Tag Archives: ACOA

Your biggest struggle can be your greatest success!

“You have a 75% chance of becoming an addict.” My mother’s sister (my aunt who helped raise me) was the one who shared those most valuable words with me.

I don’t remember how old I was when I first heard those words. They didn’t sting or hurt. They were a gift. They were meant to be used as a tool for being aware and making good decisions. They made a huge impact on me. I understood the significance. I understood the power behind those words. I understood through those words I had the ability to help change a generational curse. I had to take action. I had to be proactive. I understood it wasn’t just my future that would be impacted…but my kid’s future…their kid’s future. So many generations stood to be impacted by choices I made and continue to make each day. Our choices don’t just impact the here and now – they can forever alter the course of our path. Our family’s path. Good and bad.

My family had been plagued with addiction for many years. My mother, my father and so many other loved ones have been terrorized by addiction. Too many have lost their lives because of this disease.

I knew from the moment I got pregnant I would be fighting for my children’s future. Looking back through my family’s history, genetically and statistically – one of my two most precious gifts from God would have to battle things that could lead them to addiction. For me, I only saw war. Me fighting with all I had…to save one or both of my precious gifts. I tried to tell Scott but I don’t think he ever really understood. Not the significance. How could he? He hadn’t been robbed by the devastating disease like I had. His heart hadn’t ached from addiction the way mine had. He didn’t really understand we were in a war against Satan to save our boys. He didn’t understand Satan was waiting and watching for the perfect opportunity to strike.

I watched. I prayed. I reflected. I analyzed. I learned. I educated. I talked. I prayed some more. I talked some more. I was open and honest about addiction. About my mother. About my pain. About mother’s pain. About other family members. About anything and everything that could help save my boys. Because that’s what I was doing – trying to save their life. I needed to give them tools. I needed them to see differently… to be watching and be on alert for the thief who comes only to steal and kill and destroy. Because he was waiting. He was waiting and watching for the perfect opportunity to strike.

I watched. I waited. And then it began….

Suddenly what seemed like out of nowhere, in the ninth grade my precious son started exhibiting different behavior. At first it just seemed like worrying. It would start on Sunday nights…he would begin to tell us how he didn’t want to go to school the next day. Not your normal fussing about school. It was hours and hours of excruciating worrying. Shaking, rocking and tears. He would make himself so sick with worry that he would throw up. We were worried and at a loss. We tried everything…listening, redirecting, and being stern…anything we could think of. We were worn out, frustrated and at a complete loss. We had no clue. It continued to escalate each week. Something was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I questioned. Did something happen? What is going on? “No, nothing happened,” was always his reply. He couldn’t explain it. We couldn’t understand it. There was no rhyme or reason. It was sporadic and paralyzing. Then we started getting phone calls from him while he was at school. He was panicked and tearful…he was begging one of us to come and get him. He said he couldn’t stay there. It was heartbreaking! Scott was stern with him. He even went to the school and tried to line him out. We tried babying him. We spoke to one of our friends who had gone through something similar with her son. Her information was helpful. We researched. We spoke to so many. We tried every possible thing we could think of. Day after day, week after week, month after month…it continued. Nothing worked. He was scared. We were scared. Then I knew…we were in the battle. This was the war I had been preparing for. I had to fight with everything I had to save my sweet boy. He had inherited my mother’s anxiety. I was devastated. I cried. I was angry. God, how can you allow this to happen? My parents and my son?

I knew it was something far beyond his control. Both my parents suffered from anxiety. I believe they both self-medicated which had contributed to their life path and journey of addiction. My sweet boy wasn’t going to be taken without a fight. I would fight with everything I had to change the course of his future. I knew if he didn’t find some relief – he would eventually look for relief on his own in the form of drugs and alcohol. This could be deadly for him. Our family isn’t like others. One drink can hook us and create a dependence making us powerless. I wasn’t going to watch him as I had watched my mother. My heart ached.

After nothing we did was effective, we sought medical attention. But even as a nurse it was excruciating to maneuver through the process. Not any doctor was good enough to care for one of my most precious gifts. It had to be one who specialized in this kind of thing. It had to be the perfect one. One who would listen. One who would spend time with us and with him. One who would take the time to understand our family history. One who wasn’t just pushing pills. We needed help. Root cause help. We needed someone who would care. Really care. Not just care for the 20-40 minute appointment but about his life and future. After much searching and many tears…we found a doctor who helped us a lot and then not so much.

