The stuff I wanted the ideal version of myself to use was everything I had once bought in hopes that it would somehow make my life or myself better. There were books I thought smart Cait should read, clothes I thought professional Cait would wear, projects I thought creative Cait could tackle. Classic novels, little black dresses, scrapbook materials, and more. At one point, I’d put thousands of dollars on my credit cards for this stuff—stuff I purchased with every intention of using, but only because I told myself it would somehow help. I wasn’t good enough, but this stuff would make me
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