#inadequacy

[lindersliu]

a little comic about missing major milestones, feelings of inadequacy, fear of failure, and the brain worms of it all

[illicit-eclipse]

In the quiet chambers of the heart,

Where shadows linger and doubts take root,

Inadequacy tiptoes, a ghostly visitor,

Leaving footprints on the soul.

Comparison, that cruel thief of joy,

Weighs our worth against invisible scales.

We measure ourselves against others,

Forgetting their paths are veiled in complexities.

Perfectionism, the demanding taskmaster,

Whispers, "Chase flawless outcomes."

Yet beauty blooms in imperfections,

The artist's brush strokes, the musician's offbeat notes.

And what of expectations?

We carry them like fragile glass,

Fearing their shatter, their sharp edges.

Society whispers, "Be more, do more."

But listen closely:

Inadequacy is not our enemy.

It's a mirror reflecting our humanity,

A reminder that vulnerability binds us all.

Embrace it, dear.

Offer it tea, sit by the hearth, and listen.

It carries lessons—of humility, empathy, grace.

Turn the page; let your heart write the rest.

[fernandopiastri28]

Number 2 Driver

Lacy- Olivia Rodrigo

It’s the 2024 Japanese Grand prix and Logan DNF’ed. He’s all alone in the Williams garage, left to wonder why he’s even in formula one- especially when he’s supposed to be competing against Oscar, the boy he grew up alongside who’s now getting podiums left and right, even winning races before his senior teammate.

Logan’s heart is heavy in his chest, pulsing with each breath of air that enters his lungs. He watches out through the empty garage where he sits alone- not a family member to comfort him after yet another crash. It’s no surprise that no one had come to see him- they knew he would crash regardless. It had been a good race, he had been good at this track back in formula 2 and formula 3, but clearly not good enough to make it to the end without fucking it all up with a crash.

It had been a stupid mistake far too early into the race. Too quick on the turn, not enough control over his own machinery, sending himself tumbling into the wall and cementing his place as the first DNF of the 2024 Japanese grand prix- a race he could’ve fought for points, or even just a single point in.

He wrings his hands out, his back slumping into a curve as he looks down at the steering wheel button indents in his hands. He’s waiting for a hand to come down on his shoulder, a slight squeeze of reassurance from Benny- the comfort he knows won’t come. One of the only people who believes in him, his trainer, is gone now too. Left for bigger and likely more successful things.

He cranes his head to look up at where the race is still continuing on the ahead of him. Oscar is trailing just behind Carlos in fourth, clearly fighting to overtake him. He looks great, the car has amazing pace and he’s clearly improved just from the last race in terms of tire control. It’s a slight comfort knowing that someone he grew up alongside is succeeding so impressively. He’s even out qualifying Max occasionally, something that Logan could only dream of. He returns back to the UK with a heavier suitcase then he’d travelled from trophies while Logan returns half his weight from another piece of his dignity and reputation shattered from yet another DNF.

The 81 McLaren whips past the 55 Ferrari in a chicane, a surprising trick for anyone and especially for a driver hardly in his second year. He knows he’s never going to hear the end of this, hearing how he should be able to do this given they’ve been in formula 1 just as long as each other. It’s nothing new, hearing time and time again that he is just as old and ‘experienced’ as the 2023 rookie of the year, that there’s really no excuse for the abysmal season he had and is now currently having once again.

He forces his eyes away from the papaya chassie, focusing in on his own teammate. Alex is further back in 9th place, fighting Lewis to keep that spot. The tires on his car look worn, even from the poorly angled view of the camera. He’s definitely going to be called in for a pitstop soon enough, it’s going to drop him down to below Zhou who’s down in 14th- far out of points.

That makes two of them at least.

Max is somehow dropping down, Charles overtaking into first with ease. Oscar’s in third, looking like he’s going to be able to maintain that spot for yet another podium to add to his ever impressive resume. Logan slumps down in his chair, white hot emotion burning behind the surface. He shouldn’t be mad, shouldn’t be jealous, shouldn’t be bitter towards the boy he’s spent his whole life racing against and alongside- he should be proud, should be excited for him, but he can’t find enough love in his heart to not feel shit for himself and his whole situation.

Max is settled in between Oscar’s and Charles’s car, sputtering fumes puffing out the back of it and trailing towards the front view out of Oscar’s car. It’s not looking good in the slightest for the world champion, but amazing for the youngest on the grid. There’s a tight hairpin coming up, a complete 50/50 split on whether it’ll be what takes his childhood teammate into second or what’ll put him in the same place as himself.

