As a thirty-something millennial, I’ve grown up thinking my entire life goal was to work hard towards perfection to get results. With Jamaican heritage, it’s all so common to hear that my best was never good enough; in my head, I will always be a work in progress.

Every New Year I’d make the longest list of goals for myself to improve on: go to the gym, get up earlier, take up a new hobby… I’d purchase countless high-end notebooks to journal in, convincing myself that this was my year, and everything would change. I just had to be steadfast and I would reach the pinnacle of success I had aimed for since the age of 15. You know the five bedroom house, the newest sexy car, and the perfect family? It would fall into my lap, of course.

When talking to friends now, I realise I wasn’t the only one thinking this. Watching programmes such as MTV Cribs, which showed ten car garages and fully stocked fridges, and Hollywood films which pushed the idea that perfect romance is realistic, I definitely believed I’d attain all I had dreamt of.