My mom is answering the chaplain’s questions with the usual bullshit based on the family rule of "don't air out dirty laundry.". This is the shallow, fake, “everything is fine” chatter that makes me angry and bitter.

I don't know exactly what the chaplain saw in me. Maybe the way I was telling stories, but out of nowhere, the chaplain announces, “Oh, you're the one in the family with boundaries, good boundaries.”

There are better ways to live than willpowering yourself to death.

The Giving Tree is a horrible example of good boundaries - especially when it comes to work or productivity. Doormats don’t get raises.

As a kid, I was scared to sleep alone.

The Shame of "Normal"

You finally confide in a friend about how overwhelmed you feel in social situations, and they say, "Oh, honey, everyone gets nervous at parties!" You try to explain that it's more than nerves, that it's a deep sense of disconnect, but the words just won't come. The shame creeps in. You start to question yourself. "Am I just making this up? Am I just being dramatic?" This is the insidious nature of being undiagnosed. The world tells you your experiences are typical, but they don't feel typical to you.

None of the baby steps, fake it advice really helped me. Because I didn't want my mom to need to be ok loving a failure.

"Just do it" didn't heal the hurt or demolish the doubt. And it certainly didn’t uncover what's underneath.

Navigating the fine line between professionalism and authenticity is more art than science. It's about embracing our unique stories, admitting we don't have all the answers, and valuing growth over perfection.