As an adult, I would say I definitely worry about missing out on everything my friends are doing.  Even if I really just want to stay home and go to bed, how can I not go to the party?   What if something happens and they talk about it for weeks?  What if I miss out on the inside jokes that will inevitably get told when I am in bed?  There is a rule floating around that we cannot share inside jokes with someone who was not there for the initial joke.  I don’t know who came up with this rule or why, but I’m starting to hate it.   

My FOMO is starting to wear me down in a time when I wanted to build myself back up.  I wanted to put up boundaries, but still was unsure of how.  I had spent the last twenty-seven years trying to please everyone else and not enough time trying to figure out how to please myself.   

The first day of my new life started with my normal alarm, but instead of rushing around the house, I leisurely had a cup of coffee and decided things wouldn’t be so bad.  Probably.  The second I walked out the front door of my house, I knew I would pay for my leisurely morning.  Mark.  Mark was the reason I couldn’t have nice things.  He was the reason I was usually excluded and he was heading toward me, grinning.  Something had happened and I had missed it. 


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