We learn to forgive the person that caused so much pain, love the person we’ve grown to hate. But, when do we forgive ourselves? When do we love ourselves?
You are the cause for my insecurities. For my dysmorphic body image. You are the reason why I would sit in the bathroom as a child and pinch all my fat after you told me I was a fat ugly duckling.
You get lost in crowds. Like, literally. You’ve gotten separated from your family and, because of your short stature, it wasn’t easy to locate you.
Thank you for teaching me that I am worth something.
“I saw our dog that had long been dead go to where his food bowl used to be to eat.”
At one point, my relationship with my father was such a struggle that I assumed we’d be estranged as soon as I moved out of my parents’ house. Thankfully, the older I got, the more my father and I managed to understand each other.
Still being able to use Wikipedia in your research papers, because teachers had not yet realized that it was not a credible source.
They get a lot of energy from the happiness of others. Nothing thrills them more than simply knowing that the people they care most about are happy. And when you can get joy from something like that, you can’t help but feel pretty damn lucky.
You wish you could deny it, but your parents’ heartfelt concern when you’re down and out really does make you feel better instantaneously.
Buying a $0.25 gumball.
Slurping your soup.