Tag Archives: inner drill sergeant

It’s Not Me. It’s You, Part 2

Eleven years ago I wrote my first blog post about anger. That was a tough one to write about because I felt so ashamed of my anger. That I had it at all. That I couldn’t control it. That it didn’t make any sense. And I was angry that when I tried to get support, whatever people said wasn’t helpful.

I didn’t say specifically in the post what my friends said, but since the same thing is happening right now, I’m guessing it was something like, stop being angry. You’re making me uncomfortable. Go over there somewhere so I don’t have to feel it.

I’m not one to attack someone. But if you attack me by telling me something like I don’t know what I’m talking about because I’m just a psychologist and you’re a physician, you should start running now.

Because this is what my dad told me when I became a psychologist. Stuff like, because you’re just a sorry ass psychologist instead of an M.D., you can’t even afford a Mercedes Benz. Because that’s what’s important in life.

He has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), Bipolar Disorder, trauma, and Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). Ironically, the TBI is because he was trying to save his Mercedes Benz when it was rolling down a hill backwards and he jumped in to hit the brakes.

These conditions are all examples of Autism. Or Neurodiversity. Or as I like to call it, good ol’ neurospiciness.

Neurospicy people become very easily dysregulated and have a very difficult time knowing what to do to self-soothe. Because they have no idea what they are feeling or what’s triggering them.

Recently I’ve been told 3 times by 3 different physicians that I don’t know what I’m talking about because I am a psychologist and not an M.D. At least that’s how I heard it. But it’s certainly possible that it was something like that and I got triggered and then became dysregulated. Because it was traumatic, hearing that over and over again.

Anyhoo, it inspired me to look up stats on ChatGPT related to clinical psychologists and physicians. Did you know that the percentage of people who say they want to be M.D.s and succeed in doing so is only 6%? So physicians are also neurospicy, but on the opposite end of the spectrum, toward the brilliant end.

Being brilliant is technically “abnormal” too, based on statistical infrequency. But since we value brilliance, we don’t call it a disorder. Disorders are just for things that people do that we don’t like.

It can all get kind of political, really. So I prefer not to pathologize anyone. I tell my clients that we are all just human beings, being imperfect, feeling all the feelings on the spectrum of humanity, doing the best we can trying to figure out how to do this very hard thing called life.

I couldn’t find an equivalent stat for licensed clinical psychologists, but the closest one was that only 7% of the people who apply to research-based clinical psychology Ph.D. programs are accepted. However, you still have to defend your dissertation and pass the licensure exam. So 5%, maybe? Also neurospicy individuals.

People with NPD like my dad are too ashamed to admit to any vulnerable feelings, especially hurt and shame, so they project them onto other people. It’s not me! It’s you! And then they get angry and want to beat it out of you.

When one of my brothers was learning his multiplication tables, my dad was inexplicably enraged that our younger brother, who later turned out to be a genius (also neurospicy), could learn them faster than he could. So my dad told my multiplication-deficient brother that if he didn’t learn them by the time he got home, he would be in trouble. Because there’s nothing like the fear of punishment to enhance someone’s capacity to learn.

Not surprisingly, he couldn’t learn them in the next few hours. So my dad yelled at him, which I could only hear from the other room, but it was enough to make me cry and remember to this day. Then he took him into the bedroom and beat him, which was far worse than whatever I could hear.

When we were young adults, my dad was reflecting on this incident, perhaps out of guilt, and his excuse was that he was afraid that our brother might have a mental disability. Because when our mom was pregnant, she and 2 other female residents in medicine got the measles or something, and the 2 other mothers had children with cognitive disabilities.

Decades later, my dad tells me in a rare conversation of vulnerability and honesty that he was teased for being stupid and “retarded” because he couldn’t read. Which was because he had dyslexia, but that term probably didn’t exist back then. His dad beat him and screamed at him so loudly that all of the neighbors could here it because in the Philippines they don’t have windows.

My therapist thinks that he thought if it were his genes that made my brother have difficulty learning, that would make it his fault. I never really understood why couples argue about whose side of the family this “problem” comes from. It’s not like you get to choose your genes. Or your family, for that matter.

When you don’t want to identify with the aggressor, you think, I’m just never going to get angry. I’m going to be this semi-human stoic superhero! So instead, their anger goes underground. Their drill sergeant and inner critic tell them to “toughen up,” “pull yourself up by your bootstraps,” and carry on, as mentioned in the blog post written by a previous client.

