It really is the little things that hurt…and heal. Seeing affection and pride felt by those whom you wish were proud of you. Or who paid enough attention to see who you really were. So I end up feeling the little green eyed monster creep in. And then I self recriminate because I see myself as better than that. I don’t do my writing or my crafts or my art for the recognition. I really don’t. I do all of it for me. However, the primal urge for recognition exists in everyone. Then along with the self doubt, a few someone’s stood up for me. It heals the little cracks in my soul.