Here is a term that suffers from terrible branding. Stepmother. Those who created that word mustn’t have realized:
1/ How ugly it sounds. 2/ How misleading it is. A stepmother is neither a mother, nor a step away from being one. 3/ How much of a stigma it would eventually carry, leaving in its wake a trail of famous stepmonsters and other blended families horror stories.
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I have never left a mean comment to anyone. No one should ever leave mean comments to anyone!!!
Because I haven’t, I have never felt what type of satisfaction it gives to the ones who send them. It must feed some part of their lizard brain, don’t you think? Maybe it feels a little bit like gossiping about someone. Just gossiping alone. Behind a screen. In your sweatpants. With a clear intention to hurt.
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I know you love me, and I love you too, but there are some parts of me that are rather ugly. I think of things I did in the past with a sneer, like a bad taste in my mouth. Especially with men. Ew!!! I think – why did I do that?
Then of course I remember it’s all because of my mother. I brush it off with the back of my hand and get back to my life.
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When we were young, my best friend and I imagined ourselves getting older. We thought that once we’d be done with trying to make our lives out in the world, we’d get back to each other, and share a house where we could drink wine on the porch and laugh all the time.
I imagined us on top of a hill, overlooking the ocean.
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It was not an elegant breakup. I broke up like a coward. I didn’t think she was emotionally stable enough to hear it. Well okay. I was just too scared of her, so I went at it like a guy on Hinge. I missed an appointment, told her I was sorry, that I would pay her and call her back. I payed. But I never called her back.
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I am writing you from a little cabin with a view on the New Zealand bush. In the distance, the ocean. It’s early in the morning, I am sitting at my desk with a coffee. It’s so quiet around, you’d think the birds are not awake yet. The sky is grey.
This little cabin is nothing really. It’s my new studio, the little place I carved for myself in this world, my room of my own. It’s my paradise.
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I am going to try to stay in my lane, because I hardly represent the single woman: I was only single for a year and then proceeded to throw myself into coupledom with a revenge, what with 167 accounts of change in lifestyle, including moving continents, entering the existence of two children – as well as the endlessly disheartening part of leaving my dog in the care of my mother.
Mostly disheartening because they are SO happy without me.
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