Confessions of a Doormat

How to Be the Backbone Without Becoming a Doormat

Let me tell you a secret. You don’t notice the person holding it all together until they stop. That was almost me last winter. I was sitting on the floor of my 450 square foot rental with an old check in one hand and a space heater blowing warm guilt at my knees. I had just sent extra to the Virginia mortgage again. My daughter and autistic granddaughter live there. Meanwhile I was eating chicken for the fifth day in a row, pretending it was intentional meal planning and not survival math.