly full moon, you could see a smile on her face.
The Shrieking Shack was no longer widely believed to be haunted, now that the story of Remus Lupin was fully known. Still, the residents of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts avoided it out of a mixture of respect and residual fear.
This suited Hermione perfectly. The interior of the Shack was now stacked with books and bottles of potion ingredients. A cauldron sat in the corner, a telescope pointed out a cracked window, and cushions lined one wall. A table was covered in parchment, broken quills, ink pots and stains. Once a week, Hermione would apparate into the Shack and go over her notes from the previous session while she awaited her student’s arrival.
Sometimes he was late without explanation. Sometimes he would bring a wounded bowtruckle he wasn’t comfortable leaving on its own. Sometimes Fang would follow him and sit in the corner whining while his master sweated and cursed over a cauldron. Hermione was calm but firm, making adjustments as needed and letting Hagrid’s frustrated words roll off her back like water droplets.
The Hogsmeade residents may have turned a blind eye to the goings-on in the Shrieking Shack, but that didn’t mean they weren’t relieved as time went on and there were fewer and fewer roars of anger echoing through the village.
The OWL testers had been warned in advance that they would have an unusual student that year. That didn’t mean they weren’t taken aback when Rubeus Hagrid appeared on their testing scrolls. They all knew of him of course, knew the role he played in the Second War and of the false accusations leveled against him.
They were worried they would have to be kind.
They needn’t have. No one could have Hermione Granger teach them personally for a year and not improve in all aspects. His potions may not have been textbook perfection, he may not have fully transfigured his toad, but Hagrid had clearly worked hard to master his long dormant abilities.
Rubeus Hagrid may not have followed the traditional path to wisdom. But he had a new wand, the (sometimes grudging) respect of his peers, classes to teach and 6 OWLs.
Including the highest score ever recorded on Care of Magical Creatures.
(written and submitted by ppyajunebug; please excuse me, because I have something in my eye. Oh yes, it is my joyful tears. ppyajunebug has a way of bringing those out of me, you see. Their submissions tackle some of the saddest moments in canon, turning them around and making something beautiful out of them.)
It’s my headcanon.
Can’t be stopped now.
there should be a two year period after high school where it is socially expected that kids not work or go to school or do anything but take road trips, read books, meet new people, and take lots of pictures
yeah that’s called a gap year… don’t you have that?
Not in America…
It’s not that we “don’t have it”, it’s that it’s discouraged for most people. Why? I do not know. But with the state of the economy the way it is, it’s not like anyone can afford to do that anyway.
These are going fast, folks! If you want one, now’s the chance. See the indiegogo to re-print this book below!
gnade: DEAR FRIENDS: CAN YOU HELP ME GET THE WORD OUT ABOUT MY INDIEGOGO CAMPAIGN TO GET THE DO-IT-YOURSELF GUIDE TO FIGHTING THE BIG MOTHERFUCKIN’ SAD PUBLISHED AGAIN?
Only about 20 copies left of the book before it’s out of print. Any magic you all can work (whether that’s telling people about it or sending the link around or reblogs or, really, ANYTHING) would make my heart swell.
Ponytail Rin appreciation post
—an adult who has had the same job for over 20 years (via jessyphil)