Still Here: Reclaiming My Voice, My Truth, and My Life

 When The Little Mermaid came out in 1989, I was almost 11. At the time, I didn’t just admire Ariel—I was her. A girl silenced. A girl trapped in a world where her voice didn’t matter, where rules were suffocating, and love felt conditional. She gave up her voice to escape. So did I—just in a different way.

I wasn’t allowed to be a child. I was told I lived in a dictatorship. I was helping raise my siblings before I hit middle school. I had to be the responsible one, the strong one, the fix-it-all one. And when I tried to speak up about the pain I was in, I was met with silence… or worse—blame.

Now, at 46 years old, I’m still being told how to live my life. Still being called unstable for explaining the reason behind my emotional responses. Still being scapegoated for decisions that were never mine to begin with.

My sister says it’s not my story to tell.

But let me ask you:

How would you feel if someone tried to erase you from your own life?

If they said you don’t exist—because your truth made them uncomfortable?

She blames me for her dropping out of college—when the truth is, she made her own decisions. She was supposed to go to school during the week and work weekends and summers. That was the deal. I didn’t break it—she did. But somehow, I’m still the problem.

In January, she threatened to evict me. Not out of necessity. Out of control. After a long day of work, cleaning, and homework, I was relaxing in my room—quiet, calm, grounded. She approached me to help her with something, and when I gently offered a solution, she snapped. She chased me down the hall, tried to physically corner me, and shoved herself against my bedroom door. I had to brace it with my shoulder just to keep her out.

That’s not a sibling argument. That’s aggression. That’s abuse.

And yesterday? I went back to my mother’s house to get my mail—with a police escort. Again. She had changed the locks. Again. Illegally. Again. I’ve done everything by the book, and I’m still being treated like the criminal when all I’ve ever done is survive what was done to me.

People say I’m “dwelling on the past.” But the past is still happening. It’s still playing out in courtrooms, in text messages, in police reports, in emotional and physical intimidation.

Let me be clear:

My suicidal ideations weren’t about weakness. They were about being erased, silenced, and scapegoated by the people I was told would love me.

I haven’t attempted to take my life since 2007.

I haven’t exploded in violence since 2008.

I have grown. I have healed. I have fought my way through every system designed to ignore people like me. And I have worked for my stability—emotionally, academically, spiritually, and professionally.

I’ve earned a 4.0 GPA.

I’ve built businesses from nothing.

I’ve rebuilt my life over and over again.

And I’m still standing. Still growing. Still here.

So when someone says I don’t have the right to tell my story?

When someone says I don’t exist?

When someone tries to lock me out—physically, emotionally, or metaphorically?

I speak louder.

Because if I don’t name this, I carry it.

And I’m done carrying the shame that doesn’t belong to me.

I didn’t get a fairytale ending. There was no prince, no castle, no rescue.

But I rescued myself.

I am not the villain.

I am not crazy.

I am not unstable.

I am a survivor, and this is my story.

If that makes people uncomfortable, they can sit with their discomfort. I’ve sat with mine long enough.

Crawling on the Planet’s Face… You Forgot Who I Am

I didn’t forget who I am.
You did.

I don’t need your test.
Not for IQ.
Not for genius.
Not to prove I have something to say.
Because I am the proof.
I am the test.
And the world keeps failing it.

I’ve walked through trauma, injustice, assault, betrayal, silence, and systemic abuse. I’ve risen from accidents, from institutions, from toxic workplaces, from relationships that tried to drown me. And I’m still standing—not just for myself, but for everyone who’s ever been pushed down and told to stay quiet.

You want to call me emotional? Dramatic?
Good.
Because that means I still feel.
And that means I’m still human—something a lot of people seem to have forgotten how to be.

There are signs everywhere.
There are messages in everything.
In movies.
In protests.
In songs.
In interviews.
In documentaries.
In speeches.
In books.
In bodies laid in the street.
In the silence between screams.

But society keeps scrolling.
It’s easier to be distracted than to be accountable.
It’s easier to label someone “too much” than to face what they’re saying.

Do you remember Edward Murrow?
“Good Night, and Good Luck.”
He stood up when others were paralyzed by fear.
He used his voice when it was dangerous to speak.
And that—that—is what this is.

I’m speaking not just for me—but for everyone who’s ever been silenced, mocked, medicated, minimized, locked away, or labeled because the world couldn’t handle their truth. Because people act out of fear. They run. They hide. They avoid.

