In a shocking turns of events, I’m going to start with a confession: I have been faking it for years. Faking knowing what I’m doing, faking like everything is ok, faking that I’m happy. The truth is that I have been a hot mess ever since Barb died, but it started before that. Her death was a big catalyst for change in my life. Shit that I was barely holding together just completely fell apart. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what *I* did wrong. Because that’s what I do—I assume that I am guilty, guilty, always guilty. I am always guilty, always wrong, always expecting too much. Welcome to my brain–it looks so pretty and fun from the outside, but it is really a pretty barren cruel wasteland once you get in there.

What if….and follow me here, what if…..it wasn’t entirely my fault? What if I am NOT supposed to be able to handle it all, to do it all, and to take care of ALL THE THINGS? What if, just once, I expect just a small percentage of what I give to others to be reciprocated? Is that overreaching?

The answer is NO. It is not wrong to expect those who love you to help. To contribute. To give a fuck.