As a broke grad student, I stole toilet paper from the library.
When my life fell apart in my twenties, I tolerated a friend’s unwanted advances because I was staying at his apartment, and wasn’t able to pay rent.
Gross, weak, voiceless person.
I cheated on an ex-husband I’d fallen out of love with – before he was formally an ex.
All of these things put my over-achiever on steroids.
Perfectionism was the cheery floral throw hiding the tired, busted-up sofa of my life.
This is for anyone who has felt howlingly alone in your messes.
You are worthy of joy and happiness, no matter how much you’ve messed up.
You get to re-story yourself.