And then a couple of bad choices were made and God allowed consequences to happen. We worked through those consequences to create positive change in our lives. Those bad things ended up being great blessings. And then during a very scary thing – God sent us an angel in the form of a beautiful caring doctor. One who got it, who understood and truly cared. She is one of the most understanding, knowledgeable, caring, compassionate doctor’s I have ever met. We were in the middle of a crisis. She helped us more than I could ever express. I love her!  We are forever grateful for her.  She helped us change the path we could have been on.

We’ve learned a lot. I have learned a lot. It has taught me more about mother and what may have contributed or led to her life of addiction. Mother’s addiction and all that was lost is still painful. But it allowed me to have more empathy instead of judgement. We believe sometimes God allows you to go through things so you can help others. That’s our reason for sharing…to help others.

I am so proud of him. He seeks to learn and researches. He isn’t perfect and has made mistakes just as I have. He is thoughtful, kind and considerate. He has a heart of gold. He is loyal and compassionate. He stands up for what is right. He has taught me so much. He loves his family. He tells his brother he loves him before he goes to bed or leaves the house. I don’t know very many young men who so freely give the “L” word – especially to their brother. They both tell each other they love each other. I love my boys. They warm my heart and make me proud.

Learning to tame his anxiety will be one of his greatest life accomplishments. Something to be proud of not embarrassed of. It will be far greater than any job, education or high paying salary he could ever strive to obtain. It will be one of his greatest life successes. He is changing the course of his future, the future for his kids and generations to come. We are right by his side cheering, guiding and loving him.  We are so proud of him.

Anxiety and Panic Attacks can be debilitating. They are so misunderstood. They can stop you dead in your tracks.

It’s been 5 years since it started and we’ve learned a lot. We will share…as my sweet guy is ready. He is still battling. We are still battling. But we’re on a great path and we will win!

John 10:10 “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” (NIV)

Finding the sweet side of crazy!

Kandy

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What God Won’t Ask

God won't ask

God won’t ask what kind of fancy car you drove. He will ask how many people you drove because they didn’t have transportation.

God won’t ask the square footage of your house. He will ask how many people you helped who didn’t have a home.

God won’t ask how many fancy clothes you had in your closet. He will ask how many you helped to clothe.

God won’t ask what social class you were in. He will ask what kind of “class” or kindness you displayed.

God won’t ask how many material possessions you had. He will ask whether those material possessions dictated your life.

God won’t ask what your highest salary was. He will ask if you compromised your character in order to receive it.

God won’t ask how much overtime you worked. He will ask if you worked overtime for your family.

God won’t ask how many promotions you received. He will ask what you did to promote others.

God won’t ask what your job title was. He will ask did you perform your job to the best of your ability.

God won’t ask how many promotions you took to chase a dollar bill. He will ask how many promotions you refused to advance your family’s quality of life.

God won’t ask how many times you didn’t run around on your spouse. He will ask how many times you did.

God won’t ask how many degrees you had. He will ask how many people you thanked for helping you get those degrees.

God won’t ask what your parents did to help you. He will ask what you did to help your parents.

God won’t ask what you did to help yourself. He will ask what you did to help others.

God won’t ask how many friends you had. He will ask how many people you were a friend to.

God won’t ask what neighborhood you lived in. He will ask how you treated your neighbors.

God won’t ask how many times you told the truth. He will ask how many times you told a lie.

God won’t ask about the color of your skin. He will ask about the color of your heart -the content of your character.

God won’t ask how many times your deeds matched your words. He will ask how many times they didn’t.

-unknown (I couldn’t find the source.)

This was shared at a conference I attended this week.

Sometimes we get so self-absorbed and don’t think about how we impact others – positively or negatively. Choose to positively impact others. Great thought provoking read.

Finding the sweet side of crazy!

Kandy

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I Hate Vodka!

