People see an elderly white woman and her middle-aged black daughter and assume I must be the hired help.
As we plowed through decades of her extreme clutter, I began to notice similar tendencies in my husband. And once I saw the hoarder in him, there was no turning back.
When I took in a twelve-year-old with PTSD, I knew it would be difficult. What I didn’t realize was how hard it would be to let her go.
How can I let my kids enjoy the waterpark, pool or beach, when just a few seconds of fun floods my brain with PTSD?
For years, my mother woke me up to take my money on a regular basis. One day when I was twelve, I finally stood my ground.
My stepdad always kept my mother’s mental illness and alcoholism under control. But after he suffered a massive stroke, everything went haywire.
We humans are far more complex than the news headlines and clickbait would have you believe. Let the Narratively newsletter be your guide.