I’ve struggled with the idea of loving myself for a very long time. But I never had to fully confront it—until I entered a relationship.When I was single, I could avoid my self-hatred by spending money and distracting myself with things. I’d dress in expensive clothes I couldn’t afford or sit by a window at a café, pretending my $40 breakfast and coffee made me someone I liked.

But in a relationship, it becomes harder to hide. You want love from someone else—and how they give it is out of your control. And when it doesn’t feel like enough, you don’t blame them. You blame yourself. You fear they’ll leave you—because deep down, you would’ve left you too.

You think: You ugly, fat, stupid bitch.

Most days, my mind was crowded with worry. Eventually, I hated how anxious and sad I always felt. So I gave myself 10 minutes a day—“worry time”—to write down everything swirling in my head.

Here are some of the thoughts:

  • I’m worried I’m not pretty enough for him.
  • I’m worried I looked like a loser. What if his friends think I’m not good enough?
  • I’m worried I’m too emotional.
  • I’m worried his friends didn’t like me. Did I say something wrong? Was I too boring? Too awkward?
  • I’m worried I haven’t done enough.
  • I’m worried he’ll leave me for someone better.
  • I’m worried he doesn’t really love me.

Reading through those notes, I noticed a painful pattern: I always blamed myself. I believed I was the problem.

I was terrified people would see the “real me” and regret ever knowing me. I thought I had to be someone else—anyone but myself. I constantly compared myself to others. The longer the list of what I lacked grew, the more overwhelmed and resentful I became. I felt sorry for who I was, and yet part of me wanted to stand up and fight for myself.

Eventually, the weight became too much. I thought, Why is everyone else allowed to express their needs, while I silence mine just to feel worthy of love?‍Why do I have to earn love by becoming someone else?‍Why is the world so unfair?

At one point, it felt like I was dragging around a filthy child—begging others to love her. Then it hit me: What if this child isn’t filthy at all? What if I’m the one calling her that?

And even if she was flawed—why would I turn away from her?

Doesn’t she deserve love, too?

That’s when I realized: that child is me. She’s always been me. And whether the world accepts her or not, it’s my job to love her, protect her, and remind her she’s worthy.