I am pretty much always convinced that I am inadequate. That what I’m doing isn’t enough. That if I were only better, I could relax. That I’m at least partly at fault all of the time.
It can start to wear on you.
But this morning I started to really think about it, think about what exactly it was that I was disappointed in myself for doing (or not doing), and what some of those things really meant.
Just because I can’t fit an unreasonable number of things into my day doesn’t mean I’m a failure because I can’t do everything on my own.Â
Just because I need white noise at work to block out loud conversations today doesn’t mean I’m a failure because I can’t concentrate on my own.Â
Just because I need a trainer running my workouts doesn’t mean I’m a failure because I can’t push myself enough on my own.
Just because I need to go to Weight Watchers doesn’t mean I’m a failure because I can’t eat properly like I know I need to on my own.
Hmm. So… I guess….
Just because I need help doesn’t make me a failure.Â
When I boil it down like that, it makes it seem a lot more obvious all of a sudden.
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