When I was younger, my dad would often tell me that I was just like my mother. I’d scoff and disagree, vehemently opposing the idea that I was anything like her. This was, of course, the exact worst thing to say to a surly, irrational teen. I was sure my mother was out to ruin my life and make me miserable. Why would I want to be like her? Looking back, however, I realize how blessed I was and still am today.

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