Ugly Soul

I didn’t write this, but when I saw it, it hit home. In watching certain people bathe in their own hate, revel in it, define themselves by it, allow themselves to be completely consumed by it, I find myself feeling sorry for them.

How hollow and empty is your heart when you must breathe negativity, drama, bitchiness?

“Do you really have to have such an ugly soul?” I used to think the answer to this was no. But now I am not so sure. I see people cling to nastiness, feed on their own hostility and belligerence, and whip up unrest when things get too calm. They have nothing else to stand on or to live by. Their soul is desiccated from years of festering in negativity.

I only wish the kids were not exposed to it. It’s not fair to them. They didn’t ask to be in the middle of someone else’s emotional latrine. They deserve better, as I have said over and over.

Sometimes, the only purpose a person can serve is as an example of what not to do. I have observed and learned, and I know that nothing I can say, offer, or do will change anything for people like this. They are in love with their own turpitude, cling rapturously to their hate, spit malice from their long-dead heart.

I don’t want to be like that. I won’t be like that.

So no, I don’t hate them. I pity them. I pray for them. And I watch them, and I learn from them, and I make sure to never, ever be like them.


I love fall. It is, by far, my favorite time of year. I love the exit of humid, sweaty days, the long-awaited introduction of cool breezes, chilly evenings, the invitation to snuggle and cuddle.

In the middle of dusting off Halloween decorations and pumpkins, and digging out comfy sweaters, I find myself just stopping. Thinking. Watching.

My life is not perfect. I have hassles, stressors, and aggravation just like anybody else. But I am glad that I have learned to focus on what I do have and appreciate all of it.

I love my husband, who is my best buddy. He makes me laugh. Just the sound of his voice makes me smile. He’s always there with open arms for me to fall into after a long day. I couldn’t imagine life without him at my side.

I love our home, which is perfect to me, and we spend each day making it all our own.

I love my new job and knowing that each hectic day, I am helping people who need it.

I love that everything I have, I have worked for and earned. I love knowing my life is 100% my own. I know quite well that not everyone can say that, no matter how old they are, and I hope, for their own sakes, that my stepkids eventually learn the pride and strength of truly standing on their own two feet.

I don’t have a mansion, an expensive sports car, a luxury wardrobe, or diamonds dripping from every inch of my body. And that’s just fine with me. None of that is important to me, anyway.

I have love. I have laughter. I have warmth, security, pride, honesty, integrity.

That is a lot. And it’s all that matters to me.