Well, I've finally decided. I want to be happy. It's time for me to stop living to get to the end of the day, which has, quite frankly, been my mantra for the last, um, three years? Just make it to the end of the day, just make it to the end of the day, just make it to the end of the day....and then what? The next day would start over, and I would feel just as empty and just as tired as I had the day before. Joy hasn't been a part of my life since I can't even remember when. The last time I felt joy were just little bursts, small moments, when I was with baby boy's dad, at the beginning, and they were littered between regret and guilt and rejection. Perhaps that's why I was (and still sometimes am) so hesitant to let him go. My psychologist called it "rain on a desert", but I need to stop thinking that the only way to get the relief of a downpour is from another cloud. (That was an awkward analogy, but I'm keeping it.) No, I must be my own little ...
Teacher and Mother, Walking the Path with Humor and Love