“I get it.”
That’s what I said to my girl. She was feeling ashamed, a memory from a mistake held her a little hostage.
It was a simple thing that had overwhelmed her: a new situation, someone giving her instructions she didn’t understand, pressure to make a decision and she did the wrong thing.
It wasn’t that she sinned. She just messed up. It was a misunderstanding, an accident.
And it deflated her, embarrassment and shame threatening to suck the joy right out of the whole experience.
Weeks later, any time she thought about that day, she still remembered it: The MISTAKE.
And she felt all that pressure and all that shame and all that self-criticism beat on her all over again.
So, one day I dipped my head down to hers and slipped my arm around her shoulder and I said, “I get this.”
And I do. If I’m…
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