You’re not perfect. You’re not awful. You just are.
I remember it all. Every trip and fall, every stumble down the low road, I have it all filed away in my head.
As strange as it may seem to someone who isn’t in a similar situation, my house didn’t feel “alive” anymore.
Just as you can convince yourself that life is miserable, you can do the opposite.
Had you told me five years ago that I would be writing this blog today, I would never have believed you.
Some of my lowest points from the past few years are softened by their links to some great memories with my children.
Of course, if you asked, I would have told you I was a “realist”. That’s the term that someone uses to dance around the fact that they’re really a self-hating pessimist.
Worrying never did anything for me. All it did was make the moments before uncertainty worse by filling me with impending dread.
I’m not writing this to simply tell the story of seeing the world through Olivia’s eyes, but also about accidentally making her see the world through mine.