How odd it is to fear I am a hypochondriac when I take routine care of myself, when I investigate a concerning symptom, when I hear the thing that goes bump in the night and seek to find out why, why, why.
How odd it is to have been mothered by a woman unable to care for herself, a woman who flung away her flashlight into the deepest shadows.
How odd it is to feel guilty, full of betrayal, when I shine my torch into common darkness.
I had to search for a while to find this old blog post…I needed to read it this morning.
The boat I need to burn is the one that would take me back over the waters of “If I don’t do it, it won’t get done.” Those waters are full of nasty, bad things.
What boat do you need to burn?
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