Righteous anger.

Posted on February 16, 2015 by luckyotter

Anger is a tool for survival.
Anger has a bad reputation. But it isn’t always a bad thing. Anger can help us survive, and although it doesn’t feel good to be angry, it feels a heck of a lot better than feeling helpless, defeated or scared.

Anger is necessary for survival. It’s natural to feel angry when we believe we are being abused or attacked unfairly or our boundaries are being violated. It’s also natural to feel angry when we see a loved one being unfairly treated or abused.

This type of anger is healthy, righteous anger. People who are afraid to show anger at appropriate times, such as when they are being attacked or abused, are people who will always feel helpless and victimized. I felt that way for years, because anger frightened me.

Coming from a family (and a marriage) where anger was the normal dynamic (and was usually directed against me), I learned to fear anger in others–as well as my own anger. Even when I felt rightfully angry and was clearly being unfairly treated, I learned to keep my anger in check and swallow my true emotions. I felt like I had no right to feel my emotions, especially anger.

Anger turned inward becomes depression.
The danger in this is that when we swallow our anger, it doesn’t go away: it turns inward and this manifests as depression and despair. Anger is poison when turned against the self.

Sure, there are lots of people who are too quick to anger, and anger management can help people with a too-short fuse. But for the timid and victimized, allowing yourself a satisfying display of anger when wronged is a healthy thing.

Anger is proactive.
When we are trying to disconnect from an abusive narcissist, anger is absolutely necessary to successfully escape. Anger overrides fear. Ever notice when you’re angry, you’re not afraid anymore? Well, it’s true. If you are trying to disconnect from your narcissist, allow yourself to feel angry. Show that anger. That doesn’t mean you must be abusive yourself or resort to name-calling, but it does give us the impetus to take action. Anger, unlike despair, depression and some types of fear, is a proactive emotion–an emotion that forces us to take a stand, fight back, and get away.

If you are attempting to go No Contact with your narc, feel your anger. Wallow in it. It could save your sanity and maybe your life,as well as those of your children if you have any. It will motivate you to do what you need to do.

Put your empathy on the back burner.
Over time, I’ve developed a level of empathy for narcissists because I realize they have an illness and they do suffer. But when you’re trying to disconnect, it’s better if you can hate them and think of them as monsters or demons. Save any empathy for later on, when you’re stronger and safely away from your abusers. You cannot afford to have empathy for a narcissist when you’re trying to get out of a relationship.

Embrace your righteous anger. It’s healthy and good for you.
But also know when to let it go when it’s no longer needed. It’s a tool, but shouldn’t become a way of life.

Girl Scout Cookies and God…

Posted on February 14, 2015 by luckyotter

Original art from Deviantart.com

It’s times like this my self esteem and progress in healing seems to take a dive into the toilet.
I don’t handle frustration well at all, and it can set me off on my old unhealthy patterns of negative thinking, feeling victimized, and wallowing in self pity.

I am having the tranny rebuilt on my car, and have just enough money from my tax return to have it done. Of course, God always comes through if you ask, and that’s what he did–but I still can’t help feeling sorry for myself because now I have to use my tax return to replace my tranny (and have a car that runs by the end of this week) instead of doing things I would prefer to do, like going to a few concerts or even planning a weekend trip. I know I should be grateful this happened now–when I have the money–instead of later on, when most likely I would not be able to afford it at all.

For the past two days, my roommate hasn’t been feeling well, so she has allowed me to borrow her car to get back and forth to work. Today I needed to get to the bank before they closed to deposit my state return and buy a few groceries. I live about a mile and a half away from the store, and the weather is nice so walking (which I would up doing) isn’t really an issue.

My roommate’s car wouldn’t start and we couldn’t jump start it with my jump start machine either. My daughter has a friend who was picking her up to go to the mall, and it would have been easy enough for her to drop me off at the shopping center so I could do my errands, but she said there wasn’t enough room in the car (there wasn’t).

So I walked, and instead of feeling happy that I could enjoy this beautiful and mild late winter day with the breeze in my face, I felt petulant and victimized instead. When they drove past me and didn’t slow down to ask me if I needed a ride after all, I felt angry and just wanted to give them all the finger. I know it was irrational of me because there were already 5 people in the car along with a baby, but I couldn’t help feeling like the victim again.

