My mother tells a story of me helping my drunken neighbor, who had passed out on the pavement next to our house. I was young about 13 years old and he needed help, so I helped him. Do I remember this incident? Absolutely not, do I believe her? Absolutely, because I know that my heart today could never leave a neighbor on the ground when I could help, so my innocent (ish) 13 year old self would definitely not be able to let that go. Why am I telling you this story? Because today I decided to just let whatever comes out of me come out freely and that I will share it with you without being too concerned with what the neighbors will think or the church will think or just anyone really. My life is my life and all this shame that people feel they need to force on me and on you is just not cool.
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