I walked into the liquor store and went straight to the checkout counter. The man standing behind the counter asked if he could help me find something. I nodded. I was slightly embarrassed and a little nervous. “I need some really cheap vodka. It’s for my hair,” I quickly stated.  I knew what he was thinking…sure lady it’s for your “hair.” Wink. Wink. I wanted to tell him it REALLY was for my hair. A bunch of us make this awesome recipe with Vodka and essential oils. But I knew he’d think I was just covering for my own addiction. I wanted to tell him how much I hated vodka – that it had killed my mother. It slowly and painfully killed her 5 months ago. But I didn’t. He showed me a few cheap brands. There it was. The one I really hated. The one I had purchased several years ago when mother was still alive. It was the first and last time I had ever bought it for my mother. It was the last time I had ever purchased vodka.

My mind took me back to that painful time…

Out of desperation, I had driven to the liquor store with mother in the car. She had been drinking heavily for a long time and I knew if she didn’t get more alcohol she could die from life threatening alcohol withdrawals. Going against everything I believed in, I drove her to the liquor store and while she sat in my car in a very bad way, for the first time in my life I went in and purchased what she needed…and the very thing that was killing her. I purchased the cheap brand she had asked for. I had never bought my mother vodka before that particular day. I had always refused because in my mind I was contributing to her addiction. I wasn’t going to spend my money on vodka she was slowly killing herself with. I had learned over the years to stop giving her money. It made me angry when she used it for a substance or alcohol. I somehow felt it made me part of her addiction and I tried desperately to separate myself from it. But the truth was I couldn’t separate myself from it and she always found a way to get the things her body and mind desperately craved. At one point, when she was still driving, I thought I was a genius when I had decided instead of giving her money I’d just put gas in her car. But somehow she always managed to outsmart me and still managed to somehow use that gas to get her substances. Walmart cards worked the same way – she’d trade or sell those too. I could never completely separate myself from the darkness.

Earlier, the same day I purchased the vodka for Mother I had found out about more darkness my mother had been living through. The kind of darkness you only see in movies. The kind of darkness that doesn’t happen to those you love. Something bad had happened. Something unbelievable. Something that made my heart hurt whenever I heard of those things happening but it disgusted me and broke my heart that it had happened to my mother. It made me cry and it made me so angry that she kept doing the same things over and over again. Everything was spinning out of control. It was so much worse than in years before and the years before had been excruciating. I didn’t know how to make it stop. I didn’t know how to help. All I could do was limit myself. Protect myself from the toxicity and pain. Powerlessly sitting by and watching the destruction she was creating and causing was paralyzing and heartbreaking. I wanted desperately to make her stop but I couldn’t. The truth was – I was as powerless as she was. She had to want it. She had to do the work. I couldn’t want it for her or do the work for her. Everything was getting worse. All of the ugliness centered around her powerlessness of substances which happened to be vodka at that point in time. Mother had always struggled and always been powerless to drugs and alcohol for as far back as I could remember.  

The day I bought her vodka, I had so much hope. Because of the darkness (I can’t bring myself to share those details), I had brought mother to our home. I was going to save her. I was going to move her closer and protect her from the evil that surrounded her. The evil she was a part of. The evil her addiction was holding her hostage to. My plan was to ration her vodka so she could get sober and I’d find her a clean little apartment and get her help. I told Scott my plan. He agreed. He was in charge of rationing the vodka out to her a little at a time until we had her tapered off of it. It was too heavy for me to give my mother Vodka. I couldn’t emotionally handle it. But Scott could handle it.   It didn’t create the pain for him like it did me. That illusion of saving my mother lasted from a Friday to a Monday.

Everything was going well according to my brilliantly stupid plan, or so I thought. It was Monday evening and I was driving home from Mason’s baseball game when I got the phone call from Derrelyn.  She was laughing hysterically. She said “have you talked to your mother?” We all had a pretty crazy sense of humor. “No, why?” I questioned.   Derrelyn replied “She’s drunk. I just got off the phone with her.” Derrelyn was still laughing. Dang it! I was pissed! She found the vodka Scott hid from her.  I thought he put it in a place where she couldn’t find it. She was so resourceful. I was disappointed. I thought she wanted to get better. Derrelyn was still laughing. She was trying to tell me more but she was laughing so hard. I was so mad! She kept on…“That’s not all.” Oh goodness! What else? She was laughing so hard she could barely talk. Which made me laugh too. She kept on…”she walked around your neighborhood knocking on doors until she found someone to take her to the liquor store.” Derrelyn laughed louder. My heart sank. Holy Cow! I couldn’t believe it. Derrelyn was still laughing. She wasn’t laughing because she thought it was funny. She was laughing because it was so stinking crazy and that’s how we dealt with the crazy. We laughed through the craziness. That’s how we got through it. We inappropriately laugh. How the heck did I think I could just whisk Mother away and save her? I started laughing and my stomach hurt at the same time. I was driving home going from being super mad to laughing in complete disbelief. Poor Madden. He had stayed at home that evening and she was there. Poor us. Scott and I had roots in this town. We knew people. People knew us. Whose door did she knock on? Who took her? Holy Cow! I was embarrassed and mad. Scott was on the School Board and I had previously been on the School Board. I wasn’t going to allow my kids to live through the embarrassment and junk I lived through. I was so mad at her.

