Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. ~Viktor Frankl. For a long time, my first response to difficulty was a single, aching question: 'Why me?' It surfaced whenever life took an unexpected turn—when plans collapsed, when effort didn't materialize, when circumstances felt unfair and overwhelming.
For years, I'd used these journals as a kind of inner courtroom, constantly building a case against myself or others. Every page held evidence of failures, proof of my profoundly advanced ability to gaslight myself. I could shrink or morph into whatever was requested for another person's comfort. Small flowered booklets documenting all the ways I couldn't get "it" right.
You say it's cozy; I say it's messy. You like it faster; I say it's already fast. You call it colorful self-expression; I call it tastelessly garish. And you want lavish gifts, while I want to give you... not-so-lavish gifts. I prefer celebrating you with loving words. Thoughtful, intimate gestures. Fun little surprises. Keeping my agreements. Reminding you to take your medicine. Holding my hand when we're with other people.