Too often, in my opinion.
As a teenager, I remember feeling embarrassed by it. I didn’t say it out loud, but I thought it. Why didn’t she wear something newer? Something more stylish? Something that looked like the clothes other moms wore?
I didn’t see the dress. I saw what I thought it *said* about us.
—
### The Quiet Language of Sacrifice
At that age, I didn’t understand the quiet language of sacrifice.
I didn’t notice that while her dress stayed the same, mine changed with every season. I didn’t question how I always had what I needed—school supplies, clothes, small luxuries—while she seemed content with so little.
The dress wasn’t just a piece of clothing.
It was a decision.
A decision repeated over and over again.
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