I called Scott. He checked on Madden. Madden was okay.

I pulled into the garage and hurried into the house. I found mother. Of course she was totally hammered. There is no reasoning with an intoxicated person. Don’t waste your breathe. I did anyway. It did no good. I did it anyway. I asked in desperation – “Who did you get to take you to the liquor store?” Mother’s drunken slurred reply almost made me laugh “I walked several blocks over, Kandy.” Like somehow that made it okay. Like we might not know the people who lived that far from us. Mother muttered her drunken slurred words that made no sense. I was so stinking mad at her. But mainly my heart hurt. She finally went to bed. But she kept getting up and down going to the bathroom. Each time she’d mutter and almost growl some drunken hateful words showing us her ugliness that the vodka brought to life.

That night, Mason went to his other grandmothers to spend the night. He couldn’t take it. It was scary to be around. Madden and I slept in my room while Scott slept on the couch in the living room that separated where Mother was sleeping from the room his family was sleeping in…as if to protect his family from her craziness.

The next morning, I called work and told them I wouldn’t be there. After Scott, Mason and Madden were all gone to work and school, I went to mother and told her she wasn’t doing this in my house. She wasn’t going to do this to my kids. I told her I couldn’t help her if she wouldn’t help herself. I told her she had two choices. Go to treatment or go back home. She was still mean and hateful as if I was to blame for the current situation. And the truth was…in some way I probably was. She didn’t ask me to drag her to my house and save her. I just decided that’s what needed to happen. We made phone calls. She cried. I got angry. She called Derrelyn and cried and told her how mean I was being. She said I was being really mean to her. I was. I was mad. She needed treatment and I wanted her to make the right decision. But she didn’t. Ultimately she chose to go back to her house. It was a long two hour drive back down to her home. Just she and I. I had knots in my stomach. I was angry at her for once again choosing the alcohol over a better life. I had offered to help her. She refused. I cried the whole way home. My heart hurt. I was disappointed and didn’t get it. But I was also thankful. Thankful I had somehow been saved and that my children hadn’t grown up in a home filled with that junk. I hated taking her back down there but I wasn’t living this way and neither were my kids. I had to protect myself and them. This disease wasn’t stealing any more from me.

Sometimes you have to make a decision to remove people who bring toxicity into your life. I couldn’t completely remove her. I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. But I had to limit the time I spent with her. Because I knew if I didn’t I’d turn into something I’d hate. If we’re honest we’ll see that as much pain as those people bring into our lives – we bring pain into theirs as well.  Sometimes it’s better to set boundaries and love from afar.

I hate vodka. For me, it symbolizes the heroin, cocaine, alcohol, prescription pills and all the substances that took my mother from me. I know it’s not really about the vodka but sometimes you just need something to blame and something is better than someone. I hated it for all the ugliness it brought into my life. I know it was really about Mother’s disease and the choices she made or didn’t make. But I hate vodka!

The man said… “Is this the one you want?” I pointed to the other one. The one I didn’t recognize or have a relationship with… “I’ll take that one.” I purchased the Vodka and took it home.  I made the beloved “Sassy Hair.” Stupid Vodka! It isn’t going to control my life anymore. I’ll spray that junk on my hair and wear it like I own it!

Finding the sweet side of crazy!

Kandy

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“MugShot of the Day!!!

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I google most everything. Google knows everything…all the important stuff and the junk.

April 6, 2015, five days after Mother was found dead on her couch from years of binge drinking…with trails of blood that had drained from her nose –  I googled her name. I’m not sure why.  I think I expected to see some kind of death notice. But I didn’t. There was nothing that let the world know my Mother had died a brutal slow death from her own powerless actions.  Her addiction killed her. And even though she had died just five days prior – I had lost her over 40 years ago when I was just a little girl.

