I seldom read nonfiction.  But I read this book.  It's written by someone who broke my heart into a million pieces.  But that was YEARS ago.  Who cares, right?  I got over it.  These things happen.  I haven't thought much about her in years.  Funny thing though...those kinds of relationships, events, etc. shaped my world.  They also left baggage - an underbelly of angst. 

I carry a reservoir of bitterness.  I didn't know it existed until my resentment towards her had drained.  That book did the trick.  It's a tragic story.  Her grandma passes.  That same day she has a miscarriage.  Then she loses her husband and her mom to cancer.  It's tough to feel anything other than compassion for her.

That book changed me.  The biggest difference?  My stomach.  The knots are mostly gone.  The day she discarded me, my stomach tightened up...and didn't let go.  Who needs that?  14 years later, I read her book, and my stomach decides it's going to stop acting stupid.  Now I'm wondering what other baggage I'm carrying...