Women also have to suppress their anger because it’s frowned upon in women. Just look at what happened to Elphaba. So instead you try to be a people pleaser and blame yourself for everything. Which is ideal for narcissists.

I think it would be much better if we empowered each other by telling people what they’re good at rather than making people feel bad for not being what you want them to be. But it takes more effort to empower than it does to judge.

But trying not to get angry doesn’t work. You may say you don’t feel it, but it’s coming out, anyway, in ways that you don’t even know about. That’s the kind of denial in passivity. Your anger is hidden from you, but you feel very hurt and undeserving.

I had 3 men angry at me yesterday. The first one actually thanked me when I explained to him that I would rather him tell me that he’s hurt so that I could apologize right away. I told him that anger and hurt go together. That often people prefer to identify with one but not the other, so the other one goes underground. So in reality, we’re hurt and angry at the same time. So he and I are good.

But I was so paranoid after he told me that I hurt him that I sent a flurry of texts, checking to see if I offended anyone, apologizing to everyone just in case.

My partner blamed me for repeating what he said because that’s not what he meant to say and I should have known what he meant before he took 20 minutes to explain it and why are we still talking about this! I’m just going to leave.

So I was like, well, OK, but…can I give you your Christmas gifts since we may never see each other again?

But he called to check on me tonight. So that’s something. He has ADHD so he’s neurospicy.

With my brother, I initiated the conversation because of the aforementioned paranoia. I apologized for being passive-aggressive and saying mean things that he doesn’t deserve to hear. I’m just going to own up to my anger and be honest so that I stop making snide comments.

It turns out he was waaaaayyyy angrier at me and has been holding a grudge against me for something that happened over 4 years ago. Because I didn’t know he wanted me to help him put my kitchen table together. Because he didn’t ask me to. I should have known without him having to say it. I was just weaponizing my incompetence to waste his time, which I clearly thought was less valuable than mine. So APOLOGY NOT ACCEPTED!

Whoa!

Please, people, if you’re feeling hurt or angry, just tell the person. You’re not benefiting anyone by trying not to feel. If he had just said, come help me so that I can show you how to read instructions for furniture that comes from China that are on one page with no words, and the parts come in bags that don’t correspond to the numbers, and the “instructions” are arrows, I would have said, good idea!

By the way, I found this out right before I had to lead a meditation. I was honest about it and said hey, I’m dysregulated and I may cry, but I’m glad we’re meditating together.

Then I got my massage, but it was essentially a therapy session, because I had to pull myself together somehow since I was about to see my partner, my brother, and his wife. I wanted to give her a good tip for just listening and giving me a hug because it was essentially a therapy session with a light massage for self-soothing and connection. Which was exactly what I needed in that moment.

But then, when she tried to run my card, for the fifth time in the past month, some hacker associated with Al-Qaeda had tried to use both my cards that day. If you have an Apple credit card, they will automatically reject even the smallest suspicious activity and change your number on the spot. So I used that card.

But for the other one, I had to call my credit card company again and have them re-issue a credit card again. But you can’t call them back from the number from which they called you. You have to pull out your credit card, look at the back, and call the number for U.S. cardholders. And they ask you really stupid questions about stuff that shows up on their side but not yours and ask you if you can see it, even though they just told you that you can’t. As well as things like, did you make a purchase a week an a half ago for $6 using Apple Pay? And then they say, OK we’ll send this out to you in a few days, so I hope you have another card or money in your account!

I did this credit card thing prior to getting ready for our dinner party. Because I was crying and hysterical, my partner asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this. My drill sergeant was like, yes, you do! You have to make this work! So at first I said yes. And then I thought, no. I don’t have to do this if I don’t want to. I can do whatever I want. So I called them to say I wasn’t up to it and to apologize.

Then I talked to my sister-in-law, since my brother was obviously furious with me, and I told her I had to cancel dinner. I was so upset I couldn’t do it for them. I had grand plans of using fancy china. I had put my Christmas decorations up. I was going to move my space heater to wherever they were sitting because the last time they were at my house they were cold. Because I’m always sweating since everything is triggering my fight/flight response. My partner had already been cooking for over an hour. And because they asked him to prepare a meal rather than hosting us, for weeks he had been planning out the meal, trying to make it just right, and trying to pick something they would like.

