Today’s question from the good folks at the Daily Post asks
When was the last time someone told you they were proud of you?
I don’t do well with compliments. I didn’t hear them a lot when I was little, instead having gotten used to being on the receiving end of the emotional pokes of psychological sharp sticks. I struggle daily with drinking from the half-full glass, preferring my half-empty one; I know (I think) what’s in there, while the half-full one could have been passed through the hands of Jim Jones.
However, it is with joy and no small amount of prejudice that Christopher, my own personal husbanus extraordinarus, tells me almost daily that he is proud of me for something. For his optimism, I am occasionally grateful; I still, even after all these years with him, worry about that half-full glass of his…