Last week, I went down a bad rabbit hole.

I saw nothing but darkness.

I spent hours obsessing over fine details and then more hours the following days—again and again and again.

Like an addict.

That’s what I am.

Sometimes, my perfectionism kicks in, and there’s no stopping it. It never relents.

I’m constantly fighting two battles: 1) reaching my goals and 2) keeping bad habits at bay.

It’s a razor-thin line to walk.

(Which makes everything 5x harder.)

The truth is, I’m afraid to fail. And in response, my inner workaholic takes the wheels without my consent.

Bare with me—I’m fully aware of how impossible “perfection” really is.

It’s not that I’m unhappy with the results; if that were the case, I’d never ship anything.

But sometimes, something shuts off.

—

I looked to my therapist in the eyes and murmured:

“I didn’t choose to be like this.”

We both felt the weight of it.

—

I know there’s something buried deep in my past.

A younger me who hasn’t forgiven himself for his mistakes.

I’m not sure what it is yet.

But I’ll figure it out.

Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always.

(Yes, even yourself.)