If we treated ourselves as if we were someone we really truly loved, the need to be perfect would fly right out the godforsaken window.
I mean, think about it: do we require perfection out of the people who we really love? The people who simply light us up — if they make a mistake or are less than perfect, do we stop loving them, or love them a little less? I’ll strongly wager we don’t. So why don’t we do this for ourselves? Our imperfect, awesome, worthy selves?
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