But I don’t run.
I’ve never run.
I stand.
I speak.
I burn if I have to—but I will not vanish.

People have called me crazy.
For how I think. For how I feel. For the direction I’ve taken my life.
For walking away from a marriage.
For loving someone with an addiction.
For sacrificing time, energy, and pieces of myself in places others thought weren’t worth it.
But I see now—it was never wasted.
None of it.

Every detour, every heartbreak, every sleepless night was preparation.
Every time I doubted my own strength, dismissed my own accomplishments, or ignored the power I was carrying—it was all part of the lesson.
I had to go through it because I learn through experience. I feel the lesson before I name it.
And now I know—this is the season I was made for.

I’m not here to start a movement.
I’m not here to be a spokesperson for your cause.
I’m here to live in my truth so loudly, so relentlessly, that people can’t ignore what it looks like to reclaim yourself.

You don’t have to like me.
You don’t have to understand me.
But you will see me.

Truth is, I’ve always been seen.
Stared at. Watched. Whispered about.
Most of the time, I didn’t even fucking notice—because I was too deep in surviving to care.
But I am wide awake now.
Not in the performative way—in the soul-rattling, eyes-wide, don’t-look-away-from-me-now kind of way.
You see me? Good.
Because I see you too.

Because I’m the living proof that no matter who tries to push you down, no matter how many times they try to silence you or extinguish your fire—
You can still rise.
You can still speak.
You can still burn bright as hell.

I’m not dreaming it anymore.
I’m being it.

This is not just for me.
This is for anyone who’s ever doubted if they could survive.

Look at me.
You can.

Growing Up in the Shadow of Loss: Trauma Behind the Illusion of Stability

Introduction

I was born on December 21, 1978, in Elizabeth, New Jersey. For the first 10 and half years of my life, I lived in the shadows of towering bridges and industry, surrounded by the sound of trains and traffic, and the weight of unspoken tensions. While Elizabeth was home, it was not a place of peace. My childhood was turbulent, shaped by emotional instability, uncertainty, and survival.

In 1989, my family left Elizabeth. What followed was a lifetime of movement. I have moved 29 times—not including the temporary housing and in-between places I can no longer even count. Each new place brought upheaval, another layer of instability that made it difficult to form lasting relationships or feel safe. By the time I reached adulthood, I had learned how to adapt—but at the cost of never truly feeling grounded.

The Cost of Constant Change

Studies show that frequent relocations in childhood can lead to academic struggles, anxiety, and depression. For me, this constant flux laid the groundwork for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)—a condition I didn’t understand until much later in life. I was a child living in survival mode, never sure when the next disruption would come, or when the next loss would occur.

When we settled in Southern Ocean County, NJ, I was surrounded by the appearance of stability. Southern Regional High School, where I graduated in 1996, was highly ranked, with excellent resources, low crime, and strong academic performance. From the outside, it looked like the perfect place to grow up. But trauma doesn’t care about zip codes. Beneath the surface, I carried the weight of fear, instability, and eventually, immense grief.

Loss Upon Loss: The Names I Carry

The first devastating loss came in 1994, when Nicole Trapanese, a kind classmate, passed in a drunk driving accident. Just a week before, she had lent me a quarter to call home. I promised I would thank her every day until she died—and I did, until her funeral. Her death shattered the illusion that life was predictable or safe.

Then came more:

• Lucas Godbolt, a classmate and brilliant artist, passed in a car crash.
• David Dodds, a classmate, also lost in an accident.
• Danyelle Morgenstern, passed in 2013 after a long illness.
• Robin Lennox, taken by a heart attack on January 31, 2012.
• Patrick Johns and Jason Posch, classmates whose memories remain with me.
• Tricia Griffin, survived a horrific crash on July 29, 1995, when a car slammed into trees at 120 mph.

Brian: My Love, My Anchor

In 2006, I reconnected with Brian Heck, my best friend from high school. We fell in love and built a life together, running Hard Core Nutrition from 2009–2019. Brian passed away on June 30, 2017, and with his death, my world crumbled. He was the one person who truly understood my past, my pain, and my heart. His loss broke me open—but also showed me what it meant to love fully.

After Brian’s passing, Stephanie Poulillo, a friend and coworker, covered my spin class at Tilton Fitness. She passed just three years later, on June 27, 2020, at only 25. We shared a birthday. She loved the “Elvis” shake—peanut butter and banana—from our store. Losing her felt like losing another part of myself.

