About a year ago, I saw a therapist, and one of the biggest takeaways was learning to accept my feelings. Regardless of my parents’ intentions, I began to realise that what I’d always wanted was to know that there was nothing wrong with me — that feeling lonely, or wanting love, was completely reasonable. Hearing that from my therapist, a stranger in a sense, was mind-blowing. It felt deeply comforting, almost like that’s what I’d been waiting to hear all my life — that I wasn’t a monster or a burden for simply needing connection.

But even after that, I still catch myself hearing a familiar voice saying, “Get over it.” I don’t always know what triggers it or why it still feels so strong. Sometimes, I would scream to myself, wanting that voice to just go away, or just keep telling myself “be kind to yourself. Talk to yourself like a friend.” But that wasn’t really working, and more than anything, I wanted to understand why it was there — so I started to see a therapist again.

During our recent session, we talked about schemas — the deep patterns that shape how we think and feel. Mine seem to revolve around three core beliefs: emotional deprivation, abandonment, and defectiveness/shame.

  • Emotional deprivation is the expectation that others will not adequately meet one’s desire for normal emotional support. This can lead to assumptions such as “I don’t matter,” “I can’t rely on others to meet my needs,” “I’m not special to anyone.”
  • Abandonment is the expectation that close relationships will end. It can lead to assumptions such as “I can’t trust that others will stick by me” or “Eventually, people I love will leave me.”
  • Defectiveness/shame is the feeling that one is defective, bad, unwanted, or inferior, and that one would be unlovable if their flaws were exposed. This can lead to assumptions such as “I’m not good enough,” “There’s something wrong with me,” “I’m worthless.”

I could resonate with them all, but I couldn’t understand how it tied together. Through reflection, I realized that all three schemas orbit around one core emotional wound: the fear that love and belonging aren’t safe or guaranteed.

  • Emotional deprivation taught me that my emotional needs might not be met — so I learned to long for connection, but also to expect that it won’t come.
  • Abandonment taught me that closeness is unstable — people might leave when I really need them.
  • Defectiveness/shame adds the belief that maybe they’ll leave because I am the problem.

This helped me understand why I have a constant ache for belonging but an underlying belief that I’ll never really have it. Even when people care about me, part of me doubts if I truly fit. Maybe this is why I became so attached to the idea that connection = attention. Attention became proof that I still belonged — that I was safe for now. But the moment attention fades, those schemas whisper: See? You don’t really matter. You’re already being left behind. My body and mind are always scanning: Am I still seen? Do I still matter? Am I still safe here?

My therapist also explained schema modes, which are ways we cope with childhood core beliefs. Mine was tested to be the “unhelpful parent/critic mode.” This mode becomes angry with itself and feels that it deserves punishment for having or showing needs that parents didn’t allow. The tone is harsh, critical, and unforgiving. It made me realize that this may be what the “get over it” voice is, along with other voices like “Don’t mess this up,” “You should do better,” “Don’t be too needy.”

It was profound when my therapist said that we’re not trying to get rid of it — it will always be there. When she asked me, “What’s her motive?” I realized that this voice has been trying to protect me. It remembers how painful it can be to feel unwanted, rejected, or like I don’t matter. It believes that if I can toughen up, if I don’t need anyone, if I don’t crave connection, I can’t be hurt. Beneath those critical voices, it’s saying:

“If I can make you perfect, no one will leave you.”
“If I can keep you from being too vulnerable, you won’t get hurt again.”
“If I can make you tough, you won’t have to feel that deep loneliness anymore.”

I’m starting to see why my mind uses climbing this way. Each climb becomes a microcosm of my schemas — a space where I feel both the desire to belong and the fear of being judged as inadequate. The inner critic whispers its protective messages: If you aren’t perfect or fearless, you might be rejected, left behind, or seen as unworthy. That pressure blurs the line between curiosity, fun, and self-expression. Climbing, which I love, can sometimes feel like a place where my worth is being silently tested.

It’s been exhausting lately because of this. Without realizing it, I approach each climb like a test — not of skill, but of my worth. Falling feels uncomfortable, but so does fear or vulnerability. My mind quietly whispers: I should be braver. I should push myself further. I should be performing at a higher level. It’s not that I actually climb harder grades because of these thoughts — I don’t — but the feeling persists, like an invisible weight. In my mind, I carry this sense that to belong or be accepted, I need to be strong, fearless, and capable. Even when I’m not climbing at my limits, I feel as if I should be, as if being brave and impressive is the only way to prove that I’m worthy of connection.

I’m learning that healing isn’t about silencing the inner critic or erasing these old schemas. It’s about noticing when they show up, understanding their motives, and choosing how much power to give them. In climbing and in life, this means allowing myself to fall, to struggle, to be imperfect — and still knowing that I belong, still knowing that I am enough. Each climb becomes not a test of my worth, but an opportunity to meet myself with curiosity, patience, and compassion.

‍