I grew up in a household where a lot of bad things happened. One bad thing after another. From a young age, I drilled the thought into my head that I would not contribute to the bad. I would be good. Inherently good. I wouldn't get drunk. I wouldn't do drugs. I would do well at school. These thoughts started as a seed, but by the time I reached my teens, they had developed into a forest in my mind. 

It had become so bad that I forgot my trainers one day for drama at school, and I sobbed and sobbed. To the point I was almost sick. Wondering if I could sprint the two miles to school and back on my break. I called my mum hysterically and begged her to walk them in for me (she didn't drive); she did. I did that to avoid a detention. Something I'd never had before. And never did have, in my entire years of school life. 

My sister had gone down the wrong path in her teens, and I constantly heard how bad she was. My stepdad was an abusive alcoholic, and I constantly heard how bad he was. I was so determined that the only word anyone used to describe me would be good. I wanted to make my mum's life easier. Everyone's life easier. This was so unconscious at the time, and only something I've discovered after a few years of processing experiences with my counsellor. But it's something I still struggle with daily. The need to be inherently good. 

When I became ill at 17, I was furious at my body. Angry that everything I'd worked so hard not to do, I had become. My body was bad. It needed constant attention. Constant treatment. Constant time. It took over everyone's lives; especially my mum's. It was bad. A decade later, and that anger for my body is still there. My body constantly fails me, and continuously makes me feel like I'm not being good enough.

This pressure that I put on myself has extended into every aspect of my life. And pushes me over the edge until it breaks me. Whereby I try so hard to please everyone, that I either end up pleasing no-one, or burn myself out. Strangely, it happened with blogging. I'm still asked daily why I left the blogging world with radio silence, virtually overnight. The pressure I was putting on myself to be good became so intense, that I just exploded. And had one of the biggest mental breakdowns I've ever had. 

I was constantly told, and still am, that I'm a "goody two-shoes", and I should try to "lighten up", as if it's an easy habit to break. Apparently some people see being too good, as a bad thing. That was never something I'd ever thought about. I drink maybe once a year. I don't smoke. I've never done drugs. I'm never reckless. I take care of my body. I'm constantly told I'm "boring", light-heartedly of course, but that's okay - no one knows the struggles I face daily. How "boring" is exactly what I'm aiming for. I like to be unnoticed. Unseen. Those things usually go hand-in-hand with being good.

I don't think I'll ever stop feeling as though I'm not good enough, but I do hope that one day the pressure to be good doesn't feel as all-consuming as it still feels today.

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