So there’s something awful about getting to know me, especially if you’re a tender hearted person. It’s this: At some point I’ll have to tell you my backstory and I’m nearly 100% sure that doing so will hurt more for you than it will for me.
I’m used to telling this story, you’re just not used to hearing it. My story flies in the face of everything you’ve assumed to be true about me through our interactions.
Online it seems to be a little less dramatic (I’ve rolled out the three major blows of my life here, here and here) but this could very well be because you’re on the other side of the screen and have time to compose and comment, or not.
When people meet me in person, their first impression is usually that I’m a talkative, upbeat, bubbly mother of two who’s good for a laugh.
Then, at some point, the conversation usually has to take a turn, usually not the first time we meet.
It starts with someone asking about my parents, here, I’ll just dialog it for you. Continue reading