Arshita Dhiman

@arshitadhiman

just giggles and cats here, pookies 🎀🐈

🏔️ Katılım Mayıs 2017

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Arshita Dhiman@arshitadhiman·5 Şub

my life did a complete 180 when I stopped being shy and started talking to people. I found so many amazing people and opportunities just by being myself and putting myself out there.

brem@ebehiremee

please don’t spend this year being shy, go do stuff

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Arshita Dhiman@arshitadhiman·1h

@miniapeur You should adopt it!

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Mathieu@miniapeur·9h

I’ve wanted to adopt this kitten so badly for days now. I need someone to talk me out of it.

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Arshita Dhiman@arshitadhiman·6h

never rush into a relationship, be friends first to see if he got better friends

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Arshita Dhiman@arshitadhiman·20h

purpose of living 😋😋😋

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Arshita Dhiman retweetledi

Dr. Ose Etiobhio@osemagnum·2d

BE PROUD OF YOUR VULVA. SOME LADIES HAVE LOST SELF ESTEEM BECAUSE A GUY OR LADY HAD MADE FUN OF THEIR VULVA. NO TWO VULVA(S) ARE THE SAME The Quiet Geometry of Her Body And Why the Vulva Needs No Apology There is a silence that follows the word vulva, and it is not an innocent silence, and it is not accidental. It is the kind that is taught, and passed down, and wrapped in shame so delicately that many women grow into adulthood never quite looking at themselves, and never quite naming what is theirs. But the vulva is not a secret to be kept,it is a story to be understood. And as a gynaecologist, I have seen many vulvas. Not one or two, but hundreds, and then thousands. And what becomes clear, over time and with quiet observation, is this: there is no single shape that is “normal,” and there is no single version that deserves celebration more than another. There are labia that are full and soft like folded petals, and others that are slender and tucked like whispers. There are colours that deepen into dusk, and others that remain light like morning. There are asymmetries—because the human body, in all its honesty, rarely seeks perfection. And still, women ask, “Is mine okay?” Because somewhere along the way, we taught women to measure themselves against edited images, and curated fantasies, and a kind of aesthetic that was never designed with real bodies in mind. And so she looks, and she compares, and she wonders if she is too much, or too little, or too different. But difference is not a flaw, it is the language of the body. The vulva is not meant to look like a template. It is not manufactured symmetry; it is lived anatomy. It responds to hormones, and age, and childbirth, and desire. It changes, and adapts, and carries history in its folds. And yes, it can be soft, and bold, and unapologetically present, because it was never created to be hidden in shame. And perhaps the most radical thing a woman can do is to look at herself, not quickly, not critically, but with a kind of gentleness. To sit with her own body and say, this is mine. Not borrowed, not corrected, not compared. Because pride, real pride, does not come from fitting into a narrow definition of beauty, it comes from understanding that your body was never wrong to begin with. And so, we must begin to speak differently. To teach differently. To raise girls who do not flinch at their own reflection, and who do not inherit the quiet discomfort of generations before them. Because the vulva, in all its shapes and shades and stories, is not something to fix. It is something to honour. And that, perhaps, is where the silence finally breaks.