Embracing ME
I could sit here and write about all the ways I am disrespected by my husband and my youngest son. I can rant and rave and rage against the trials of living in a house of testosterone or how hard it is to be so sensitive and misunderstood by my own family. (Although, I suspect my youngest son is a lot like me, he just doesn't know it yet. I hope he recognizes his sensitivity soon; ignoring it just leads to a pretty sad life. I know.) But I don't want to bash my family because I do love them. It's just so HARD sometimes. I'm sitting here in a hotel room right now typing this post. I packed a bag Monday afternoon, after some convincing from my sister, told my family I loved them, and left. I don't know what to expect when I get home. What I do know is that having my own space, all clean and uncluttered with no dishes or laundry to do, has been therapeutic beyond belief. There are no moments of tiptoeing around wondering if ...