Tina spun around mid-stride and caught my eyes square with her own. “Really?” Her voice was thick with exasperated disbelief.
This wasn’t the first time I’d disappointed her and it likely wouldn’t be the last. No matter how hard I tried, how much I wanted to do better, to be better, it always seemed to end up the same way. Every single time frightened me to the core. Would this be the final straw? Is this when she decides she can’t take it anymore? Can’t take me anymore?
I wanted so badly to be everything she wanted, everything she needed. I wanted to be the reason her eyes lit up with joy and admiration. I wanted her to be proud of and thankful for me. It seemed like that need, in and of itself, was usually the driving force behind all my failures. I wanted it too much. I needed it too much.
The pressure and stress of trying so hard to be perfect, right, enough, the best I could be for her, all things she never asked for nor set any expectation of, but that I obsessively imposed upon myself at virtually every turn, was how I drove myself to the point of complete exhaustion.
It’s true, you know, what they say about filling your own cup before you can fill others.
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Oh, the trap of perfectionism. If someone doesn’t see how hard you are trying, then perhaps it’s time to move on from them.