Now I’m cranky and depressed and just feel like sleeping away the rest of the day. Is this terribly narcissistic of me? I think it really is. I hate myself for feeling this way, and sometimes it feels like these sort of situations just make dogmeat out of all the progress I’ve made.

I know those of us healing from narcissistic abuse and PTSD have setbacks, but I still can’t help feeling like the way I feel is just wrong and selfish. So there’s guilt on top of everything else.

I knew I needed to blog about this today, as embarrassing as it is to admit how immature and childish I am behaving. I’m sure many of you have felt similarly in these sort of frustrating situations, even when they’re relatively minor, as this one is.

I need to focus on my blessings: my car WILL be fixed (even though it will set me back) and I had an opportunity to take a nice long walk on a pretty day. I also stopped and bought a box of my favorite mint chocolate Girl Scout cookies from some girls outside the supermarket. Think I’ll go indulge now. When all else fails, chocolate is great therapy.

This may be the best therapy at times like this.

Meh.

Posted on January 10, 2015 by luckyotter

Meh. Today wasn’t a very good day. Low activity on this blog today and I got absolutely nothing done. I started to read but only got through about 2 pages and then fell asleep. Then I just slept most of the day and didn’t even go outside even though it was beautiful and sunny out. Now I have too many things to do tomorrow. Then back to work on Monday. Ugh.

I didn’t even post much on this blog today. Just one article, but I don’t think it’s one of my better ones.

I got called out by another blogger for an article I wrote in November where apparently I gave some misinformation about MPD (not NPD). I could have argued with this blogger (who suffers from that disorder) to keep it up by updating my outdated information (MPD is now called DID–Dissociative Identity Disorder in the most current DSM) and correcting the misinformation, but the blogger told me I also insulted all people with DID by saying their personalities were “fragmented” instead of calling them “alters.”

It seems like I’m inadvertently insulting a lot of people lately. What’s up with that? I hate insulting anyone.

In spite of pointing out my Disclaimer and explaining my blog focused on NPD and to a lesser extent on other mental disorders and conditions, this blogger snarkily questioned me about what made me qualified to even write about NPD since I didn’t suffer from the condition myself? (I guess my Disclaimer wasn’t enough). So I just deleted the whole thing. Like the one I wrote today, that one wasn’t one of my best articles anyway. (I checked and this is a legitimate blogger, not a particular other person whose recent anger at me might cause them to want to troll my site or sneak attack, even though they apologized. I’m always so damned hypervigilant).

I’m inexplicably depressed. When I’m depressed I just lie around doing nothing at all. And sleep a lot. And there’s no food in the house because I’m too lazy to go out and get any. I wonder if there’s a can of soup or some eggs or something.

I did get my W2 today though, but every year I worry that I won’t get a refund or have to owe, even though that’s patently ridiculous since I make next to nothing.

Reblog: “Why is my Life so Rotten?”

Posted on January 4, 2015 by luckyotter

My friend and fellow narc-abuse blogger, Fivehundredpoundpeep over at Blogspot, wrote this heartbreaking post today.

She’s far from alone. I think all of us ACONS have felt this way, some of us for our entire lives. I know I have until very recently, and I still feel this way more often than I let on. It’s gotten better, much better lately, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely this feeling of well being is TEMPORARY and before I know it the rug will be ripped out from under me. Of course thinking that is as unrealistic as thinking I’ll be singing and dancing and grinning like a fool for the rest of my life (even if I was raised in a normal home, that kind of upbeat perkiness just ain’t in my nature as both an Aspie and someone probably biologically prone to bottomless depressions–the narcs just exacerbated what was probably natural to me anyway). But I just don’t trust anything good. Is that because I feel like I don’t deserve anything good, because my abusers said I didn’t? Can’t I just enjoy these strange new feelings without QUESTIONING them all the time, or wondering if God is playing some cruel joke on me?

So here is her post. If anyone who comes to this blog has any suggestions for her, please post them in the comments or over on her blog at Blogger. http://fivehundredpoundpeeps.blogspot.com/2015/01/why-is-my-life-so-rotten.html#comment-form

Why is my Life so Rotten?

Dear God, Tell Me Why It Went So Bad.
Sometimes even a Christian wonders why so much is going wrong. I don’t buy into the Christianity that tells me if I have enough faith the piles of money will show up like Joel Osteen but sometimes I am serious wondering why the suffering quotient is going up so high. My husband bless his soul too, has been shaking his head regarding our collective misery. I have to pray about what is becoming of me and seek the spiritual answers too.

