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

Tryfail

Tr-fail

T-fail

F a i l.

F a i l u r e.

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