When you said “take me off this thread,” you denied who I am.
When you said “you must have dementia,” you denied who I am.
When you said “we can’t talk about that,” you denied who I am.

In the last two years, I discovered that some of the people I held most dear—people who formed the backbone of my existence—are not who I thought they were. Their love is conditional; they welcome only part of me.

Now, I’m learning to stop mourning what I’ve lost and to appreciate what I have: a small circle who embrace every part of me. People who want all of me in their lives. People who love me unconditionally.

I am accepted.