I hadn’t even gotten through the list of all the horrible things that had happened to me that day so far. But she thought this was a good time to tell me that I’m out of control, too loud, and too argumentative. And that I should seek psychiatric help. And go back on the meds that made me get surgery for GERD, throw up on the court, give up tennis, sing horribly, and wreck my vocal cords.

She’s a pediatrician. My brother, too. I asked her some differential diagnosis questions about mania, and she admitted that she didn’t know the criteria. But she still knows better than I do about what I need.

Apparently, they had been talking to my best friend behind my back and they all decided that this is what’s best for me. Because over Thanksgiving, when I got into an argument with my brother because he told me I didn’t know what I was talking about because I was a psychologist. And I hadn’t talked to my best friend in over 2 weeks. So none of them had any idea about the horrible things that had happened before this horrible day, because they don’t bother to check on me, even though they were obviously concerned. Unless this counted as their check-in.

I was blindsided and confused. Had they been holding on to their feelings about the argument since Thanksgiving? Is that why she had to tell me at that very moment, no matter how poorly timed it was? Was my apology to my brother interpreted as anger and argumentativeness? Was that the last straw? Had their plan been to come over and ambush me during dinner?

That added the most horrible thing to my list of horrible things that day.

By then, I was so dysregulated that my partner was confused by what they could have said to make me so upset. Seeing me in that state caused him to became dysregulated. Because it reminded him of what it was like when his family argued and he just wanted to make it all stop. So we argued for several painful hours, unable to connect and enjoy each other’s company, no matter how hard we tried. And even though we hadn’t seen each other for weeks and he is leaving for home to celebrate the holidays with his family tomorrow.

And I never even got to eat dinner.

Still, I advocated for myself on the phone. I addressed every issue that she brought up one by one. I told her that I checked in with every person to ask them if they were bothered by my behavior, and they said no, it didn’t bother them. They think I’m great. I told her I’ll talk to my therapist, and if she thinks I should talk to my psychiatrist, I will. I have an appointment with her this week.

But she said that wasn’t good enough. Because I guess they’re the ones who were bothered by my behavior. She trusts the psychiatrist who we share, who is an M.D., and has known me for about 4 years and sees me every 6 months, more than she trusts my therapist, who is a clinical psychologist that I have seen routinely for the past 26 years.

Neither of them are in therapy because they don’t have any problems. She even went out of her way to tell me they have a good marriage. Which was also confusing, since I had know idea what that had to do with me needing to see a psychiatrist.

Those are 2 of the 3 physicians I referenced earlier.

The other interaction with a physician happened during a gathering that was specifically organized so that all my friends in Roanoke could see me. I did something similar with him that I did with my brother over Thanksgiving. I gave him evidence that he’s neurodivergent on the brilliant end after an impromptu question to ChatGPT about how many people who start off pre-med graduate pre-med. Because even though I didn’t know the answer, I know from 19 years of working in a counseling center that the answer is, not many. ChatGPT said 16%. And I said it in the exact same way–loudly, in an argumentative manner, and angrily. Because he said dismissively, you psychologists think everyone is neurodivergent.

I also told him that our current administration and the majority of Americans are clearly not neurodivergent, based on the current laws and lawsuits.

His reaction was to tell me that everyone loved me and he wanted to give me a big kiss. Which was also confusing and disorienting, but not dysregulating. I also texted his wife the next day, who had hosted the party for me, to ask her if I was out of line. Because even being really happy to see your friends can be dysregulating. She said not at all. I love your energy. You’re so smart and I learn so much from listening to you. And I love having someone to scream at the TV with me during a UVA game.

To “support me,” my best friend and partner told me not to be mad that they’re mad that I’m mad because they really care about me. To me, that sounded a lot more like supporting them.

So after a whole day of crying yesterday because nobody wanted to listen to me or believe me, and everyone projected their anger onto me–except my friend who thanked me for the insight–I decided to take a self-care day today, talk to my therapist, and take a break by distancing myself from my stress, like my family suggested. And they are the only stress I am dealing with at the moment.

Oh wait. The other stressor is that I can’t sleep. Which is activating my fight or flight response. So I am running on adrenaline. So I’m actually looking forward to talking to my psychiatrist now.

Serendipitously, at this very moment, I’m listening to a continuing education presentation on when psychologists should make referrals, which is very basic and boring (except for the slide on new meds). She just said that when someone isn’t sleeping, they’re in crisis.

And I’m writing a blog post about it. Because that’s what I did in that last anger post and I said it helped. And I guess this one is helping, too, by giving me something else to focus on. Because taking deep dives into something is also a form of self-soothing for someone who is obsessive-compulsive (also neurospicy).

