I made donuts this morning. They turned out okay but no one loved them, including me. I’m trying to separate the donuts and how I feel about them not being great from myself but I feel like someone is throwing bricks at me. I’ve spent the last several decades equating my self-worth with what I accomplish. And when I accomplish something? I feel good for about five seconds. I’m only as good as the last thing I did, so I’m dull and flat today like the donuts I just dragged out of the fryer. I am trying to remind myself that I got out of bed, hugged my awesome family, and made something for them, but I keep getting pulled under. Tossed into the dark pit with no ladder to climb. I want to escape – clean the house, go for a run, shovel snow – anything to escape. But I’ve been escaping for a long time and it’s gotten me nowhere but sitting on the floor under the table crying. So today I’m going to be brave and face the failure. I’m going to face the mistakes I made growing up and the humiliation that came down on me. I’m going to hear the yelling and the name-calling and the ‘You never do anything right,’ and I’m going to try to comfort the little me that grew up without anyone telling her that it’s going to be okay. I’m going to tell her that we are going to be okay, because now I know it’s true.

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