Worthless

Even now, eleven years later, I can still remember the first time a boy pointed out a pimple on my face. We were standing in the lunch line and he mentioned it. That’s it. He just pointed it out and turned back around after I made a face at him, eyes burning with tears. To him it was a simple observation, but to me it was the soul-crushing realization that other people could see my flaws that I tried to keep far away from the daylight. That moment started a years-long battle against my skin, and even my own identity.

At first, it seemed I might just get a few pimples like some of my friends. Pimples that you’d notice, but that would go away within a few days. I reasoned
My middle daughter does not like thunderstorms. She begins to shiver at the first rumble, and no matter how many times we try to tell her that nothing is going to happen, she’s not convinced. Sure, they’re loud, they’re menacing, and they can sound pretty scary, but ultimately, as long as you’re inside, they can’t really do anything to you. They might make the lights go out, but they can’t actually hurt you directly.

While I might chuckle at my daughter’s reaction to thunderstorms, I realize that there are times I’m not that different. Cue the devil: ~You know, you’re not really appreciated around here… look how your husband takes you for granted… you deserve