I’m Ready to Write My Book!

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

Last week on September 24 my blog turned 12. I have learned a lot about myself, relationships, human nature, love, and life through blogging. But that wasn’t the reason why I started my blog. If you’ve been reading it since I started it, then you already know that I started a blog because I wanted to write a book. But no one had ever read any of my writing, so I didn’t even know if I was any good at it.

Well, now I feel pretty confident that I can write in a way that sounds like me. I’m less focused on being good than I am on being authentic. And my posts are definitely authentic. Thank goodness you have to take a deep dive through hundreds of posts to know what all my flaws are. And for those of you who have done so, thank you for letting me know how helpful it was to hear about my flaws rather than judging me for them. I had no idea that I would be helping so many other people in the process of learning how to be vulnerable, as Brené Brown suggested in Daring Greatly.

Since my hip surgery, I have unconsciously been doing things that have been moving me closer to writing my book. First, instead of resting during that first week after surgery, I was asked to write an article for an online magazine on any topic of my choosing. So of course I chose mindfulness. And since my family was taking care of me at the time, I read the article to them to get feedback from people who knew nothing about mindfulness. My sister-in-law was especially helpful in terms of the questions she asked me about practicing mindfulness.

In the second week of recovery, because working full time 2 weeks after surgery was not enough productivity for my drill sergeant and inner critic, I also started making short videos of the epiphanies I was having about my recovery. All of the epiphanies are rooted in mindfulness and self-compassion, not surprisingly. I thought making videos might also be helpful in securing an actual assignment as a UGC creator.

The third thing that happened is by the 5th week of recovery I hit a wall. I had been working more than I did before hip surgery and was pushing myself on the weekends socially and physically. I realized that it was my blog anniversary last week and I was still struggling to practice self-care and set boundaries–2 of the major topics I blogged about. This epiphany made me step up my game and finally give myself permission to move to 4 days a week in January 2026. That way, I won’t have enough hours in the week to say yes to everyone.

Part of what enabled me to do this is that, despite taking a lot of days off and having a lot of medical bills, I was still able to pay all my bills without using any savings. I think I might have even added a little to savings. So I finally got God’s message: I don’t have to worry about money.

The final sign that I’m ready to write my book came while I was reading “The Let Them Theory.” So many of my clients have mentioned the book and said they found it helpful. And I can see why it’s helpful. It simplifies one of the basic tenets of mindfulness practice, which is called equanimity. The mantra for equanimity is “may we all accept things as they are.” This means 2 things: 1) accept the ups and downs of life, our moods, our successes and failures; and 2) accept that although we may want people to change, we can’t take responsibility for their behavior.

So “let them” eat junk food and watch TV all day. And “let me” learn to regulate my own emotions about losing them to a heart attack. I have recommended the book to many clients since reading it, and I recommend that you read it, too, if you find it hard to let go of controlling other people.

Although I liked the book for my clients, for me personally, I recognized that the Let Them theory is not really a theory. It’s more of a mantra. She admits in the book that she came up with the phrase and found it helpful. Then, after the fact, she found experts who could tell her why it’s helpful and mentioned them briefly in the book. As a psychologist, I prefer books that are rooted in theory and/or research, like The Anxious Generation, which I also highly recommend if you’re wondering why going on social media makes you feel like crap but you doom scroll for hours a day, anyway.

Plus, the goals she suggested in the book are often materialistic and superficial in nature. Which is fine, in that people can set whatever goals they want. I admit, when I first had the idea of writing a book, I wanted fame and fortune. I think that’s why I wasn’t ready to write it. Because those weren’t the appropriate goals for me. I’ve never prioritized making money. I often regret that I didn’t prioritize it, and because I didn’t, that’s why I’m always worried about money. But the truth is, I know what my purpose is. It’s to help people.

For me, mental health isn’t about being sick. People need therapy because life is hard and full of trauma and tragedy. We need help in identifying our values, having some kind of spiritual practice, prioritizing play and creativity, and learning how to love and be loved.

What I am meant to do in this lifetime is help more people find their purpose without having to see each of them individually in therapy. So once I start my 4 day work week, I will start writing my book, which will be called something like How to Practice Mindfulness in Everyday Life.

If you’re interested in watching the videos I’m making, I’m including the latest one below because it’s probably the one that best shows my personality–unatheltically athletic, determined, goofy, and relentlessly optimistic.

