When I complain about being a ‘gifted’ kid who grew into a talentless adult I don’t mean that I’m not trying to work on my talents or anything

I mean that the ‘gifts’ I had are useless

Reading books above my age isn’t a talent when I’m not eleven

Knowing big words isn’t a talent when I’m not a kid, it’s just growing up

It’s just a weird thing that happens and it feels shitty when you’re brought up being told you’re an exceptional child only to realise as an adult you’re just average

This

I did a lot of reading about gifted kids and especially gifted adults when I got my “diagnosis” because I was told I was gifted at 23 and well, it serves no purpose to have a confirmation that you’re gifted at 23

Thing is, gifted children are not amazingly better than everyone else. Gifted brains just don’t work the same so they build their skills in a different order

Basically when you’re very young, most people brain learn social skills and how to interact with their peers, but gifted brains are already at the next step which is how to understand and interact with the world

That makes the stereotypical young children that are very good at math, always asking questions about how things work, very upset when they don’t know a thing

But the thing is, when everyone gets older, they’ve mastered most social skills and now turn towards understanding the world

But the gifted children have already mastered that part and are turning towards how to build social skills. Except there’s no one left to teach us about that! Because we’re late to that party

Long story short, at the end everyone, gifted or not, goes through all the necessary steps to make functioning adults, so the difference that was obvious as a child has disappeared

But us gifted people often end up with social anxiety and impostor syndrome because we are actually less equipped than others to face a world that taught everyone to be confident and talk to people while we were busy reading books above our age

thank you I needed to read this

JK Rowling only said Dumbledore was gay because there weren’t any risks, the books were finished. Now she’s decided they aren’t, there are risks again and she’s chosen the same spineless path she’s used to. She is no LGBTQ ally.

the saddest death in harry potter is my respect for jk rowling.

I don’t think I’ve seen that sentence in a more appropriate context

I’m not even a slytherin but this made me laugh for half an hour// artist: @emilyscartoons

tbh the most unrealistic thing in harry potter is when mrs weasley in the first book asks “now what’s the platform number?”

like this woman has been going to that school for seven years and then dropped kids off on the same place for nearly ten like why on earth would she forget the platform number

I still have the headcanon that Molly BAMF Weasley saw a scrawny underfed child with an owl who had no idea where he was going and looked lost and confused and was like, “Ah, yep, new son.” but didn’t want to scare him by outright approaching and asking if he needed help so she was just like, “MUGGLES, MUGGLES EVERYWHERE! DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THE PLATFORM NUMBER TO WIZARD SCHOOL IS? WHAT’S THAT? NINE AND THREE QUARTERS? OH, YES, THAT’S RIGHT. THE PLATFORM NUMBER IS   N I N E   A N D   T H R E E    Q U A R T E R S!”

Of course seeing as how Harry isn’t the most observant bloke, she probably ushered her kids past him fifty times as different ones screamed the platform number until they finally got his attention.

With that being said, and I’m extremely sorry for taking over your post:

11:45:

They had just enough time to make it onto the platform, get their trunks loaded, and say their goodbyes. Molly ushered them all along, wishing that she could just Apparate them all onto the train and be done with it. There was too much to do, too much to say, too m—

All at once, she screeched to a halt. Percy crashed into her, causing the twins to snicker.

A tiny boy was being crossly turned away by a security guard. A boy whose ribs poked through his baggy shirt, whose glasses were broken, whose jaw was trembling as he tried to find his way. Well, surely she could be the person to guide him there? And did he…? Yes! He had an owl! He was one of them!

The poor child; he looked so lost.

Where were his parents?

Never mind, never mind. She would see to it that he would get on the train. But she had to be careful. She couldn’t startle him. He’d run off and that would be the end of it. No, no, they had to be crafty.

11:47 AM:

“Packed with Muggles of course,” Molly said loudly, ushering her very confused children past the boy. “What’s the platform number again?”

“Nine and three quarters,” Percy said. “Mother, how could you have forg—?”

It was George who nudged him as he understood what she was doing. She had done it before, after all, and she would do it again.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

The boy didn’t seem to notice them.

11:48 AM:

“Packed with Muggles of course,” said Molly again, marching her children past once more. “What’s the platform number?”

“Nine and three quarters,” Fred and George screamed in unison.

And still the boy remained lost.

11:49 AM:

“Mum,” Ron panted, tripping over himself as he ran to keep up with her. “Slow down!”

Molly ignored him as she practically flew past the poor boy. “Packed with Muggles of course! Now, what’s the platform number?”

“Nine and three quarters,” Ron bellowed.

