By Prisha Mehta
Perfectionism is like an angry knot, a tangle of twisting threads that weaves in and out of the fabric of her soul. It’s tighter sometimes, looser sometimes—but it’s always there, whispering from the shadows. A blessing and a curse, it promises happiness but never delivers, clutching each success in its iron grip and squeezing until streams of pride and sweat and tears run down into the dirt, discarded as if they had never been there at all. She hates it; she loves it. She doesn’t know who she is without it.
Excellent piece of writing. Describes the process perfectly.
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wow! perfect! this describes a perfectionist brilliantly.
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Point on with the inner struggle. Captured it perfectly!
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The thought and the way you put it in, both were catchy👌
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Wow! Reading this, it describes the torture of my mother. Well written.
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