Fixer

Well, my most recent post depressed even me.

So here’s an update:

My husband is good medicine. 


The most dangerous place for me to be is in my own head.


After an hour of tears and conversation, with no effort on his part to do anything but listen – no fixing, no rationalization – I feel better.

Still stung, but in a better pace.

I am grateful.

Authorized dealer in fixing broken hearts. That’s him.
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