I have found many groups and pages on Facebook that have helped me cope. The following is a poem from one of them. The source is also listed. I could have written this myself . . .
You think she's angry, but you don't see,
The weight she carries silently.
It’s not the rage that fills her eyes,
She's not furious, but worn and torn,
From dreams abandoned, hopes forlorn.
She’s tired, she’s weary, she’s feeling lost,
Paying life’s relentless cost.
She’s sinking deep in a sea of doubt,
Crying softly, without a shout.
Frustration builds, but not from hate
It’s the closed doors, the heavy weight.
She promised much, her dreams were bright,
But now she battles every night.
She wants to give, to rise, to shine,
But life’s harsh currents pull the line.
So when you see her weary stare,
Know it’s not anger, but despair.
She’s fighting hard to find her way,
Hoping tomorrow’s a kinder day.
- Christina Stewart