!function(n){if(!window.cnx){window.cnx={},window.cnx.cmd=[];var t=n.createElement('iframe');t.display='none',t.onload=function(){var n=t.contentWindow.document,c=n.createElement('script');c.src='//cd.connatix.com/connatix.player.js',c.setAttribute('async','1'),c.setAttribute('type','text/javascript'),n.body.appendChild(c)},n.head.appendChild(t)}}(document);(new Image()).src = 'https://capi.connatix.com/tr/si?token=ff7fdddc-5441-4253-abc4-f12a33fad58b';cnx.cmd.push(function(){cnx({"playerId":"ff7fdddc-5441-4253-abc4-f12a33fad58b","mediaId":"678d6695-64c4-4eb2-b959-cd0206efcdd2"}).render("67fcef69e4b0c8069e858048");});“He’s very hard on himself,” my 11-year-old’s teacher said during our first-semester conference, “and often this frustration brings him to tears.” We sat in a weird quiet as my son’s teacher filled the space with an apologetic smile – a small consolation for what felt like my big parenting fail. I sank further down into my kid-sized seat as my brain scrambled to give a valid reason for my son’s stress. Instead of words coming out of my mouth, I managed a nod and more silence. I knew what she was saying: my son struggles with perfectionism and this pressure was creating fear and nervousness during class. Finally, I offered, “Yes, it’s something we’re working on.” She held my gaze letting me know she understood I was aware, and the conference moved on from there. What I couldn’t mov