I remember eagerly waiting for our beloved, breaths away from being 12-years-old, daughter to return from a pre-birthday trip to New York City, I found myself with plenty of things to do and not much desire to do any of them. So I sat. I moped in the family room, in full blown emotional prickliness, partly because of my deep desire to see my kid. But mostly due to the now inescapable knowledge that I had acted against my better judgment and, in doing so, hurt my child. Continue reading The Pain of Inauthenticity