My December Darling

by Lauren Asher

“I find you…” “Yes?” I lean in toward her, my breath catching in my throat as I wait for what she might say. “Repugnant,”

I’m hit with childish excitement at the sight of so much holiday cheer,

Unlike my mom and sister, I’m not a people-person, so I prefer to hang back while they engage in painful small talk.

It’s practically expected of me, not only as her older sister, but as someone who took on the difficult task of helping her realize it’s okay to make mistakes, take some risks, and live a life that makes her happy.

I promised myself long ago that I would never forget the ones who didn’t make it, and despite the list getting longer, I haven’t yet.

Joking about my perfectionism has become a defense mechanism because I’d rather make light of a subject that causes me discomfort than give people too much insight into why I act that way in the first place.

No one is perfect, but I spent far too long agonizing over being the best in every single way to please my parents, only to realize a little too late that I was hurting myself in the process. It took me a while to accept that messing up is a normal part of life, and I’m now a recovering perfectionist.