I’m So Tired of Hating Myself
I walked into a Whole Foods bathroom today and saw a sign that read,
“You are lovable.”
Setting aside the strange nature of encountering this message in a grocery store bathroom, it caused me to pause. Usually I’m rather critical of cheesy, inspirational messages, but this one felt different. Maybe because it’s a message I’m so desperate to hear, or more importantly, believe.
I navigate my life waiting, anticipating someone will finally confirm that I am, in fact, unlovable. Sometimes I catch myself pushing people away (or straight being an asshole) in the hopes that they’ll say it:
“Becki, you’re just not good enough. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be good enough. And now that I truly know you, I could never imagine loving you.”
This may sound odd, but the only thing worse than having such a fear confirmed is living in anticipation of it, waiting for someone to finally see the truth about me.
I don’t understand why I have this deep sense of un-lovability (and believe me, I’ve tried to figure it out). Maybe it’s my parents getting divorced at a young age or it’s a product of my being so sensitive or maybe most people feel this way but just don’t realize it. (I mean, Lizzo’s self-love revolution was popular for a reason, right?)
One of the more frustrating aspects of life is the fact that awareness doesn’t in and of itself bring about change. And that limbo period between awareness and change is a total mindfuck.
I can understand that the root of seeking out rejection is my own self-detestation, which I guess you could call shame, but one and a half Brene Brown books later, and I’m still a mess.
I’ve poured so much time, energy, thoughts, nights, social moments into shitting on myself, I get that undoing this inner turmoil will be a long, hard road ahead. And after a year of walking it, I’m still so intimidated and overwhelmed.
Maybe that’s why I’ve spent so much of my life partaking in behavior that confirmed my status as a low-value human being. Ultimately, it was a lot less work and pressure than striving to be “better.” Living like a piece of shit may have created a gaping hole inside me, but at least it was easy and even fun at times.
In about a month, I’ll turn 30...
I get that age is meaningless to some, but for me, it’s always been a means of measuring progress. And of all the ages, this one feels the most significant, as though it’ll lay the foundation for who I’ll be as a true adult.
So I question what choices I’ll make to mark this next step in life. I run through a mental list of all the things I wished I was: consistently healthy, comfortable with social situations, able to laugh at myself more easily, and I wonder what all these desires add up to. Who would I be if I were all of these things? Would I still be me? Is “me” simply an illusion of my mind?
And then I remember that I also want to think less in my 30s.
What I do know is that I don’t want to deny my humanity, which was my previous strategy in trying to be “better.” I thought the goal was to rise above all the things that made me a messy and flawed human being.
But I can’t do that again.
Because as depressing as it is to be shitty, it’s even worse trying to be perfect.
One thing is clear: I can’t keep living like this, carrying this self-hatred around with me like a tired accessory. Because although it’s slow and subtle, I can tell it’s killing me, robbing me of joy, appreciation, compassion.
I’m reminded of that young girl, crying alone in her bedroom, wondering why she felt so bad. And in this moment, as I sit in my room and cry alone, I wonder why I feel so. freaking. bad.
But at least this time around I have words, understanding, insight. I have people to reach out to, books to read, podcasts to listen to.
I can’t say I feel less helpless than that little girl, but I do feel more prepared, capable of navigating the distress.
And when I’m at a complete loss, I stare at the sky for a bit. And pray to my goddesses.
Or I just drink some coffee. Cause I’m an adult now, so I get to drink coffee.
Which makes me think.. maybe there are some upsides to this whole growing up thing.
