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For a long, long time, I lived my life the way I thought I should live–I had a very good job at a beautiful and generous church, a great apartment in a hip neighborhood, wonderful friends, and a loving family. I traveled as much as my work and my finances allowed. If I had any complaints, it was that I had never really fallen in love and gotten married, and around my early 30’s I got really sad about not having any kids. But life got better, I learned that I loved traveling solo, and if the occasional dates I had didn’t amount to much, that was okay with me. As time went on, I even bought a house. I was settled.

But by my late 30’s, everything fell apart. Work stress was mounting and after one particularly trying period with my boss, something in me just snapped. I had been trying so hard to please this person for so many years and it finally dawned on me that it was impossible–no matter what I did, I could never in a million years please them. Like Sisyphus–I’d get so far and do so well, only to have it come back and demolish me later. Over and over and over again.

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