Family Losses That Cut Deep

I was fortunate to grow up knowing both of my great-grandparents, Chester and Mildred Yess, who lived in Elizabeth, NJ. Their presence in my early life provided a rare and meaningful connection to family history and tradition. Chester passed away on June 11, 1996, and Mildred followed on June 21, 1999. Losing them was profound, not only because of the bond we shared, but also because it marked the end of a generational link that shaped my understanding of love, resilience, and legacy.

• My father, Alberto Jorge Jaime, passed October 16, 2016. Born in Cuba, he took over with my mother running Shore Sunrise "The Ride" with our family from 2006 until his death.
• My grandmother, Lucrecia “Cuca” Jaime, passed May 15, 2017.
• My grandfather, Alberto J. Jaime, passed March 24, 2005.
• Floyd D. Jackson Jr., my grandfather, passed October 14, 2009, in Rahway.
• Joan Jackson, my grandmother, passed February 11, 2016.
• Leslie Armitage Nebel, Brian’s aunt, passed August 27, 2016.
• Walter “Walt” Nebel, her husband, passed February 7, 2012.

Clients, Friends, and the Community I Served

Loss extended into my work life—through Shore Sunrise "The Ride" limousine service, Hard Core Nutrition a supplement store, both of which I owned and operated—and every job I’ve held, I’ve built relationships with clients, coworkers, and community members who became like family. Many of them are gone too.

• Shawn Kessler, friend and Southern Regional alum, died September 8, 2011, at 37.
• His brother, Michael Kessler, lost to cancer July 15, 2022.
• Kaitlyn Wilson, a client and customer, passed August 8, 2013, at 21.
• Alex Hoffman, Barnegat police officer and customer, died October 2, 2019.

There are more—people not named here, but never forgotten.

Experiencing so many losses over the course of my life has led to what professionals call cumulative grief—the kind that builds with each loss, never fully resolving before the next one arrives. In some cases, grief can become overwhelming and persistent, evolving into what is now recognized as complicated grief or prolonged grief disorder. These forms of grief can affect your ability to function, heal, and find peace.

For those who want to understand more about these experiences:
🔗 Learn about Cumulative Grief
🔗 Learn about Complicated (Prolonged) Grief

PTSD: The Silent Companion

All of these experiences—the turbulence of childhood, the instability, the loss—built up inside of me until I could no longer hide it. PTSD doesn’t always come from a single event—it can come from living in a constant state of fear, loss, and uncertainty.

For years, I struggled not only with the weight of trauma but with being misunderstood—even misdiagnosed. It is one thing to suffer; it is another to have that suffering labeled in ways that miss the truth of your experience. The process of reclaiming my own story has been painful, but it has also been liberating. I now know the root of my trauma, and I’m fighting every day to heal it properly.

In a community that seemed “perfect,” I carried the invisible weight of trauma. I learned to survive. To smile. To keep going. But inside, I was fighting a battle no one could see.

To better understand what PTSD is, how it can manifest, and how healing is possible, you can read more here:
🔗 What Is PTSD? – Mayo Clinic

This Is My Truth

I carry every name.
Brian, Nicole, Lucas, David, Danyelle, Robin, Stephanie, Kaitlyn, Shawn, Michael, Alex, my family, my clients, my friends—all of them.

I have made it through.
And I am still fighting to live.

This post is for them, for me, and for anyone who has felt unseen in their grief or trauma.

You are not alone. I remember. I carry you. I am healing. And I will never stop telling this story.

For those navigating a lifetime of losses, this resource offers insight into the long-term impact of grief and how healing is possible.

Dedication

This post is dedicated to every soul I have lost—through family, friendship, business, and community.

You shaped my life. You are remembered. You are loved.

And to those still here, fighting invisible battles—this is proof that survival is possible.

I see you. I am with you. And I am still fighting too.

For a personal and heartfelt reflection on grief and healing, I invite you to read this article.

When Enough is Enough: Choosing Peace Over Emotional Chaos

There comes a point when you realize that someone else’s self-destruction isn’t yours to carry. You try. You offer support. You provide resources. You open the door to friendship, understanding, and genuine connection. And yet, some people refuse to listen—choosing to deflect, dismiss, or emotionally manipulate instead of taking responsibility for their own lives.

That’s when you have to make a choice: Do you keep pouring energy into someone who drains you, or do you step back and reclaim your peace?

Step One: Recognizing the Signs

Emotional exhaustion doesn’t happen overnight—it builds over time. Toxic people, whether they mean to or not, create cycles of dysfunction that pull others in. Toxic vampires feed on your emotions, draining your energy with their constant negativity, neediness, and inability to take responsibility. Emotional leeches latch onto your kindness, using guilt, manipulation, or victimhood to keep you engaged.