Sick And More Sick With No End
Why was I on antibiotics for three weeks, [swollen saliva glands] and then got a leg infection this week? That scares me. Maybe the doctor’s aren’t calling me back because they are stumped too. All Aspies hate making phone calls, I can cry from the stress of trying to get something I need from neurotypicals. How pushy should I be? Should I yell at them yet? Will I offend them and ruin the medical relationship? Did I say the wrong thing? I may tell my doctor who knows I am an Aspie, that I can’t take it anymore and want extensive refills on my antibiotics.

If anything the antibiotics should have prevented a leg infection. I did not have any leg infections for a year and a half. I felt free and like I had hope, only now to realize that has now passed like a fart in the wind. I did my Flexitouch every day, except 1 day when I had the flu for 7 months. I wrapped without fail. Why am I being punished for something I did not do? I worked hard to keep my legs from being infected. I don’t want to go back to the leg infections slamming me, and being afraid everyday. When they hit it is like the worse flu on earth and 4 days ago, I got a revisit to flu land with a high fever and pain. Will they even believe me? Or will they think I was not compliant when I was to the max?

Typhoid Mary ruined what little good in my life there was. I am sure by now she is on another tens of thousands of dollar cruise, enjoying her life. She would cry if she had my life and was forced to give up recreational shopping and traveling. I am sure as I almost puked my guts out this morning from stomach acid run amuck and handed two-thirds of my income over to keep a roof over my head–my husband pays the other bills and put the check in the manager’s slot yesterday, that Mommy Dearest is busy shopping from her second home in a warm state and going out to eat and enjoying her life. Fun for them, and constant misery for me. Why?

Why did I win the CRAPPY LIFE AWARD? The only people suffering more then me are in prison or the street. I even watched Intervention the other day thinking, look at those thin bodies, and their families still love THEM with a feeling of jealousy. I know people aren’t supposed to feel sorry for themselves. I have to smile and act with it, so I don’t scare people away in the regular world and since this is my blog why not be honest. I know nice people around here who have helped me, and don’t want to stress them out more. How did my life become such a mess? Every one I know who hit my age, got at least one break. Where’s mine?

I’m supposed to start a new lung medication today but afraid wondering what else will go wrong?

Nothing but Endless Disappointment
I have gotten to a place where I expect disappointment. That is not good. I have prayed to God incessantly about what to do about my rotten life and have hit a brick wall. I am sad and upset about many many things.

Self-help and endless advice books do not provide the cash or decent body I need to be happy. Every time I relax and get happy inspite of these things and it has happened on occasion, it’s like the rug is pulled out from underneath my feet. There is a void in too many places I can’t seem to fill. There are things I want to do that keep getting thwarted. My life is one where I am too tired to do everything and crying in frustration about all my undone tasks and people I have failed. The literal physical exhaustion is wearing me down, and I fear a totally bed-ridden life awaiting.

I don’t want to be Aunt Scapegoat with her head hung down, and the black cloud growing and sitting alone one day staring at a wall totally broken. I am scared. I do not want to be her. I fear spiritual destruction at the hands of my Job-like existence.

What happens to someone who is an outcast mentally whose body is an enemy from hell? Now I understand why people do drugs and drink themselves into oblivion. I don’t recommend this of course but this world sometimes has so much sadness on the menu.

For seasoned ACONS who I know read my blog, please tell me if this can be the stresses of no contact. A lot of people disappointed me within the FOO beyond measure. Why can’t my brain stop ruminating about it? Am I buckling under the pressures of my year and half into no contact, having to walk away from the majority of my family and severe disabilities and financial problems combined? What if I am tired of having to be strong?

I Need Something To Look Forward To.
I need something to look forward to. Why can’t I have ONE THING to LOOK FORWARD TO? I have hope in heaven but I need SOME HOPE in this life. I do not think it is wrong to pray to God for some hope in my earthly life too or even just a time of respite. If I was a normal healthy person, I would hit the road right now seriously, go somewhere warm, go find some FUN. Hey I could do this now but it would mean not paying the rent and flirting with homelessness. There must be some reason I keep telling my husband as a joke, or maybe it’s not a joke, “Lets run away!”

