I know you're thinking," Joanne you have mastered negativity. Try working on positivity now."
I was writing to promote a positive change at the facility. Trying to bring about change was none of my business. The only thing I had control over was my behavior. The only thing I could control was how I reacted to people and situations. Anything else was out of my control. I could not make changes at the facility because I thought that change was needed. Who did I think I was?
My degree is in social work. Maybe that explains why when I saw something wrong I wanted to make it right. A friend told me it was okay to write about the negative aspects as long as there was a balance. I needed to write positive aspects about living in a facility as well. I didn't. I only wrote negative things.
I am a hypocrite. I could not wait to leave the facility. I guess I should be embarrassed to visit,.i look forward to my visits. The receptionist told me that after being a resident for four years the staff becomes like a second family.
I wrote post after post about what an awesome life I was going to have when I moved to a group home. It hasn't turned that way. I was boastful. My words are coming back to bite me. Words are powerful. Just like thinking before I speak, I must think before I write too.
I wanted to prove that I could make it on my own. I didn't listen when people tried to give me advice. . If I had listened I am positive that I would be in a better position than I am today.
I don't understand why I was given a food allowance when I have to apply for EBT. The thought of having to apply for food stamps is keeping me awake at night. I can't wrap my head around it.
All I wanted was to resume writing my monthly column for The West End Word again. I moved here so I could be productive. The way I was when I lived in my house.
I miss, my therapist. If she were here right now she'd tell me there is no shame in having to go on Food Stamps. She told me about the men and women who serve our country who had to apply for Food Stamps because they did not earn enough to feed their families. My therapist would also understand why I am upset. She knew how important earning a little money was to me. She knew how much writing for the WEW meant to me. I was finally a journalist.
I was writing to promote a positive change at the facility. Trying to bring about change was none of my business. The only thing I had control over was my behavior. The only thing I could control was how I reacted to people and situations. Anything else was out of my control. I could not make changes at the facility because I thought that change was needed. Who did I think I was?
My degree is in social work. Maybe that explains why when I saw something wrong I wanted to make it right. A friend told me it was okay to write about the negative aspects as long as there was a balance. I needed to write positive aspects about living in a facility as well. I didn't. I only wrote negative things.
I am a hypocrite. I could not wait to leave the facility. I guess I should be embarrassed to visit,.i look forward to my visits. The receptionist told me that after being a resident for four years the staff becomes like a second family.
I wrote post after post about what an awesome life I was going to have when I moved to a group home. It hasn't turned that way. I was boastful. My words are coming back to bite me. Words are powerful. Just like thinking before I speak, I must think before I write too.
I wanted to prove that I could make it on my own. I didn't listen when people tried to give me advice. . If I had listened I am positive that I would be in a better position than I am today.
I don't understand why I was given a food allowance when I have to apply for EBT. The thought of having to apply for food stamps is keeping me awake at night. I can't wrap my head around it.
All I wanted was to resume writing my monthly column for The West End Word again. I moved here so I could be productive. The way I was when I lived in my house.
I miss, my therapist. If she were here right now she'd tell me there is no shame in having to go on Food Stamps. She told me about the men and women who serve our country who had to apply for Food Stamps because they did not earn enough to feed their families. My therapist would also understand why I am upset. She knew how important earning a little money was to me. She knew how much writing for the WEW meant to me. I was finally a journalist.
At the end of each session, my therapist would say two things, "Keep moving forward. Keep doing what you know to do."
I hear those words in my head every day,
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