The cycle often looks something like this:

• They create chaos, then expect you to clean up the mess.
• They refuse to change but blame everyone else for their struggles.
• They push boundaries and make you feel guilty when you enforce them.
• They only reach out when they need something, disappearing when you need support.

Sound familiar? That’s not connection—that’s an emotional drain. If you’re struggling to recognize these patterns, this guide on emotional vampires offers deeper insight into protecting yourself.

Breaking the Cycle: Boundaries Aren’t the Problem

The biggest lie toxic people tell themselves is that everyone else is the issue. They repeat the same destructive behaviors, refuse to reflect, and wonder why they keep losing people. They’ll say things like:

• “People always give up on me.”
• “Everyone tells me the same thing.”
• “I guess I’m just too much for people to handle.”

Instead of recognizing that the common denominator is their own behavior, they push blame outward, making you feel like the problem.

But here’s the truth:

• If someone consistently drains you, it’s okay to walk away.
• If someone refuses to respect your boundaries, you don’t have to explain them again.
• If someone manipulates or dismisses your feelings, you don’t have to justify why you’re hurt.

Toxic people often rely on dark psychology—psychological tactics like manipulation, guilt-tripping, or gaslighting to keep you engaged in their toxic cycle. These tactics may be hard to spot at first, but understanding how they work is crucial for breaking free. If you want to dive deeper into how dark psychology operates, this article on Dark Psychology can help you recognize these patterns and gain insight into the mind of emotional manipulators.

You are not obligated to fix, heal, or tolerate someone who refuses to take accountability for themselves.

Choosing Peace: Walking Away Without Guilt

One of the hardest lessons in life is accepting that you can’t save people from themselves. You can support, encourage, and offer guidance—but if someone actively rejects change, that’s their choice, not your failure.

I found a lot of clarity in reflecting on my own experience with a past relationship, especially after reading something that resonated deeply with me. It was this article on Thought Catalog that explored the point at which someone realizes it’s time to leave. It wasn’t about a single event or betrayal; it was about the accumulation of emotional harm over time—the repeated gaslighting, manipulation, and the slow erosion of one’s sense of self.

As I read those words, something clicked. I realized that the decision to walk away wasn’t about proving a point or trying to change someone. It was about protecting my own peace and dignity.

There was a moment in my life when I read this article to someone and they repeatedly said, “I did all those things to you.” And for the first time, I truly understood the weight of those words—not as an excuse or justification, but as an undeniable truth that I no longer had to accept. The deeper I read, the more I understood: You cannot stay in a relationship where your worth is constantly under attack.

If you find yourself questioning when it’s time to let go, speak with a counselor, a trusted friend, and take time to reflect on your actions. This will lead you to the realization: It’s time to walk away.

When the moment comes where you have to choose between preserving their comfort or protecting your peace, remember this: You are allowed to choose yourself.

American Dream Mall: A Dream You Can Touch, A Reality You Can Question

Finally at American Dream Mall!

I remember when they first started talking about building what is now American Dream Mall. Back when I owned and drove for my limousine company, I would pass by the site regularly, watching as steel beams and scaffolding slowly attempted to shape an ambitious vision. The concept started in 1994 as Meadowlands Mills, later evolving into Meadowlands Xanadu when construction officially began in 2004. After years of financial setbacks, changes in ownership, and reinvention, the long-awaited project finally opened in October 2019 as American Dream—a place designed to merge entertainment, shopping, and adventure under one massive roof.

In many ways, I see my own journey reflected in this place. Just like the mall, I have gone through stages of transformation. Ideas that once seemed certain had to evolve, setbacks forced reinvention, and delays in my personal growth turned out to be necessary pauses for something greater to take shape. The person I am today is the result of years of rebuilding, restructuring, and redefining my own “American Dream.”

Stepping into Big Snow NJ, I found myself facing an experience I had put off since I was a kid. I was supposed to go skiing and tubing in 8th or 9th grade with Karen Sledge, but instead, we stayed at the hotel, enjoying the pool rather than taking on the slopes. Now, at 46, I finally embraced the moment. It was exhilarating, a reminder that it’s never too late to revisit old dreams or rewrite them entirely.

