Sharing my confessional story felt like exposing my soul to the world—a risky but necessary endeavour. I handed copies to colleagues, some of whom I trusted, others I simply wanted to see the person behind the pages. Most responded warmly, offering kind words or thoughtful critiques. But there was one who stood out, not for what he said, but for what he didn’t.I’ll call him Greg. Greg was younger and louder, always acting like he ran the place despite a decade less experience. If I suggested blue, he’d shout red from the rooftops. If I worked late, he’d show up early, making sure everyone noticed.When I handed him a copy of my book, his reaction was immediate and dismissive. He gave the cover a cursory glance and said, “You didn’t mention me in here, did you?”I was caught off guard. “No, Greg, it’s not about you. It’s about my life and the things I’ve been through.”“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll give it a read when you decide to write something more… inclusive,” he said with a smirk, tossing ...
Read More
