I accept progress not perfection. I really do. Now. But failing so many times begins to wear on a girl that ultimately finds her own value in outside praise and believes she’s loved when she’s accomplished things perfectly.
Effort is not and has not ever been the problem.
I must be fundamentally lacking. Inherently defective. Stuck forever.
I was just trying to make an adequate dinner.
Try, fail, try, fail, try, fail, try, fail
F a i l.
F a i l u r e.