who constantly reminded me of that I was never “good enough”. “Why can’t you be good?” she would scream every time we left my grandmother’s house? Sometimes, she spanked me and other times she stopped talking to me save for sending me to my room. Why couldn’t I be good? I had no idea what she meant; except that it provided this insane drive for perfection. So, how exactly did I cope as an imperfect person who believed I should be perfect? I became a self-protective perfectionist, approval addict, clueless…
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