I’m not much of a poker face, even though I clean house in Texas hold ‘em.
In the 13 years I’ve been a reporter, I’ve never mastered the ability to disconnect from work.
There’s the fatal fire from my first job in journalism where the smell of the home’s charcoal remains haunt my dreams. The phone call I received from a grieving mother berating me for dredging up the untimely death of her son, which immediately sent me to the bathroom balling.
There also are many stories Delawareans have shared with me that I won’t soon forget, either.
Your frustrations, anger and disappointment became my own.
The tears you shed while sharing your story, I held back until I could sob in my car alone.
Your triumphs and lessons learned I celebrate with you, and I’m learning right beside you.
The empathy and compassion I carry through each story I write isn’t fake. It can’t be turned off. And honestly? I believe it makes me great at the work I do. It also serves as a reminder that we are all human – even journalists.