Jami, Woman of Mystery. Or Not

The other day, someone totally accidentally offended me. And did so in a way they probably meant as a bit of a compliment. In a conversation about people who were struggling with things, a woman who knows me at the slightly-better-than-acquaintance level said "That doesn't really apply to you, because you were fine" (referring to this past year or so). She meant well, I'm sure, but I felt slighted and at the time didn't really even know why. It's because I wasn't always fine. And I don't know, I guess I'm a bit insulted that someone would assume, that just because I don't walk around wailing and broadcasting my pain that I don't have it. Who are you to presume you know my heart? I see you once a month or so, and therefore you know that I didn't struggle? Or, do you think that my problems aren't as bad as yours or others' so therefore, my pain doesn't "count"? I jump to conclusions as much as anyone alive and I'm sure I've misjudged more than my fair share of people. And as a fairly open person, I don't have big ugly secrets and I don't act mysterious about my plans. In fact, the thing I am most likely to not tell you is when I'm down. Or hurt. Or scared. Or sad. But that doesn't mean that I never am.