Oh, and feel free to follow my Instagram page as well, so that you’ll know when to buy the book!

Hip Recovery Update

For those loyal readers following my hip replacement surgery, I wanted to give you an update.

Despite not playing pickleball, not being able to go to barre classes with my family, and being far less social this summer, I was in fairly good spirits until a few weeks before surgery. I had to start asking for help from my family, and I hate asking for help. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I don’t like asking for help because I’m sensitive to rejection. My inner critic is always telling me no one cares about me, so it’s easy for me to interpret people’s actions as not caring.

In addition, my surgery got moved up by a week. To most “normal” people, that would be good news. But I had been planning for 3 months to have the surgery on a particular day, and the change required me to cancel additional appointments, cancel my friend’s visit–which I had been looking forward to all summer–and stop my pain meds immediately. Not that they were helping. But still. It required a lot of change.

I was also dreading feeling more pain than I was already experiencing, since it had become excruciating. And I was determined to do my exercises every day until the surgery. I ended up skipping my exercises the night before surgery because I had to wake up super early and by that point it seemed irrelevant.

The good news is that I was super relaxed and joking with all the staff, nurses, and doctors while I waited for my surgery. I fell asleep before they even started the anesthesia because they gave me something for anxiety. And after I could feel my legs and they made me walk, I walked effortlessly. And because they gave me an epidural, I wasn’t in pain until about 12:30 am Saturday morning.

I have to admit, the next 2 days were pretty excruciating. Mainly because I was trying to be compliant and get up and walk every hour or 2 while I was awake, and it was torture getting on and off the couch. l only used the pain meds to sleep because I was so paranoid about addiction, so mainly I sucked it up. Luckily by Monday I was good.

This was also when I had my first PT session and he said I was in the top 5% of people in recovery. And you know how I like getting A’s. He said I didn’t need to use the walker anymore and that I would be able to drive later in the week, which is 3 weeks earlier than expected. And as he predicted, by Thursday night I moved back home and by Friday I was walking unassisted and drove 3 times.

My progress has continued to improve rapidly, but because my entire body had been compensating for my hip, I have become more aware of my back pain, which had been present before the surgery but I guess I didn’t register it. But since I dove into work the second week because of my irrational fear of not having money, I had a knot in my back that I had to try to massage and stretch out 5-6 times a day. I would have much preferred to take all the time I had set aside to be off and watch the U.S. Open but the drill sergeant was not having it.

On a positive note, my friend did get to visit me over Labor Day weekend, which worked out better because I was able to walk and drive. We even went to Anakeesta, which ended up being a bust. But I made a video about it that I thought was funny, even if no one else on the trip did.

I’ve learned a lot of lessons from this experience, some of which I’ve shared on my Instagram page if you want to check them out. But I’ll share theme here, too.

  1. People care. As always, when I’m vulnerable, my inner critic is the loudest, but it is always wrong. My family took great care of me. My friend drove for me and gave me tons of positive reinforcement. My friends checked on me. Even my clients asked about me. It’s true that it is an illusion that we are separated from love. We are always connected.
  2. Pain tolerance is a mixed blessing. Had I gone to the orthopedist sooner, like 3 years ago when I had planned, perhaps I could have delayed my surgery. But if it weren’t for my determination to be as strong as possible and do the exercises for 3 months before my surgery, perhaps I wouldn’t have recovered so quickly.
  3. Patience is a virtue. I argued in a former blog post that it is not, but that’s because I was, and still am, impatient. But having to wait for hip surgery, and having to wait another 4 weeks to play is helping me practice, and I think I’m the better for it.
  4. I have much to be grateful for. It’s true that in any given moment, we can look at what we don’t have, or we can look at what we have. We can look at both, even, and perhaps that’s the better option. Rather than “bright-siding” it, which is dismissive of our pain, we acknowledge everything and then decide what in this moment we want to focus on. Right now, the thing that keeps me going is the hope that I can play tennis again, after 6 long years of not being able to. And even if I can’t, I want to be active and see my friends again.

No Way Out

Last week I gave you my reflections on my brother’s heart surgery. Today he’s feeling well enough to share what this ordeal was like for him in an effort to share his epiphany: regardless of what you may have to lose in the process, it’s always worth it to choose life.