I knew the obituary wouldn’t be there. That’s the family’s responsibility. My responsibility. I hadn’t written it yet. And still haven’t. I will. I’m trying to make sense of all of it. Trying to do something positive with such a tragedy. No, I knew a big fancy well written obituary outlining all of her loves and accomplishments wouldn’t be there. But I thought there would at least be something listing her name, age, city and date of death. Maybe I expected to see some kind of article about how she was found and how she lived. I’m not exactly sure what I was looking for.

But I did find something. It was such a strange feeling. It made me sad, cry and mad.  And in a very crazy way – it brought me a speckle of comfort.  It reminded me of the misery and devastating life she had been living but was now free from. It reminded me that I no longer had to worry about her.  Or that I would no longer be getting the crazy drunk phone calls…powerless to the craziness.   It was a mugshot. Mother’s mugshot. MY mother’s mugshot. The whole thing was heartbreaking really.   It was dated October 2012. The title read…”MugShot of the Day!!!” Just like that. Three exclamation marks!!! Making fun of my mother during such a heartbreaking time. It listed her full name, age, arrest date, city she was arrested in and charges. I looked at the picture. She was drunk. I could tell just by looking. She had on her glasses and the picture captured the tears that rolled down her cheek. It showed the misery her addiction had brought into her life. It made me sad. It made me cry. I sat looking at the picture of my crying sad drunk mother as the mugshot of the day.  I saw a broken, sad, hurt, out of control, devastated woman.  I cried.

Then I noticed the comments. Heartless cruel comments. People were making fun of her. The people writing those comments obviously hadn’t experienced the heartache of addiction like I had.  They hadn’t had their mother stolen from them at a very young age and watched as she spiraled out of control over and over again.  They hadn’t watched as their mother continually fell further and further into darkness.  They hadn’t tried to stop the out of control spinning only to realize the more you tried to stop it the faster things would spin and spiral further and further into ugliness.

I’m sure they had no idea her daughter would one day read those things. Especially not just after she died. Or maybe they wouldn’t care. Maybe they couldn’t understand the devastation and heartbreak addiction brings to the addict and those who love them. I don’t really know why they took the time to write ugly comments about a person who was already miserable. It made me mad. Then it just made me sad and cry some more.

People are mean. Making fun of someone when they are at their worst…when they are hurting and obviously in a very bad way is just cruel. I get it. She wasn’t there. They weren’t doing it in front of her. They were hiding behind a computer typing ugliness not facing those who were affected.

Some people still think addiction is a moral issue instead of the brain disease that it is.  They don’t realize how much power addiction has over a person.  That it devours the person as much as the person devours the alcohol or drug.  They wouldn’t make fun of someone who had another disease such as dementia, cancer, diabetes or heart disease but yet we are cruel to addicts…and their families.

I saved the picture to my phone. I knew I would need to be able to look at it in the future.

I looked past the hurt and the ugly comments. It was strange. I found comfort. When I looked at that picture…I was and I am reminded of how miserable my mother was. How miserable I was. How helpless we both were. She had been in a bad way for a very long time. I was thankful she finally had peace. Of course I would have rather she beat the disease. I would have rather had my Mother. Not like she was but like I dreamed she could have been. I would have loved for her to have known me. To have known my boys. I would have rather she would have known the simple joys in life. But the disease controlled her. She was ate up with it and had been for far too long. It had weakened her. Stolen her strength. Stolen her family. Stolen her joy. Stolen her life. The picture reminded me of how sad she had been and brought me peace knowing she was no longer living like that. Besides, what choice did I have? Be miserable and give the disease more power than it already had. Allow it to take even more from me than it already had?

It’s the younger picture of her that made me sad.  I looked at that picture, before she was controlled – all I could see was a beautiful girl who lost so much. I saw what could have been.

So tonight, as I was typing this – I googled to see what else I could find. Surprisingly, the Mugshot is gone. I looked and looked and can’t find it. I have it. I know it existed. I have proof. I looked to see what day I saved the picture – It was April 6th, 2015. Tonight when I googled her name, I found the death notice that I was originally looking for. It was posted April 6th. The very day I was originally searching for it. The day I found the mug shot instead. Strange.

It’s as if God erased that sad, heartbreaking photo where people were making fun of my mother. It made me smile.

