Who is it that I am doing this for? This question has been pricking my mind often in the past few weeks. When something hasn’t gone as I’d hoped and disappointment creeps in, I ask myself why. When the urge to frantically clean my house if someone is coming over threatens to overwhelm, that question returns. I don’t always like the answer when honesty pushes through the excuses and well-crafted responses. The “who” tends to be the insecure little person inside me, desperate to get approval, to be told that she is enough and to be recognised. Or the “who” might be the nefarious “others” and what they might think,…