The orange livery whips past the number 1 redbull, securing the secondary spot in the race. Clear cheers are heard throughout the crowd, the ‘Piastri’ chant echoing through the stadium. It brings a sense of pride to the American, an out of body experience of feeling more like a fan then a fellow pilot of the Australian. He hums along, pushing down the shame and jealousy that bubbles just below his skin. Cmon Oscar, do it for us, he repeats in his mind, his rotten and worshipping mind.

The final lap of the race commences, Charles ever so slightly dragging ahead of Oscar. Logan grits his teeth, clenching his jaw and grinding his molars. The cheers for Charles and Oscar lap over each other, intensifying as the front wheel of Charles begins to turn astray and Oscar gets the advantage of speed above him. Faster, faster, faster. Win, win, win. Holy shit, this is it, Oscar’s about to win his maiden grand prix. The 23 year old Australian in his second year is about to fucking beat Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso, Max Verstappen on a track they’ve raced at time and time again.

The first car to pass under the chequered flag is undoubtedly the bright orange car belonging to the bunny tooth boy he’s watched grow up alongside him. For the first time in his career, Oscar Piastri is a grand prix race winner. He’s never heard a louder cheer, he’s certain of it. It’s the most deserved celebration he reckons. Oscar fought for that win, fought to get into formula 1, fought for greatness. He’s deserved each and every success he’s achieved over the past 18 months, every point that’s taken its spot next to his name on the championship leaderboard. Yet despite how in awe he feels of him, it's like poison seeping through his roughened skin, a constant reminded of everything he’s ever wished to be, every choice he’s made since the day he stepped into a kart for the first time, he dreamed to be in Oscar’s current position one day, rather than sopping in envy on the sidelines.

Crofty’s voice sounds fuzzy as it hits his ears, Oscar Piastri wins the Japanese grand prix for the first time in his career. It’s so perfect, almost predictable that he would’ve won this specific race. The exact track he’d scored his first podium at the year prior. It was his birthday yesterday too, what an amazing present to receive of standing on the top step, king of the world as he sprays champagne to everyone below him, celebrating bringing in his 23rd year of life.

The two boys had drastically different 22nd’s, and now 23rds too. There had been hope when Williams, mainly James, had put their faith in him back at the end of the previous year by resigning him for a second season that he would be improving even in the slightest, but given his results so far; P20 in Bahrain, P15 in Saudi, his chaisse being given to Alex in Australia, and now a DNF in Suzuka, it was seeming like this year was going much the same as the one before- somehow more disappointing given his advantage of a year of experience.

He was no longer ordinary or even unimpressive, he was a complete and utter failure, a disgrace to the sport and to his own home, America. To Australia, Oscar was an inspiration to people all over the country, much the same as Yuki in Japan, Checo in Mexico, Max in the Netherlands, Charles to Monaco, and every other driver- to the US, Logan was yet another useless waste of space in the sports industry. He wasn’t the favourite driver in his own country, wasn’t the driver behind all the popularity that the sport had gained in the states- that was Daniel Ricciardo, another fucking charasmatic Aussie who just seemed to reek of genuinity and ease behind the wheel.

From where he’s sat in a lone seat in the long abandoned William’s garage, he has a perfect sliver of sight to where Oscar’s car pulls into the first place spot. The brunet boy stands up, his fists raising into the air above himself. It’s just the same as his celebration in F2 back in Jeddah, somehow managing to do the exact same looking in the complete wrong direction from the crowd when he struggles his way to stand up. Logan lets himself imagine how that would feel, gathering himself up to stand upon his car and let the world celebrate his feats. How wonderful it would be to not feel like a complete screw up in his sport and career of choice.

He can’t help but feel as if it was a huge mistake to be here now. He should’ve spent another season in formula 2, he would’ve if he’d had the funds to support that goal back when he needed the development the most. There’s a possibility that if he’d never had to leave for that year, he’d be up alongside Oscar. Scoring points, making his family and country proud.

He gathers his ever so little amount of pride left inside him and exits the garage, making his way over to where Oscar is clambering through the row of cars that are currently stationary, the pilots inside them beginning to rise up out of their seats. Logan feels a hot sense of relief when he sees his suited friend approaching him, his arm still pumping up into the air in celebration and continuing the never dimming roar of cheers calling out his name.

“Oscar!” Logan calls out, shoving his number 2 cap further down his blonde strands. Ironic, the number 2. Always number 2 to Oscar, number 2 to Alex, number 2 to Dalton, to Kyle, to everyone who has tried supporting him in his deprecating 2 seasons. He’s become a season thought to everyone, the driver you support because you almost feel bad for them, never the one you support because they are genuinely talented. Because he isn’t, there isn’t an ounce of talent within himself.

