The number of ways I’ve tried to trick (entice?) my kids into doing something, by just slightly embellishing what said thing is, is countless.
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People living with depression, as with any chronic illness or condition, are often bombarded by unsolicited advice from well-meaning loved ones.
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For some reason, which I assume is because I must be good at hiding the shitstorm that is my life, people really think that I have my shit together.
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The mother-of-three version of me knows that treating my kids differently doesn’t mean that I don’t love them the same.
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I was a lifetime pleaser of people, desperately seeking their approval so that I would feel loved.
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When the tiny, wrinkled baby was first placed in Carol’s arms, an older, experienced mom passed by her room, peeked in, and told her, “Enjoy every minute."
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