I’m sorry, I don’t play the violin…

I’m coming to terms with some victim-like behavior of mine lately. It’s not very pleasant, let me tell you.

I’m particularly sensitive about being called a victim or treated like one. And acting like one?! Me?! Never!

I am, however, very good at pointing out others’ victim-like behavior. So it was more than a bit humbling for me to do some mental health exercises recently that brought to light a couple of situations that a very clear whiff of eau d victim was present.

On me. Ick.

And tonight, I was thinking of all the reasons why finishing my current manuscript to my deadline is too hard. I’m going through a lot right now. I have a toddler. I have allergies or a cold, I’m not sure. I have alpacas.  And sometimes my fingers hurt if I type too much…Okay, kidding (on the last two) but you get the point…

And then I read this article about Dewey Bozella. He was wrongly convicted of murder and served 26 years. Now, free, he is pursuing his boxing dreams and will fight in his first professional match at age 52.

And so then I smelled that odor again. Victim. On me. Again?! How did that happen? I can’t believe it.

Victims are real. And you know, I have been a real victim of certain things. But victim is not a state of being. A state of living. And I don’t know if Dewey Bozella will knock his opponent out Saturday, but he did knock something out of me.

I know this post is on the short side. But, you see, I’m on a deadline…