Oscar assures him that he is, that he’s just in a bad car and he’s had some bad luck, that things ‘do get easier’. It’s easy for the Australian to say that. He scored points in his home race- 4th race of the year. He doesn’t have a shit box of a car, the other drivers actually like him. So really, his promises are meaningless words, nothing but empty comfort and pity.

He somehow feels even less than a number 2 when he sees where Oscar is actually heading towards. If he didn’t gave his stupid helmet covering his eyes and expression, it would've been beyond clear that he was darting over to the matching car to his own, number 4- fucking Lando Norris.

Everything Logan should be.

He still gives Oscar a smile, waiting patiently for his mate to notice him, for him to allow the American to compliment him until those dimples of the younger boy pop out and the crinkles around his honey brown eyes etch deeper into his pale skin. Until then, he watches his biggest inspiration and favourite person in the world celebrate his win with his teammate of hardly a year and a half. The teammate who would easily choose Carlos over him. Logan wouldn’t dare to, he hopes that Oscar knows how much more worthy he is then the Spaniard, and knows that Logan would pick him first every time over anyone else. He’d settle to be his 2nd choice once again just for him to know that.

As one pair of orange suit covered arms wrap around a matching pair, Logan snakes around to where his teammate had just managed to secure P8- 2 points for the team. Enough to gain a spot in front of Haas, also the first points of the season. He gives the Thai man a hand shake, Alex’s gloved hand squeezes his bare one tightly, their interlocked hands shaking up and down as his eyes crinkle into a covered grin. “Great try Logan, you were showing great pace,” Alex celebrates him, empty compliments that he struggles to believe just ricocheting off his skin.

He gives him a forced toothy grin, paired with a pat on the back as he retreats back to where Oscar has moved away from the other McLaren driver, likely on the hunt to celebrate Fernando or yet another one of his friends on the grid. That must be pleasant for Oscar, being able to spark up conversation with just about any other driver and easily getting along with them. Being the sole american in a European dominated sport, his choice of people who are willing to conversate with him are the boys he spent years with in the prior formulas- such as Zhou and Oscar, obviously, Alex- and George by association- Occasionally Lando when he’s already with their mutual friend, and Checo, who is just as much of an introvert and second driver as Logan feels he is himself.

“Logs!” An arm claps into the back of Logan’s shoulder, tension sparking up when he recognises the accent. The same one that drawls out the ‘o’s at the ends of words into a ‘ah’ noise, the one he’s picked up on far too much slang from, the one he finds himself spending hours comparing himself to the person the voice belongs to. “Look it, 1st time Race winner!” Those warm brown eyes gleam under the bright Japanese sun, staring into a pair of empty and desolate blue eyes.

Logan sees the excitement peeking through his pushed up visor, Oscar’s cheeks squished together under his tight helmet and only intensified from how his mouth is clearly twisted up into a bigger grin than ever. Two arms wrap around Logan, the sweat that saturates Oscar’s fireproofs seeps into the thin fabric of Logan’s team polo shirt. He smells like victory, the awaiting smell of champagne almost lingering- a thought, a memory of the last time he stood up on those steps- 3rd in Japan the year before, 2nd in Qatar, all those times in f2 and f3. It’s practically the Aussie’s signature scent at this point. “Let’s fucking go!” Logan grips around his friend's torso just as tight as he’s being embraced, his breath hot into the carbon of Oscar’s helmet. He hopes his tone is more genuine then he actually feels, a lie and cover up for how envious he is.

“I'm gonna spray you with champagne, yeah?” Oscar’s giddier than usual- a race win must do that to a guy. Logan also wonders what that must be like, that ‘indestructible’ feeling. He nods, forced enthusiasm behind it, watching as the brunet struggles to remove his helmet. The imprints of the inside of it, where foam and bunching balaclava material has been pressing into his skin leaves dark red lines, far darker then the long faded ones Logan had after his short lived race.

So when Oscar holds his trophy high above his head, signalling yet another eruption of cheers from the crowd, Logan looks up at him, a strange mix of pride and covet crossing over his pinched expression. When he’s handed a closed bottle of champagne and he’s put down his trophy to where he won’t break it in the fashion of Lando, he cracks it open, spraying it onto his fellow podium standards of Charles and Max before completing his promise of spraying it onto the crowd in front of him, dribbles of foam coating onto the 2nd William’s driver.

So even then, after Max and Charles had been coated, he was once again 2nd to receive the celebratory champagne spray from Oscar.

[dk-thrive]

Perhaps the most liberating moment in my life was when I realized that my self-loathing was not a product of my inadequacy but, rather, a product of my thoughts.

Vironika Tugaleva, The Love Mindset: An Unconventional Guide to Healing and Happiness (Soulux Press, December 1, 2013) (via Alive on All Channels)

[candymothxxx-archive]

buh

it's my day off but im not feeling good brain wise

sorry all

keeping to my comfy characters unless it's on discord

[recovery-nuovame]

Reblog if...

