He began the conversation, “If you want to have a relationship with your mother and I, you need to go to counseling.”
How refreshing would it feel to have a conversation that left you with feeling less alone?
It has the ability to become a narrator of life; the capability of allowing it to be truly lived instead of just survived.
It’s much easier to see the faults in something, or someone, than to admit I have a barrage of my own.
I put the pressure of perfection into each to-do and end up feeling hopeless when the reality of imperfection comes through.
It feels as if the weight is inescapable and the darkness beneath it, blinding. Slowly, it’s suffocating you.