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by Liz Goodchild
tiny buddha
“To help yourself, you must be yourself.” ~Dave Pelzer
I spent a lot of my life being someone else. Playing the part of someone I didn’t fully recognize.
Looking back, there were lots of reasons why I avoided being me, my mum’s suicide being one of them.
Her death shaped me, like a rock in a tumbler, and my life, as I knew it, bore no resemblance to the one I once knew.
I was ashamed of being the girl whose mum left her in such a violent way. What would people think? Maybe that she didn’t love me enough to stay? That I didn’t do enough to help her? That I wasn’t enough of a daughter to her?
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Every Day is Earth Day