If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.
This one will be short, because:
- I don’t want to dwell on this and feel bad.
- I have touched on it in other posts, and am likely to do so in future posts.
For much of my life, starting around age 11, I was a self-hater. Full on irrational loathing (that I thought was totally rational). Unable to admit to anything good about me even if there was proof more substantial than just my mum saying nice things. For example, I just knew I was stupid…never mind that I got good marks in school and was part of assorted academic competition teams. I would entertain a bit of smug satisfaction when, for instance, I got my grades. But that would somehow be swallowed by the howling storm of self-loathing within minutes. And every time I said good things about myself out loud all through my teen years, I was, in my opinion, lying. (And then I felt bad for lying…)
What I saw in the mirror and what I saw inside me was…worthless, rubbish, unlovable, unworthy of love, and so on and so on and on and on and on. I was shocked when friends proved true or if someone liked me, but not shocked if I was treated poorly or unrequited in my love. Hurt, but not shocked.
Think of the person or thing you hate most…the one you literally want to destroy and wipe from existence. That was how I felt about myself.
And there have been plenty of times where I have gotten the sense that I ought to be ashamed to feel or have felt that way. Sometimes, those are even contexts where I’m pretty sure the person from whom I got that impression was actually trying to be encouraging. But those lost in self-loathing are delicate…easily shamed…quick to (without meaning to) twist everything to proof of their inadequacy.
I am sad that I hated myself, but I’m pleased that I seem to have gained a little compassion and perspective from that.
I am sad that, if any blame is deserved for this by other people, it will undoubtedly be aimed at some of the wrong people. (For instance, at my parents. Who truly did their best to love and nurture me and help me see myself as the awesome little monster I am.)
I am sad that self-hatred, whether it’s the total loathing I felt or it’s a smaller beast, seems to be such a normal part of the human (particularly the non-white, non-male, non-upper class, non-cis, non-heterosexual, etc) experience.
Yes, you should love you. But, if you don’t, that’s okay. I mean, I hope you will someday soon. But don’t feel bad about feeling bad. That sounds like a vicious shame cycle.
In fact, if you feel bad about feeling bad, I guess that’s okay too. I honour your right to feel what you feel and, again, hope that, someday soon, you will feel less bad.
But you are not a bad person just because you don’t love yourself or don’t see your awesome parts. You are just someone who doesn’t love themselves or see their awesome parts yet. Yet.
I hated myself. And I’m sad about that, but I am not ashamed of it.
Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).