You have suffered from strong anxiety since you were at least 8 years old (and your parents are to blame for it).

[catmint1]

Normal, in our house, is like a blanket too short for a bed—sometimes it covers you just fine, and other times it leaves you cold and shaking; and worst of all, you never know which of the two it's going to be.

—Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

[zenwords]

Feeling Boring or Inadequate? When watching other peoples lives makes you feel boring and inadequate notice that you are judging yourself and practice compassion for yourself. Do something different. Get off the computer go outside. Call a friend and do something with somebody else. Write a poem. Get some exercise. Get out of your head for a while. — zenmister #boredom #inadequacy #judgment #judgingYourself #compassion #mindfulness #meditation #zenwords #zenmister https://www.instagram.com/p/Cd3QS1hOfn6/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[nusaibaaaa]

n o t e n o u g h

what am i? if i were a cup of tea i wouldn’t be half full. it would be prone to slipping from your hands often, breaking into pieces before being rejoined and recreated. reborn.

not enough not enough not enough. what is wrong with me? even after completing all the tasks on my to-do list i feel unaccomplished. i feel like there’s something missing. i don’t feel satisfied. i want something more, and i don’t know what it is. maybe i don’t want to because i fear that it will be a tough road to get to. maybe because i’m doing things i don’t particularly enjoy for the sake of a future which i’m not even sure i will get and that is why i feel so incomplete. these tedious tasks and some recreation don’t do it for me. a hole gapes wide open in my heart shaped as a lock but i can’t reach the exact key. inadequacy. a word that haunts me. it’s echoing in the walls of my head like a bullet ricocheting, about to burst through my skull and leave me to bleed. incomplete, a draft, no finality— progress and setbacks and progress and regressing— yearning. give me what i want. who am i talking to? not him, not them, not anybody but myself.

[burnerthoughtz]

Next to him

I felt inadequate

Such passion

Such beauty-

Such drive

+ all I had

was a smile.

[gendersquiggly]

I'm struggling a lot lately with feeling undesirable, especially with how it pertains to my gender identity.

Reflecting back on my adolescence, sex and feeling sexy was one of the most prominent ways that I could experience validation in a female body. I wasn't pretty, but I was kinky. I wasn't graceful, but I had tits and ass. I wasn't hot, but I could suck dick like a champ. I often neglected learning about my own desires in favor of catering to the whims of my partners. I was happy to be a tool. It gave me a sense of purpose, that maybe I wasn't a mistake after all.

"I'm not much to look at, but I can make you feel good."

Now, I'm not entirely sure what things are supposed to be like for me. Every day I inch closer to being clocked as a guy on the regular, and further away from the "intrinsically sexualized human" part of the spectrum. I know that trans guys and transmasc humans can be sexy af, because I think that about them all the time. And I don't think it's outside the realm of possibility that I could end up as a hot trans guy, too. (shit, I like the way I look more and more all the time!)

But I don't know what to expect in regards to being perceived as attractive. I don't know if others will provide that validation I used to receive (and kind of miss at times). I don't know if the people in my current social circles will perceive me as attractive or not. I don't know if my partner still perceives me as attractive or not. Yet, also, I feel as though I'm not in a position to question any of this, because I'm still very much in the middle of my transition. We don't judge a sculpture when it's still a block of marble, or a house when it's still bare framework, right?

I think, at the end of the day, I've really got to find my self-esteem in someplace other than another person's eyes.

[whisperintrees]

The excess I own sickens me with an inadequacy - the inability to rightfully deserve it and the inability to happily consume it.

[peppermintpinklemonade]

Seeing more and more fanart and fanfics on my fyp and I’m having to fight the ‘people are better than me and that makes me upset’ complex I’ve got so thought I’d share some mantras/affirmations I personally use when this rears it’s head. I use these for drawing, writing, and academics too. Mantras can be difficult to get your brain to really hear and digest but the more you say it, write it, and hear it, the easier it gets (coming from someone who has been in many a therapy for many a mental health issues and is also a psych student)

1. You’ll only get better if you practice

2. Maybe you don’t have as much experience or practice under your belt as them

3. Nobody can be amazing at everything or they’d be too powerful, remember the other things you’re good at

4. (More art related) Maybe their technique is better, but they don’t have your brain with your ideas, if you don’t want make that idea into the thing no one is gonna get to enjoy it.

Would love people to add on or suggest more tags so people can see this ❤️

[flickeringart]

Saturnian struggles...

Read my latest post about this planet on Patreon!

[samtalksmusic]

"I got love for you, but I hate me" -The Kid Laroi(MAYBE)