They raised me to be perfect to be the embodiment of their dreams and sacrifices. And I tried, oh, I tried.

But not for me.

I was chasing perfection because they needed someone to brag about.

Someone they could point to and say, “See? We raised her right.”

Their expectations were sewn into every decision I made.

“Don’t disgrace us.”

“You’re better than that.”

And so, I became the good daughter. The strong one. The example.

But somewhere along the line, I forgot that I was human.

I don’t blame them for wanting the best for me.

But I think they lost the balance between ambition and acceptance.

They forgot that perfection is a myth that it’s okay to stumble and fall.

So I stopped asking for help.

Because how could I fail, after all they sacrificed?

How could I admit I was falling?

I made mistakes, and instead of reaching out, I swallowed them.

Smiled like I had it all together.

Stayed silent in situations where I should’ve spoken.

Tried to fix things on my own.

Let things spiral because needing help felt like failing twice.

Deep down, I believed I shouldn’t have been in the mess at all.

And that belief?

It broke me.

Perfection stole my softness.

It robbed me of the right to be confused, to be wrong, to just be tired.

It kept demanding more, even when I had nothing left to give.

But I’m slowly unlearning.

Trying to forgive myself for all the times I suffered in silence.

Trying to believe that needing help doesn’t make me weak.

That I don’t have to earn love through performance.

That being human isn’t failure it’s freedom.

As I reflect on my journey, I hope they see that now.

I hope they understand that perfection isn’t about being flawless it’s about embracing our humanity.

Live… and let live,

Even the ones you expect the most from.

Allow us to stumble, to learn, to grow.

For it’s in our imperfections that we find our true selves.