LJ Herman is a former editor at Love What Matters and lives in Colorado. LJ is a concert, ticket and technology enthusiast. He has seen the Dave Mathews Band over one hundred times and counting.

LJ Herman is a former editor at Love What Matters and lives in Colorado. LJ is a concert, ticket and technology enthusiast. He has seen the Dave Mathews Band over one hundred times and counting.
“I kept these wedding dresses hanging in my closet… a reminder of all the things in life I wouldn’t get. A reminder I was angry. And sad. And I had every right to be, because I was robbed of my happily ever after. If I couldn’t have it, I was going to hold on to every single piece I could.”
“All this may be true, but we are all only telling one side of the story.”
“I hear people say, ‘My husband can fix his own plate.’ So can mine. ‘My husband can get himself dressed and ready.’ So can mine. I am up at 6:45 a.m. and don’t sit down to relax till after 7 p.m.”
“I am reminded by everyone, ‘He made a choice. He didn’t have to take that pill, whether he knew it was laced or not. So, stop being sad.’”
“My mother didn’t want to get to know her. After all, I was my mother’s son, not my girlfriend’s boyfriend. ‘Why does SHE deserve a ticket, she won’t even be around forever?’ I arrived to find all my stuff thrown on her front lawn. There was a note on the message board: ‘I’d like to dig a hole in her backyard and bury your girlfriend in it.’”
“Our 12-year-old has been struggling with anger lately, erupting when the slightest thing sets her off. ‘Why do I feel this way?’ We found an old desk on the side of the road. Jeremy gave her a hammer. We wanted her to dismantle it. It went faster than I anticipated.”
“Our life has been a series of indescribable highs and unspeakable lows. We welcomed my baby half-sister in the world and into our home. The father we shared died and we gained custody. I was in the midst of a miscarriage. We were heartbroken. I don’t know if I’ve felt lower than I did the day we traveled 40 minutes to a food bank just so we could eat.”
“I apologized and raced out of the store to get my bank card. In my rush, my daughter tripped and skinned her knee. She cried as I scooped her up. I tried to comfort her while drowning in shame. We discovered that the baggers had unloaded our entire cart. His response brought tears to my eyes. It had been an evening fraught with failure.”
“Pretty soon social media will be overflowing with hearts, flowers, and all sorts of mushy feelings. Bless us, we love a good commercialized holiday. But my heart is with the ones who are single, unsettled, and still searching. To the wife who sent her spouse to work today without a kiss, because there’s so much distance between them right now it’s insufferable.”
“She comforted me while I fell apart. And then, it happened. What always happens when I let anyone see any emotion other than ‘ok’: I got irrationally mad at myself for crying in public. Losing my husband and becoming the soul provider for our daughter has sent me into a deep panic.”
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