All 12 step programs warn about the geographical cure not working but sometimes you just feel trapped. You want an escape from the grind. Some people with jobs may say “Every day is a vacation for you! Shut yer trap!” but everyone needs time away.

Positive Thinkers Prattle On
The positive thinkers would tell me, “you’re not thinking positive enough”, this is why nothing but bad things happen to you. In other words, the whole you are creating your own reality. But the inverse of that is they are just like my narcissists who told me everything bad happening is my fault. Both things are wrong.

I’m sick of thinking everything is my fault. I am sick of being told if I do this, that and this, that the results will ensue. I spent three hours a day on my stupid legs for the last year and half and my bad leg still betrayed me. Why don’t I get good results? I am sick of waiting for the hammer to fall, for the car to break down and the streets awaiting. I need a break.

If you were my life coach, what would you tell me?

Here was my reply:

Peep, I don’t cry easily but this post just did it. I have for most of my life felt exactly the same way–down to just about every detail you talk about here. No, I don’t have your health problems but my whole life I have felt like a failure, a loser, someone with no talents, no skills, painfully shy because I’m aspie, paranoid, feeling like God (who I wasn’t sure I even believed in) was putting me up as a joke, an “example” to others of how not to be. Like you, I looked at other people’s families who actually loved them and gave them the life tools they needed and wondered why mine were so cold and distant and disapproving of me. I was suspicious of everyone’s motives, and always, ALWAYS under the thrall or spell of a malignant narcissist. Sometimes more than one at a time.
I didn’t realize that was the whole problem–that and no perspective. Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees.

There are many days (most days) I still feel like a colossal failure, but because of blogging I may have (MAY have) found my purpose. I don’t get paid for it but I have a good feeling about it.

That’s where I think you are headed too, Peep. You are a brilliant, entertaining, heartfelt writer, with one of the best blogs I’ve seen on narcissism. Either that or your art. Your paintings are beautiful and you can write. Perhaps you can write a book on Amazon – it doesn’t cost anything (I don’t think–I have to look more into that) but I think your story would sell. You could even illustrate it with your wonderful “fat lady” paintings. Your life may have been painful but I think there is a purpose for everything–and God gave you this life in order for you to help others, and I think that’s going to be through writing or art, or both.

I don’t know if this would work for you, but I know I want to write a book at some point. I really feel like God is showing me my path that I have searched for all my life, and my difficult past was meant to prepare me to write about it and help others once I helped myself.

I’m not trying to be a know it all, Peep or tell you what to do, but I really think you already know this and are ready to take that next step. Don’t give up on God (not that you are)–we don’t know what his motives or timetable are, and all I can really tell you is there is a plan, you have not suffered this all in vain.

You are fortunate to have a husband who loves you too, one who understands your Aspieness, who is not a narcissist–lean on him for support. That’s a real blessing.

But don’t feel bad or guilty about feeling depressed. It just means you’re human and are reacting the only way you can to all the insanity you have been subjected to. But it WILL get better. Never lose hope or give up. You have helped so many with your blog and your story.

How my mother became a narcissist.

Posted on November 7, 2014 by luckyotter

I’ve said a lot of negative things about my mother, but I don’t hate her. Today I was thinking about how she got to be the way she is. While most narcissistic psychopaths are probably genetically predisposed to this condition and are missing the part of the brain that causes them to have empathy and compassion for others (actually it’s just not functioning properly), in most cases there are also psychological factors. Many psychopaths and narcissists were abused or neglected children, whose own parents failed to mirror them adequately as young children. So as unpleasant as they may be, their condition is not their fault. It was done to them.

I’ve already described my mother as a vain, self-centered, image conscious woman who almost always put her own needs ahead of those of her children and husbands, and chose me (as the youngest) to be her scapegoat. At times I was also her golden child, especially prior to my teen years when I started to rebel, and she loved to make me in her own image, dressing me up like I was a little doll. She expected me to act like one too, and flew into a rage if I ever had an opinion of my own or dared to challenge her.

The story I’m going to tell is gleaned from the scant bits and pieces I heard over the years, most of it described by people other than my mother. Like most narcissists, my mother is stunningly lacking in introspection. She almost never talked about her past or her childhood, and the few times she did, it was negative. Most of her anger seemed to be directed toward her mother, who she spoke of with contempt the few times she did mention her.