Later, at House of ‘Que, I was fortunate to have Shea as my waiter. Dining out with Celiac disease can be stressful, but Shea’s knowledge and attentiveness made all the difference. He ensured that my meal was safe and enjoyable, turning what could have been a challenge into a positive experience. It’s small gestures like these that leave lasting impressions. Not only was his service top-notch, but he even shared a unique piece of art with me—a recycled jewelry piece made from a soda can tab, crafted by an artist. It was a simple yet profound reminder that transformation is everywhere, even in the smallest things.

This visit to American Dream Mall wasn’t just about exploring a long-awaited destination. It was about recognizing how much I’ve changed and grown—how life, much like the mall, takes its own time to become what it’s meant to be. Sometimes, dreams take longer than expected, but that doesn’t mean they won’t happen. With patience, persistence, and the willingness to embrace new experiences, we can turn both make-believe and reality into something incredible.

Have you ever had a moment where life came full circle in an unexpected way? Drop your thoughts in the comments!

Don't Worry...Be Happy

Here's a little song I wrote
You might want to sing it note for note

Don't worry, be happy
In every life we have some trouble
But when you worry you make it double
Don't worry, be happy
Don't worry, be happy now

"Don't Worry, Be Happy" the one hit wonder by Bobby McFerrin, a song that has more truth to it than I can explain.

I have had an epiphany within the last week, a realization about the events of the past seven years of my life. The past two weeks have been extremely stressful, I started working two more jobs, totaling three with about 85 hours of work. I starting focusing on June 30th, the anniversary of Brian's death, more than I should have and in a very negative way. I became overwhelmingly sad and ultimately angry. Last Tuesday evening I completely broke down to the point where someone very close to me was concerned I shouldn't be alone. I let out all of my frustrations that evening finally voicing the events of my entire adult life to now that I was angry about and blamed myself for. Almost a week later, I am processing these issues with the help of my counselor once again.

I spoke with someone this past week and they said something enlightening. They said even though I had moved forward with my life in many ways, I was still living in the past. At first, I disagreed. I said I had moved forward and had come so far from where I was three years ago. They pointed out that my grief and sorrow with the mention of Brian proved I hadn't moved as far as I thought. I sat in silence as they spoke and pondered everything being said. We quickly moved past the conversation and onto other topics, but the rest of the afternoon I took a step back and tried to remove my emotions from the situation. I reflected on the conversation with deep thought and the realization that I was wrong. I have been distracting myself with work, roller skating, working out, television, just staying busy and compartmentalizing my emotions. I have move forward but I have not dealt with some of the deep rooted issues that plague me when it comes to my relationship with Brian. There is a lot of anger, guilt and sadness and I need to learn how heal.

Tonight I had the ability to venture out on a bike ride. It was peaceful with the sun beating down on me and the wind gently blowing against my skin. I could feel the road underneath me and my music was playing. As I pedaled along, my mind wandered off and not into the seedy neighborhood it often likes to travel, but my first thought when I started my ride was, "It was so nice of my landlord to let me borrow this bike. I wouldn't be able to do this if he hadn't allowed me to use it." I began to think about how helpful my landlord has been when he has absolutely no reason to help me. I'm so very lucky to have a roof over my head. I'm severely behind on my rent and he has been gracious enough to work with me over the last 9 months or so.

I thought about how through this entire COVID pandemic, I have had a job and took every opportunity to have hours, which has led to a full time position at Wawa, at least for the summer. Two people close to me offered second and third jobs, working with me on the schedule at Wawa. Neither one of them had to do it, but knew I needed to catch up on bills and wanted to help me. Both of these positions are temporary summer gigs, but will allow me to make some extra money. Again, I am lucky to have people in my life who care enough about me to offer to let me work with them.

As I sit in my quiet living room, I think about how I will have a roommate joining me tomorrow. A friend got in touch with me a few weeks ago because their friend was in need of a place to stay. My friend knew I was back and forth on the idea of sharing my house to offset the bills. I made arrangements to meet with this woman and we both thought it would be a great idea for her to move in. That day, we met with my landlord, told him the plan and it was a deal. How lucky can I be?

My life is consistently changing. The path I set out on when I was 17 years old graduating from high school was not the path that I followed. I have had many experiences with jobs, relationships, friends and life in general. For the most part I have lived a good life. I have been fortunate enough to always have a place to live, food in my refrigerator, a vehicle and overall good health. I often forget to have gratitude for the present because I am either worrying about the future or the past. That sets the downward spiral of negative thinking and causes my life and relationships to fall apart. I am often asked advice by friends. I usually can help them see things clearly and give my opinion for their situation. My problem? I don't know how to take my own advice.

