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I fuck up. It’s true. It happens. Occasionally, I totally fuck up. When I do, it makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

I think a lot of my discomfort comes from trying to figure out how to hide the fact that I have fucked up. I create all this additional stress trying to make it seem like the fuck up didn’t happen. I’m scared to admit that I fucked up and am afraid of the possible consequences of it. So, I expend an exorbitant amount of energy trying to cover it up or fix it without ever having to fess up to it.

Today, I just owned it. I fucked up. And I asked for help in fixing it. It was an awkward thing to do, but so much better than the alternative. The alternative was crazy making.

And the truth is, I feel so much better now. It’s easier being someone who is allowed to fuck up.