11:50 AM:

Molly honestly didn’t care if her entire family missed the train and she had to set off across the UK herself like a mother leading a flock of ducklings: she was going to help this boy onto the bloody train.

She marched past him with a fiery determination and said, “Packed with Muggles of course!”

The boy looked up.

Yes! Okay, this was it, this was it, this was it. Play it cool. He was following them. Listening. Pretending not to.

They stopped.

“Now,” Molly said. “What’s the platform number?”

“Nine and three quarters,” piped Ginny.

Victory!

The next nine minutes were a whirlwind of chaos but they managed to get the boy through the barrier. At Molly’s insistence, Fred and George popped up and helped him get his trunk into the compartment. She handed Ron an extra sandwich and muttered, “Tell him that everywhere else was full.”

He dutifully nodded.

As the train took off, she waved to her children, including her newest one.

Bristling with pride, she began to head back to the Burrow. There was simply no time to waste. She had a jumper to knit.

If I ever don’t reblog this post - assume I’m dead

My therapist told me something meaningful yesterday, she said “It’s important to remember that when you’re depressed you have to nurse yourself and be extra gentile towards yourself. Just like an athlete wouldn’t break an ankle then force themselves to run that ankle. They rest as it heals and do not think “I am a failed athelete” they think, “right now something isn’t working so i’ll take care of myself until it does.“ 

Just like a broken bone, depression can change the way your daily life plays out, and pushing yourself too hard and getting frustrated when you don’t feel better is just like trying to run on that broken ankle and getting frustrated when it doesn’t heal.

Read this. Then read it again. And then save it and read it over and over when you are depressed.

ATTENTION ALL GIRLS AND LADIES: if you walk from home, school, office or anywhere and you are alone and you come across a little boy crying holding a piece of paper with an address on it, DO NOT TAKE HIM THERE! take him straight to the police station for this is the new 'gang' way of rape. The incident is getting worse. Warn your families. Reblog this so this message can get accross to everyone.

PLEASE reblog this.

I have reblogged this about three times now and I will never not reblog it

i actually heard of this happening in atlanta not that long ago. that shit is terrifying as hell.

idc if it may ruin my blog look or whatever, if it means word gets out about these bastards then imma reblog x1000

reposting on my friends account

holy shit, that’s absolutely horrifying… definitely gonna reblog this shit, this could fucking save people’s lives.

Maybe this will be useful to some of my followers! 

Everyone should see this, it’s really important

I reblog every time

If you don’t reblog this you’re auto required to leave

I fucking told you, auto

dUDE

hOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS IS HORRIFYING PLEASE REBLOG

oh god oh god oh god

PLEASE REBLOG

I’M NOT EVEN JOKING

WTF

Stay alert ladies!

be warned

REBLOG!!!!!!!!!

HOLY SHIT! GUYS REBLOG THE FUCK OUTTA THIS!!!

I’m used to not rebloging anything ………..BUT HECK YEAH I’M REBLOGING THIS!!!!!!!

This is horrifying! Everyone please be careful!

!!!!!!!

STOP SCROLLING

PLEASE REBLOG

STOP SCROLLING

PLEASE REBLOG

HOLY CRAP!!! ALRIGHT ATTENTION TO THIS!! PLEASE REBLOG THIS!!! - THIS SHOULD ALSO BE A WARNING THEM GUYS!!! PLEASE!!!

Reblog

Reblog this right fucking now

Reblog this! It could save someone

— Ravenclaw right before tests, or an interview, or when they have a list of things they should be doing. 

Years of dangerous magical training have prepared me for this moment

I have serious questions about the multiple cat-cauldrons in McGongagall’s transfiguration lesson in year two. like how do you have multiple mis-transfigured cats? aren’t you a cat animagus? are these cats that pissed you off in cat form? Minerva, I have concerns.

fucking christ I am sobbing

“If the men find out we can shapeshift, they’re going to tell the church!“

I keep thinking oh man, I’m so immature. How am I allowed to be an adult.

Then I spend time with teenagers.

And it’s like, wow, okay, yeah. I am an adult. I am so adult. Look at me adulting all over the place.

adulting all over the place

Me when I have plans to go out for a drink with a friend: Seriously contemplates faking my own death to get out of it unless I am in One Of Three Extremely Specific Moods

Me when my friend asks me at midnight on a Thursday if I want to go grocery shopping with them: Feels so loved and cherished that I might explode.

My professor this morning, during my online class, when Hamish was hacking up a hairball the size of his head two inches from my mic: Oh no! Deine Katze ist krank?

Me: Er…ja.

My professor, who obviously thinks Hamish is sneezing: Gesundheit, Kätzchen! Gesundheit, Kätzchen!

Me: 🙃🙃🙃🙃