I can, and do, admit when I'm wrong.
I can, and do, say I'm sorry.
I can, and do, acknowledge that I failed to complete something I said I would do.
Mea culpa and I know each other well.
It's not fun to be wrong.
I don't enjoy hurting or disappointing someone (it's never intentional).
Failure makes me feel small, inadequate and incompetent.
Taking responsibility for something is difficult, but the good thing about pruning is that growth, and even fruit, follow.
It's another thing entirely when you feel the cold wind of being ignored or left in the dark.
It hurts when it appears that you, or your efforts, don't matter.
In time I will process and let go of feeling isolated and marginalized. Today the sting of collective arrows have laid me low. It's no wonder that every part of me hurts.