“Forty two now and had no regrets until a couple years ago. Now I sometimes regret the decision, and wish I could go back and do things differently. Other times, I am glad to not have kids.”
My 35th birthday found me very raw from the breakup of a long-term relationship and living at home with a mother who loves to ask, “When am I going to be a grandmother?”
America is a beautiful melting pot. This America, the America we know and love, is built on diversity.
Evil kids say the damndest things.
I couldn’t care less about petty things, like what people think of me. I haven’t had my hair highlighted in six months. I can’t remember the last time I bought a pair of designer jeans.
That last of the wine still processing, I got up to relieve myself, but stopped as soon as I stood up next to the bed. Something was off about the room. A childish sense of fear had started to seep into my sobering mind.
Someone was in our apartment.
We must remind ourselves that we are not spectators of this world watching a high-definition movie on the big screen. We are this world.
When I conjure up memories of what it is like to be raised by addicts, I get a sepia toned movie reel that contains both months of nothing but frozen meals as well as instances of laughter while being ticked by my mom.
You raised yourself, reminding yourself you were worth something.
Appreciate the privilege of having a job, your health, and the ability to stand outside at night without the potential of one mosquito ending your life. It can be worse and it can be better, too.