Psychology Experience

When I was eight years old, one night, I made rice, eggs, and cucumber soup and peeled and cut some fruit and had the table set with “dinner” for my parents. “Look Mom! I made you dinner!” I excitedly told her. I remember she walked over and hesitantly tasted a few things, and then saying loudly, “This doesn’t taste right! This plate shouldn’t be here!” She criticized my cooking and performance so badly I decided hated cooking. Since then, I’ve told myself I can’t cook and I’ve never tried to either.
In fifth grade when I took a test, I got my first “conscious” C letter grade. I say “conscious” because before then, it didn’t matter—I had A’s and B’s and C’s equally and that seemed fine. But that school year (and for many school years following), C’s and anything lower were not allowed. While B’s were “ok,” it was still looked down upon—the way my dad would look at me, nose wrinkled and disappointed. I cried about the “C-�...