Deb is one of my favorite bloggers… for lots of reasons. One big reason is her uncompromising honesty. She writes with humor and compassion, but never pretties up the raw truth. As she shares this story, I’d encourage you to follow along – and please, if you know people who are coping (or not) with loved ones suffering from mental illness, pass this along to them too.
She’d have my siblings and I watch her sale whenever she went out searching anew.
I hated having to play cashier. My mom set her prices too high, I argued with her from the time I was nine or ten years old. I was constantly forced to shut down haggling by adults who didn’t seem to understand that I feared my mom’s wrath much more than their disapproval.
“No one will ever buy this at this price!” I’d inform my mom, whether “this” was a dresser, a bed, or a nightstand. “People don’t like your prices.”
“I’m not selling any item to ‘people,’ Deborah. I’m selling this to the person who really wants it.”
Every time, I argued Mom had named too high a price for something.
Every time, it sold.
For every twenty people…
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