Ginny was a beautiful child with big blue eyes and light red hair. Somewhere in my mother’s home there’s a photo of her at about age two, and she is dressed in a pink and white dress with a Peter Pan collar, her bright hair is done in a 1930s bob, and she’s sitting in an oversized chair holding a large teddy bear on her lap. On her feet are brown high top shoes, and her little feet are sticking straight out toward the camera. Ginny’s expression is solemn, almost sad. In fact, she looks close to tears. I will probably never see that photo again, as I am not in contact with my mother and she’s in her 80s and probably won’t be here too much longer, even though she’s in good health for her age and still looks younger than her years. I wonder if at the time that photo was taken, Ginny’s narcissism was already ingrained, or if she could have still become a normal, loving woman had her circumstances been different. The sadness in her face tells me she was hurting. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen my mother.

Ginny was the fourth and youngest child born to a naval academy officer and second generation Irishwoman. The family was middle class, lived in a nice house in a safe neighborhood outside Annapolis, Maryland, and raised all their children as Roman Catholics. Because Ginny’s father was in the military, when the Depression hit, the family didn’t suffer too much financial hardship and his job remained secure. But Theodore (her father) was a heavy drinker, probably an alcoholic, and started drinking almost the moment he got home from work. Anna Marie (Ginny’s mother) suffered from melancholia (what we now know as major depression) and after Ginny was born, took to her bed and stayed there for most of her childhood and teen years. She may have been suffering from postpartum depression, but in those days, no one knew about such a thing. Anna Marie started to neglect her duties as a housewife and mother, saying she was “too sick” and had to lie down.

Ginny was the most attractive of the four children, and the only one with blue eyes. She was obviously Theodore’s favorite child, and he constantly told her how beautiful and special she was. Anna Marie began to resent all the attention he showered on his favorite child, and became even more depressed (she may have been a narcissist herself). Theodore was a faithful husband (from all accounts) but his wife’s demands were wearing him down and he began to drink even more. Sometimes he came home from work already drunk and often he would pass out after eating dinner, so that no one was running the household but the children.

By this time Ginny was about six, and her older sisters (who were in their teens) and brother (who was about 11) weren’t interested in keeping the house clean or taking care of their exhausted, drunk father and depressed, ill mother. Ginny hated dirt and disorder, and took it upon herself to keep the house clean and cook the family meals (Anna Marie was a bad cook). Her sisters were always out at parties or on dates and of course her brother was a boy so he wasn’t interested in keeping up the home or taking care of the family. Soon Ginny was the sole caretaker and became her father’s young surrogate wife. (I don’t know whether or not she was sexually abused, but it would not surprise me and I assume she probably was). Anna Marie developed a hatred for Ginny, who seemed to be everything she was not and also got all her husband’s attention. Theodore’s adoration of Ginny increased, and he began to depend on her for everything, including confiding his problems in his marriage. Ginny seemed sympathetic, but was already plotting to leave the home.

At age 15, Ginny had become a drop dead gorgeous young woman. She left her family and dropped out of high school to marry a young man from the naval academy who was studying to be a Methodist minister. She took a job modeling for the local newspaper to help makes ends meet. By 18 she was pregnant and gave birth to her first daughter, and a few years later she had her second child, also a girl. But Ginny was tired of the church dinners and the drudgery of family life. She was bored and longed for excitement that her two young daughters and minister husband couldn’t provide. So when her daughters were just 7 and 2, she left them to marry my father. It was the late 1950s, and a woman leaving her husband and children just wasn’t done, but she did it without a second thought.

Although her older daughter had abandonment issues and hated Ginny for years for leaving, today my mother lives in her home and my sister’s become Ginny’s most loyal flying monkey. I barely ever knew my sister, but I was told several years ago that I was not welcome in her home because my sister didn’t want me there. Either my mother didn’t want me there and blamed it on my sister, or my sister is a sheep who believed all Ginny’s lies about me. Ironically, my sisters were much better off than if she hadn’t left them because the woman who married her jilted husband and raised them was a kind, nurturing woman, almost the polar opposite of my mother.

Another irony is that even though my mother, as a malignant narcissist, is completely lacking in compassion, both her father and my father were taken in by Ginny’s fake “sympathy.” Ginny listened to her dad talk about his marital problems when she was a teenager and offered him kind words and a ready ear; and recently my son told me how my father fell in love with Ginny (my father never told me this story but he told him): my father’s 3 year old son from his first marriage had been hit by a train and died, and my mother offered him a shoulder to cry on and a sympathetic ear and soon he was madly in love with her.

