I've always had this vague sense that I needed to be perfect. I must always show happiness. Anything less than that would cause distress to those around me.
My kids must behave perfectly. Otherwise, others would think I don't have it together as a mom.
My house must be perfect. Otherwise, people who might stop by might think I'm a slob.
I should be the perfect cook. Plan perfect meals for my family from all of the food groups. All the time. In fact, absolute perfection would be to plan, shop AND COOK once a month. Period. No running to the grocery store every week, (or worse yet every day)!
My marriage should be the model relationship. Date nights once a week. Husband opens every door for me, and I should get flowers once a week. (This is just for starters! Poor man!)
Our yard should be immaculate. No weeds. No brown spots. Anywhere. (again, poor man!)
