The Fear of Rejection: Mr. Potato’s Healing Story ðŸ¥”


Mr. Potato acts like a normal potato.

Yet, deep down, Mr. Potato feels sad. Pretending to be like everyone else breaks his heart.

Mr. Potato’s Diary

Mr. Potato’s heart reaches out to him, nudging him with care.

His heart feels like home! Comforted, he begins to embrace his true colors.

Mr. Potato’s Healing

In the space of self-acceptance, it’s easy to be enough.

Mr. Potato can yell hello to the trees, wander off mid-sentence, and be his wildly colored himself. There is no one to please, only the space to be weird and free.

Mr. Potato’s Self Acceptance

More confident than ever before, Mr. Potato begins to be his authentic self around other potatoes. However, the fear of rejection can make him feel nervous.

Nevertheless, his heart can only shine his free-spirited, quirky, and imperfect self.

Every Potato Has A Colorful Light to Share 💖

Dear beautiful soul, what makes you unique? ✨

Categories: SHORT STORIESTags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

15 comments

  1. I like Mr. Potatoe’s story.
    What makes me unique….myself & my personality, I would say; that people see

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is wonderful story. I like the allegory

    Like

  3. Usually,
    it’s the potatoes I don’t eat –

    like the other night,
    when there was a queue at the chip shop
    and
    I was too shy to join it

    for a reason nobody would have felt comfortable trying to understand.

    So I went to a place with no potatoes to share
    and wondered
    why…

    so many things…

    so many whys…
    and what ifs.

    I sat in the wrong place,
    ate the wrong food,

    held the last little piece of sky in my hands

    and lost something
    that everybody else keeps telling me how to find.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hahaha… this makes me
      smile, and ponder, and wonder.

      My heart feels warm, thank you.

      Not eating the potato at the place my heart wants is a Sad Day indeed. Why, because being in the wrong place means all the questions are left even more unanswered. Or, maybe being in the wrong place causes me to ask big questions I have no answers to. I do wonder what a “piece of sky in my hands” means, yet indeed it feels very nice to read. ❤

      Here's a poem response:

      A single strand of spaghetti noodle,

      Dangles off the fork.

      Sometimes,

      It can get lost in the sauce.

      Yet other times,

      It finds the courage to

      Glide with its slippery surface

      And leave a trail on the plate.

      Have a great day, Woodsy. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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