Cake Olivia Wolber
You made a vanilla cake. You were neither proud nor disappointed, just moderately satisfied. You shared it with a few people, and one told you they didn’t like it.
So now, you’re unsure if you like it.
You begin to hate it, so you add icing to it. To gain back your confidence, you get more people to try it, and out of all of them, just a few don’t like it.
Now, you hate that dreadful vanilla cake even more, so you add sprinkles to it. When the cycle repeats, you try adding fruit to it. When it continues on, and you almost smash the whole thing, you try neat- ening up the edges and putting it on fancy china.
You continue to let more and more people pick apart and critique it, and you keep adding more and more things to it until it’s just a pile of mush on a pedestal. Unrecognizable, even if put next to its former self.
Now, you certainly don’t like it at all.
You can pick apart a cake or your own flesh. You could pay a man to do it for you.
But anything you change will never satisfy you if you were never secure in the first place.
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