My skin doesn't feel very thick, but maybe I am making progress after all. If someone pokes fun at my son by calling him horrible names and it doesn't bother me, my guess is that there would be something incredibly wrong with me. I want thick skin, not gnarly calluses.
Of COURSE it will hurt my heart. However, I hope that with each passing year it gets a little easier to heal these types of wounds. That they will feel less like axe wounds and more like paper cuts. I have faith that it will be easier. Looking at my latest response, it is clear that it already has. I can hardly read what I wrote two years ago here, as my heart fractures into millions of pieces. I am enjoying life again. That's progress.
When I started this blog, I did it thinking I was just whispering my feelings into the darkness of the universe because, quite frankly, I didn't know what else to do or where to turn. Writing has always been a comfort to me ever since I could hold a pencil. To find out someone is actually reading my words and might even feel a little less alone, WS child or not -- well, that's comforting to me, too.
It's nice to be heard and have hands to hold. Thank you.