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Why are we so resistant to asking for help? We try first one thing and then another, and another, and another and so on and so forth. After many attempts that have not seemingly brought us closer to our goal, we may then go off into a corner and pout. We immerse ourselves in the fragrant bubble bath of self-pity, soaking in the "why-me" solution. We dry off with the "I must be an idiot" towel, rub "I am not worthy" lotion over our bodies and then dress ourselves in our mourning clothes to lie down in our grief-filled bed. Grief and guilt go hand in hand, not always but most of the time. If something happens to a loved one, we think we could have done something to prevent it. We sob "Why couldn't it have been me instead?", feeling the guilt creep in because we escaped the unfortunate event and they did not. Guilt becomes comfortable, making itself at home on the couch, eating our food, sucking up our energy. We forget that we are the ones with the power. We need to grab hold of our strength, walk up to guilt, pull him off the couch and throw him out the door.
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