I clearly remember when my grandmother suffered a major stroke at age 57 when I was only 7, my mother’s comments after seeing her in the hospital. All she could talk about was how helpless and disgusting she was (the stroke had left her paralyzed from the waist down and incontinent) and how she couldn’t wait to get out of there. Even at that young age, I was horrified by my mother’s callous remarks about her own mother.

Even though I don’t use my real name or their real names, sometimes I think it’s just a matter of time until she discovers this blog. I had to go inactive on Facebook because of her extended family all finding me there.

This is what I was born to do.

Posted on October 8, 2014 by luckyotter

Writing has always been what I’ve excelled at more than anything else, but because of the emotional and mental damage done to me by my psychopaths throughout my life, I never pursued it seriously and always felt I didn’t know what I should be or do. At an early age I started to believe I wasn’t much good at anything anyway.

These are the lies and half lies that were told about and to me by the various psychopaths who got to control me (some are based on half truths):
1. Suzanne is smart, but will never excel at anything because she doesn’t apply herself (true, but I didn’t apply myself because I was told I couldn’t do anything).
2. She is too sensitive to make it in this world (you can be sensitive and be successful).
3. She doesn’t make friends easily because she has a terrible personality (I am shy and not very social but I do not have a terrible personality).
4. She’s negative and lives on the pity pot so she will never achieve anything (this has been true at times).
5. She’s lazy and unmotivated and always gives up (see # 1).
6. She doesn’t stick with anything long enough to get really good at anything (see #1).
7. No one wants to be around Suzanne because she’s such a Debbie downer (depression and PTSD caused by being abused by psychopaths).
8. She isn’t any good at office politics (This is true).
9. She should have become a nurse or a teacher because then she’d always have a good job. (I am totally unsuited for nursing and teaching).
10. If Suzanne was thinner she would be more successful and get better jobs (I have never been seriously overweight so this is a lie).
11. If Suzanne smiled more people would like her better (probably true, but smiling doesn’t come second nature to me–I am working on that).
12. She’s stupid and has no common sense (I am not stupid but it’s true I can be a bit of the “absentminded professor”)
13. She’s insane (insanity implies someone who isn’t aware of their own actions or motives or is deluded–I suffer and have suffered from major depression, C-PTSD, autism and avoidant personality disorder. These are not “insane” diagnoses).

You get the idea.

The closest I ever came to having a writing career were my two jobs as an editor–I was a technical writer and editor back in the late 1980s, then became a copy editor and later associate editor for a medical journal from 1989-1991. My job included writing a one page regular column, and I also used to write freelance reviews for self help and pop psychology books. These were all good jobs but none paid well. But honestly, I didn’t really like what I was doing (except for writing the book reviews). It was a very corporate environment and there was a lot of office politics so I was never 100% comfortable there.

After moving to North Carolina in 1993 after my second child was born, I never again had a job even remotely related to publishing or writing, and I thought I never would again.

I wrote a novel in 2003 but it was rejected by several publishers (and my narcissist mother said she hated it and I wasn’t ready to write a novel) so I put it in a box in the back of my closet and never looked at it again. It embarrassed me. So from then on I limited my writing to posts on forums or comments on other people’s blogs. I believed I had forgotten how to write, and even worse, I thought I lost my creativity. I never seemed to be able to come up with ideas anymore. What was really happening was I was so terrified of failure (and so brainwashed by my abusers that I always would fail) that it was just safer to never try anything new or take any risks. If I never tried anything, then I couldn’t really fail, could I? Why have ideas if you’re never going to act on them?

That’s faulty logic though, because if you never try anything new, accept a challenge, or take a risk, you may not fail at any activity but you will fail at life, and that’s a lot worse.

One of the benefits of freeing myself from the psychopaths in my life is occasional unexpected bursts of inspiration, and that’s how this blog came to be. Now that I write something every day, my creative muscle is strengthening and I feel like new ideas pop into my head several times a day now. I thought I’d have trouble even coming up with one post a day, but most days I have ideas for two or three. Blogging is something I should have started years ago; it might have led to something bigger and maybe even become a career.

But you know what? There’s no reason why it still can’t. I feel like I finally found my purpose after so many years of feeling like a lost ship without a rudder. I have a good feeling about it.