I have been focusing on changing my mindset. I remember a conversation with Brian one night, it was winter and cold in the house. I was complaining that I wanted the heat turned up a little. He looked at me and asked, "What would you do if you were homeless and living on the street?" My response, "I will never let that happen." I have stayed true to that statement. I have done everything I can over the past three years to not be homeless and lose everything. I have had to make great sacrifices with my time, money and the ability to do what I really want to for this. I wake up each morning grateful to be breathing. I look around my home and am thankful I still live here after five years. I open my refrigerator and I am happy there is food in it. I drive to work and thank God I have three jobs. I look at my bank account, even though there isn't money I can spend on wasteful things, I am able to pay my bills. I have clothes on my back, shoes on my feet and able to shower everyday. I have family and friends who love and care about me. There is more for me to be happy about than sad.

I recently read a quote, "If you don't leave your past in the past, it will destroy your future. Live for what today has to offer not was yesterday took away." I am experiencing this ten fold right now. Losing a loved one is a tragic experience. What I need to remind myself is that I am not the one who died and I am not responsible. Although it is good to remember the past with your loved ones, it is unhealthy to constantly reminisce. It keeps you in a cycle of pain and does not let you to move on with your life. It will destroy relationships with long time friends and family and not allow new ones to develop. You will not stay in the same place either, you will always fall behind. For every step you take forward, you will move three steps back. I have learned this the hard way, but after a lot of thought and analyzation of my life, I need to let go and let God once again. It is easy to say, yet so hard to do. I am going to try my hardest to live my life one day at a time, one hour at a time or even one minute at a time to focus on the present. I just want to be at peace, have a smile on my face and be able to thank God for the life I have been given.

"If you are depressed you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace you are living in the present."

"Don't dream it...be it."

Truth and Lies...

Truth: that which is true, or in accordance with fact or reality
Lie: an intentionally false statement

Everyone tells a lie, some are small and some are big. Most of the time the truth in a situation can hurt another person and people will lie to try to protect that person and themselves. Other times, it seems easier to lie because a different story is easier to tell than the real one. Reality, "It's easier to tell the truth than to remember your lies." Brian always used to say that. He spent a majority of his life lying to people because of his addiction, sometimes to get what he wanted and other times to hide what he was doing. I will never forget a conversation we had when we first started dating. Brian told me out of respect, he would never lie to me even if the truth hurt me or himself. Our relationship was a very honest one. Neither one of us would sugar coat the truth, at the same time we were not hurtful when we spoke.

That saying, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" is how I approach life. I have been put into situations where I try to navigate the waters. I always try to give the benefit of doubt and I am troubled by that. I don't want to be too forgiving and I also don't want to be cynical. The truth is something I value. I can respect an honest person for many reasons, especially that it shows a high level of maturity. Being able to talk about something that happened or the way you feel is never easy. Being vulnerable isn't a comfortable feeling and worrying about another person's reaction to events is an even more uneasy feeling. I know what it feels like to be lied to and it hurts. I've also lied to others and know there is a burden and level of guilt that you carry and weighs you down like a brick.

"For nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest, nor is anything secret that will not be known and come to light." That is a bible verse which has been stuck in my head for over a decade. More often than not humans try to justify their deceit, often listing unrealistic reasons for their actions. Over the years, I feel like I have matured and learned enough coping skills to react to most situations I am in. I don't fly off the handle, yell and scream, belittle other people or lash out in a physical way. I now assess the facts, think about what I want to say and try to have a civilized conversation. Not long ago, I found myself deeply hurt by news that I heard about someone extremely close to me. My friend didn't tell me what was going on because were worried about my reaction, they waited and waited. I innocently found out from someone else and waited a few days for my initial anger to subside before having a conversation. When I confronted my friend, I was told they were going to tell me about it but were "waiting for the right time". I ended that conversation with, "I need some time to reflect on what just happened. It is probably better if we don't talk for awhile." About two weeks later, my friend reached out to me, apologizing again and telling me how hard it was to not have the ability to speak with me. I agreed that I wanted to have them in my life but also told my friend we needed to continue to communicate and be honest with each other. Our friendship is now stronger because of this.

Sometimes telling the truth, as horrible as it may be, is better than lying. Every lie can be forgiven but every bridge cannot be mended. You may have to forgive someone for hurting you, but not forget what they did. Doing this may set you free and allow others in the future to see how to treat you differently.

"Don't dream it...be it."