Addiction is a devastating brain disease.  It affects not only the addict but the whole family.  It is heartbreaking and tragic.  Please be kind, empathetic and compassionate.  You never know another’s struggles.  Your kindness may be the only thing that helps someone get through the day.  Show love. Love does.

Finding the sweet side of crazy!

Kandy

 

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Were You Loved Enough?

“We think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked and homeless. The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty. We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty.”        – Mother Teresa

Remember Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood? I love that movie! A line in the movie has been stuck in my head so I watched it again last night.

So the story goes – four childhood friends who made up their own secret society, the Ya-Ya Sisterhood are now woman in their 70’s. They are spunky, scandalous and spirited.  Through joy, devastation and heartache – they are always there for each other giving love and support.  One of the Ya-Ya sisters, Vivi has a troubled relationship with her grown daughter Sidalee.   Vivi struggled with mental breakdowns and alcohol. The Ya-Ya’s are determined to fix the struggling relationship. So they kidnap Sidalee and in an effort to help her understand her mother, they share stories of Vivi’s heartache, struggles, disappointments, mistakes and childhood.

It’s great really. They kidnap their friend’s daughter and tell her things about her mom.  Things she lived through that were devastating, disappointing and heartbreaking.  Instead of Sidalee focusing on her own disappointments and what she suffered as a child, it allows her to see and feel what her mother experienced. It allows her to find empathy for her mom instead of just judgment.

One of the most profound lines in the movie is when Sidalee is talking to her dad who is a gentle and quiet man. She asks him…“Daddy, did you get loved enough? He replies…”What’s enough? My question is, did you?

That’s the question that’s been on my mind – Did you get loved enough? Or more appropriately did Mother got loved enough? Do most addicts feel loved enough?

Because of mother’s choices and how she lived her life, it was hard to be around her. The endless drunk phone calls, trips to jail and the hospital, time with her supplier and all of the crazy insanity that goes along with addiction. She had one childhood friend who she loved like a sister but she had died years ago. I wonder what that must have been like for Mother. Her choices and behavior alienated her from most people including myself. It was too hard for us to watch her devastating actions and be around her as she remained powerless to her addiction. Her choices and the consequences of those choices were heartbreaking. Sometimes, I had to get far away from her. Thankfully there were people who showed Mother love when I couldn’t. I am forever thankful for them. I understand those who couldn’t…it’s hard. I had to set boundaries too.  Addiction causes so much destruction.

Mother had always struggled with her relationship with her own mother. I wonder if mother saw the similarities. History repeats itself. I’ve always tried to be mindful of this. I think most of us take a real and a critical look at other people. But when it comes to ourselves, we wear rose colored glasses and view our own actions in a more flattering light or justify them in some way. Or we shift the story to make it what we want it to be not what it actually was. We don’t get real with ourselves because to do so would mean we might have to make some big changes. It’s easier to blame others and keep pointing fingers. It takes the focus off of ourselves. I’m trying to be more real to look at things more objectively – from all sides and views. Not just from my view. That’s how we learn and how we grow….looking at things from all views because they are so different. You will see things differently, in ways you couldn’t see from the view you once had. It’s like looking at a beautiful scenery full of trees and nature and a big building being in your way – you can only see so much. Step around the building so you can see behind it and around it. There are things you couldn’t see before. Change your view…you’ll see differently.

I think it’s important to identify, understand and work through our struggles, we can’t allow ourselves to get stuck in them. We have to keep moving forward, experiencing life, giving love, spreading goodness.

We tend to be selfish creatures and focus on our own disappointments and struggles. How often do we truly strive to know another person’s hurt? We usually want to make sure everyone knows our struggles instead of first seeking to understand someone else’s. We sometimes feel unloved and unwanted. But you know what…

When we get to heaven, I don’t think God will ask us if we were loved enough. I think he will ask us “Did you love enough? Did you take the time to understand someone else? Did you take the time to show love?”

You feel love by giving love. How do we love enough when we don’t feel we were loved enough ourselves? Empathy! When we realize – the lack of love they gave had nothing to do with us. It was about them and their own struggles.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

So the real question is – Do you strive to know another person’s struggles and pain? Do you get real with yourself? Do you show empathy or judgment? Do you love enough?

Finding the sweet side of crazy!

Kandy

 

 

 

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