“Vulnerability is not oversharing. It’s sharing with people who have earned the right to hear our story.” ~Brené Brown Earlier this year, I found myself in a place I never imagined: locked in a psychiatric emergency room, wearing a paper wristband, surrounded by strangers in visible distress.
I wasn’t suicidal. I hadn’t harmed anyone. I’d simply told the truth—and it led me there. What happened began, in a way, with writing.
I’m in my seventies, and I’ve lived a full life as a filmmaker, teacher, father, and now a caregiver for my ninety-six-year-old mother.
But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve also felt something slipping. A quiet sense that I’m no longer seen. Not with cruelty—just absence.
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