3 Sides to Every Story . . .
What does this mean? Nothing. Or at least that is my side of the story. Or everything. That is "her" side (there is no her - I'm just carrying over the cliche). Or somewhere in the middle . . . the truth. That is the real story.
I'll say this - I'm 37 years old. I expected gossip, whispers, smears, trash talk, and the listening to and furthering of all of the above to stop a SOLID 19 years ago. Okay - fine - I really wanted it to stop 20 years ago. Yet here I am. Still involved in it, still spreading it, still being weighed down by it and still handing out the burden of it. Why?
No. Good. Reason. No. Reason. At. All. I used to think I just had people in my life that were not emotionally mature. Then I thought it was just me (I am not, confession time, above thinking, acting, and giggling like a teenager from time to time (hourly)). Then I thought, as I sat on the comfy chairs of overpriced, dullard therapists, that it was everyone - that we were somehow wired to be this way and it was inescapable.
But I've finally come to my conclusion. It is not in our wiring. It is not all of us. It is - the third side of the story - something all of us are prone to fall victim to and are all susceptible to in moments of weakness, sadness, desperation, and self protection. And that might be the saddest version of the story, kids.