In the meantime, as hard as it is, feeling how we feel is probably our inner truth-telling.
Perfection is such a joke. If those who now want us to have been perfect, in retrospect, were perfect themselves...they would never invent such foolishness. It's a two-way street.
When they were little...we were perfect in their eyes. Wasn't that wonderful? We were just being ourselves, warts and all, and they were tickled pink with us.
That was then and this is now, of course. Feet of clay everywhere...on the accuser and the accusee. How silly to just be willing to see half of that.
You are still who you were then...acknowledged or not. You are more...because you now live with indignities you never knew existed.