I can’t be broken. I just wanted to say it, for the record. I can post a picture of my boobs on the internet, in the interest of self healing and self awareness. And my deliciously squishy belly, in the interest of self acceptance. But I can’t be broken. I know this, because I know from where all my intentions spring, and I mean well to all and for all, regardless of how it may play out. I know this, as well, because in the face of direct onslaught, I still receive blessings of all forms from all sides. The sun is shining and all is well. There may be unpleasantness that I have to walk through, but the sun is still shining on me. So I will continue holding my head high, and I will keep smiling.
Meanwhile, I may have to lawyer up. But I can do that, if I have to.
And I won’t let one man’s colossal lack of testicular fortitude keep me from believing in the goodness of people in general and men in particular.
I’m not sure how well I can shield the children from their father’s lack of redeeming qualities. I want for them to grow up with respect for him, but he leaves very little room for such things to be possible.
