Someone put gum on my mailbox. It was strategically placed so that I had to touch it to open the box. I had to work really hard to get it off. It was hot and it wanted to stay. I wanted it to go.
It reminded me of sticky conversations. Sometimes remarks in conversations stick. They are the molasses of residue left in the wake of someone’s unedited response. To me. About something. I cannot ever remember what the something was, just the honey-like ooze that drips into my psyche. I work at removing it from my memory and not integrating it into my world. Like the gum on the mailbox, I am sure of this: it does not belong to me.
Then there are those wonderful remarks that adhere to my soul. The words of appreciation, the clear knowing of a trusted friend or new acquaintance; the spontaneous “I like you because you are you.”
Those remain permanent and lasting and they build my strength. Those become a part of my cells.
Warm up the sticky until it surrenders and melts off. Keep the mortar that cements your power.
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