Imagine everyone; your parents’ friends, your family, watching you grow up. Every single step you take is noted. Every single flaw. It’s as if you’re on a stage, and you have an audience in front of you. You can’t afford to make mistakes. You can’t afford to screw up. Everything has to be perfect. And perfection becomes a part of you because that’s what you grew up with. You need the praises, you need the attention. You need people to tell you you’ve done well, after everything you’ve tried to accomplish.

Maybe now, I’m beginning to understand.