Ana Castro Carrancho

For ten, maybe twenty years now, I have disliked books in which one person suggests that others should see the world as he or she sees it.

It is, in a way, the (provisional) harvest of my therapeutic work and life, the fruit of my later years. Provisional because, despite my relatively advanced age, I still see myself as completely unfinished, and in a few years I will almost certainly see and say many things differently than I do now. You may think (not without reason), well, if he has nothing to say that has any substance, then he should keep quiet, there are already enough books in the world.

How easily you get hurt when someone else finds fault with you, or how you blow up when someone touches your sore spot?