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It’s a cycle. It will come back around, this crippling guilt, this enormous shame, as long as I let it, but nothing will ever change. The futility of it angers me because while I’m sitting here unable to breathe, punishing myself every day, my life is waiting for me. I must embrace the necessity of finding joy in the borders of my own soul, sketching the parameters of contentment along the lines of my heart and myself. Not because everything is perfect with my kids. Things will never be perfect. I have to let go of perfect. Not because I’m guaranteed a happily ever after.