***

In “The Walking Dead” Season 6 debut, former allies Rick Grimes & Morgan Jones share an uneasy reunion. “I’m sorry for all this,” Rick says to Morgan, shyly apologizing for having to lock his old friend into a cell until he can get the man acclimated to the new community he has just joined. Holding no grudges, Morgan replies: “It’s okay. Sometimes it’s easier when you don’t have a choice.”

 

Fast forward to August 30, 2016. I’ve missed a couple of days at a new job. Inexplicably, I can never feel fully rested & suffer from painful gas that seems to get stuck in my chest. After weeks of combating my symptoms with sleep, stubborn cardio workouts, & Gas-X—something told me I needed a different approach this time. So I call out sick & plan to see a doctor in order to get an excuse for a couple of days & a prescription for some real medicine. Because of my reference to “chest pains”, the walk-in clinic refused to see me & referred me to the ER instead. “This will be an expensive bottle of Tums,” I thought to myself, the seriousness of my situation not yet setting in. A day later, I’m in a hospital room in my region’s premiere facility for heart surgeries. I’m told I have severe blockage in the arteries feeding my heart. They need to operate on me—TOMORROW. Doctors, nurse practitioners, & everyone who has seen my test results regard me with such astonishment. They wonder aloud how I’d been walking around.

“Oh great,” I think to myself. I’m going to have to call work again. They’re going to think I’m playing hooky.” I must have still been in emotional shock. That night, my stunned older sister calls me & tells me to quit my job—to stop forcing myself through unduly stressful challenges. “They don’t care about you! They don’t appreciate you! They have no idea how valuable you are! You don’t owe them another minute of your time. You hear me? NOT A MINUTE!” She also brought up examples of other people who should have been more concerned with my current crisis than they appeared to be. She wondered why I wasn’t more disappointed.

In hindsight, it was probably because I knew I didn’t have time to be disappointed. It was all happening so fast. I came in for painful gas, maybe some acid reflux, & they offer me open heart surgery instead. My head must have been spinning. But on some level, I knew there was no time to be disappointed or sad—it was time to be strong. Resolved. Focused. That was it. “I’ll be fine,” I reassured the only member of my family who, at that point, seemed to acknowledge the gravity of my current crisis–including me. “I have to go. The nurses just told me I had to take 2 showers with surgical soap; the first one tonight before bed.” It was already past 11 pm. It had been a long day; & the next day would be worse. I rang the nurse to get me unhooked so that I could take this shower with “surgical soap” & about 5 different washcloths intended for different regions of my body.

“Did you sleep well?” The surgeon asked me around the crack of dawn. “Yes I did,” I replied. He was stunned & said so out loud. Truth be told, I didn’t know what I had gotten myself into. And it was probably better that way. Had the details of what was about to happen been revealed earlier, I probably would have escaped! The surgery was nerve-racking. I actually woke up a couple of times after the surgical team had injected me with anasthesia. I saw myself in that horrifying environment under the blue surgical shroud. I had seen things that I had never asked to see. But the aftermath was the worst. I wouldn’t wish my experience on a sworn enemy—not even the Devil himself! I’m sure the Devil deserves punishment; but what kind is not for me to decide. Holed up in bed over the next 3 days in a state of constant discomfort, I realized how the powers both to inflict pain & subdue it are both sacred & require severe checks & balances.

I’m 40. If you saw me on the street, you’d think I look closer to 20. Yet here I was. A “kid” facing “real man” problems. But I’m recovering quickly. My vitals are consistently good. Even in the hospital, the staff seemed surprised at how well I was handling recovery. “If this is what you call ‘good’ I’d hate to see what you call ‘bad.’ “ They’d laugh at me. It was just humbling for me to be so dependent on so many people for so many things.

I always thought of myself as “tough,” but I never really knew for sure. Even after what I went through, I don’t feel tough or brave or strong. In fact, when I think about how severe the pain was & how terrifying everything seemed & how long the discomfort lingered long after the the violent pain had dissipated, I marvel that I got through at all! It took a lot of intervention from my Creator, but also some personal resolve. This wasn’t a challenge that I chose for myself; but once recognized, I was seeing it through. I was strong & brave not because I am all the time, but because I had to be right then.

Like Morgan said, “Sometimes it’s easier when you don’t have a choice.” Yes, well said, Morgan. All life truly is precious. Given everything I’ve had to endure over the last 2 weeks, my life is not only precious, but sacred to me now. That was a choice that I did have to make for myself. But now that I have, I’m as happy on the inside as I’ve been in a long time–maybe ever.

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