When my biological dad said, “I wish I’d never had children,” my interpretation that gave this statement power to fuel my fears was “You aren’t wanted.” When the girls in middle school said, “Loser Lysa,” the fuel to my fear was “You aren’t accepted.” When the boy I had a crush on said, “I just like being your friend,” the fuel to my fear was “You aren’t pretty enough.” When the other mom said, “Your child is the worst,” the fuel to my fear was “Your kids are going to be as messed up as you.” And then came the most hurtful of the statements, when my husband told me he’d met someone else. The
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