“I’m too much or too little of something, or I’m doing too much or too little of something I should or shouldn’t be doing. Sometimes you’ve got to call other people out and now it’s time for that.”

- Love What Matters
- Health
“I’m too much or too little of something, or I’m doing too much or too little of something I should or shouldn’t be doing. Sometimes you’ve got to call other people out and now it’s time for that.”
“Out of the blue, her ‘best friend’ no longer wanted to be her best friend. Countless strangers walk up and ask why she is using a ‘grandma scooter’ to get around. Any time she falls, people stare or laugh instead of rush to assist her. Still, she does not believe in ‘I cannot.’ Through all the needle sticks and surgeries, she does her best to comfort ME.”
“We were given options to terminate. ‘Am I being punished?’ I didn’t know if either of us would make it. All I could do was hide in my closet and cry.”
“I had a major surgery where my stomach was ripped open. I endured pain and tears for months. As a mother, I felt worthless unable to help with household chores. This wasn’t what I wanted for my birth.”
“A few days had passed after her initial statement about ‘not wanting our child.’ I had always known her to ‘say a few things’ to get a reaction. She wasn’t safe.”
“I sat motionless in my car, trying to process what it all meant. The world felt so quiet and so loud at the same time, as if it wasn’t the world’s noise I was hearing but the ringing in your ears you hear when you’re about to get sick.”
“I saw their smiling faces with the captions being various forms of #girlssupportgirls on their photo. The difference made my head spin. They deserved to be blocked.”
“Someone in our neighborhood was getting rid of one. Nothing felt in my control. At 8:30 a.m. that morning, I announced to Brian that we were adopting a piano. Immediately.”
“The moment he met us, he was in love. To him, we were his daughters, not his step-daughters. I’ll never forget the phone call. ‘Boys, go to your rooms. I need to talk to mom.’ I knew the look of anguish, though I’d never seen it on my husband’s face. ‘Your mom found your dad in the driveway. He had been out messing around in the yard.’ I crumbled.”
“‘It’s all in her head. I can teach her how to write properly; it’s just pure laziness,’ they said. We got home and cried together. Nobody, from what I could tell, caught what he said. I spoke up. I was livid!”