My life has been getting better lately — and that’s hard for me to accept.
About 12 or 13 years ago, everything seemed to go off the rails. My financial position fell apart as I walked away from a lucrative career in political consulting. I gained a hundred pounds as I ate loads of sugar to “medicate” my depression after a failed romantic relationship. I felt lost and alone and off-course.
In the following years, I worked at jobs I hated. I didn’t make enough money. I was depressed and lonely most of the time. I no longer had heath insurance. Then I had gall bladder surgery and was left with medical bills I couldn’t pay. My credit was destroyed. Every day seemed like a struggle.
But things are slowly getting better. I’m still not living the affluent life which I had 15 years ago, but I’m doing better financially than I was. I have my damaged credit back up to something decent. I’ve shed nearly 50 pounds since the first of the year. And I finally got some resolution to a long-running romantic drama. I didn’t get what I had wanted for so long, but I finally got a decision on the issue — something which allowed me to finally close that door for good. I’ve needed a final resolution on the relationship and I got it.
I was thinking this afternoon about how much better things have gotten for me. Part of me felt relieved. Part of me wanted to pat myself on the back and tell me I’ve done a good job fighting my way out of that hole. But there was still a part of me which growled that I wasn’t perfect — and that I would never be good enough.
And in that moment, I felt the horrible feeling that I was still in trouble with my father. I felt his judgment. I felt his ever-present programming telling me I had to be perfect. And despite all the good things going on for me, I had trouble believing I could ever be “good enough.”

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