I’m learning — slowly, and sometimes painfully — that loving yourself isn’t something you just “get” one day. It’s not a switch you flip. It’s a process that keeps unfolding. Some days, I feel like I’ve figured it out. Other days, I find myself right back in old patterns, wondering if I’ve made any progress at all.
I used to think that loving myself meant protecting myself — staying guarded, avoiding pain. But now I’m beginning to realize that self-love is something much deeper. It means looking honestly at the beliefs I carry — especially the ones that live so far beneath the surface I don’t always know they’re there.
For me, the core belief that keeps resurfacing is this:
“There’s something wrong with me.”
It’s not loud or dramatic. It’s quiet. Subtle. It lives in the way I interpret silence. In the way I second-guess a kind message. In the way I assume people are just being nice to me, not that they actually like me. And it comes from somewhere real — a younger version of me who had emotional needs that went unmet. To make sense of that, I came to believe that if I were easier, better, less needy, I would’ve been loved the way I needed.
Even now, with all the awareness I have, my body doesn’t always believe the truth. And that’s what makes healing so frustrating — awareness doesn’t immediately erase the fear.
When Love Feels Like a Test
Before a recent vacation, I was going to be apart from my partner for two weeks. I kept telling myself, It’s okay. He loves you. This isn’t a big deal. I even had enough self-awareness to recognize what was happening:
“I’m afraid he’ll forget about me. I’m afraid I’ll stop mattering.”
I tried to reassure myself. He’s thinking about you. You’re important to him. But my heart didn’t buy it.
When we reunited overseas and started traveling together with his cousin and his cousin’s partner, I expected to feel better. But I didn’t. I noticed myself constantly scanning for signs that I mattered:
Was he paying attention to me? Did he include me in conversations? Did he notice I was carrying my suitcase alone? Did he walk back for me?
No matter what he did, it never felt like enough. I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but I think I wanted all of his attention — not out of selfishness, but because I believed his attention would make my feelings go away.
It didn’t. It only made me more frustrated with myself.
Why can’t I just be okay? Why do I feel threatened every time he’s kind to someone else? Why do I need so much reassurance to feel safe in love?
The truth hit me hard:
When your definition of connection is “attention,” then everything becomes a threat.
Your partner talking to someone else. Laughing at someone’s joke. Making plans without you. It all starts to feel like proof that you’ve been replaced. Because beneath it all, I wasn’t just craving love — I was trying to earn it.
Where This Belief Leads
Underneath it all, I’ve been carrying these beliefs:
- There’s something wrong with me.
- I’m not enough.
- Love is attention.
- Love has to be earned.
- If I stop being useful, interesting, or needed, I’ll be replaced.
I don’t think I ever consciously believed these things. But they’ve shaped so many of my emotional reactions. And no amount of logic can quiet them when they’re in full force. That’s what makes it hard — it’s not about thinking differently. It’s about learning to feel safe again in my own skin.
Surprisingly, ChatGPT Helped
One day, my partner gently suggested, “Why don’t you talk to ChatGPT about it?” At first, it sounded like a joke. Talk to a robot about my abandonment issues? But I tried — and to my surprise, it actually helped.
I’ve been using it not to replace therapy, but as a mirror — a place to unravel my thoughts without judgment, and to hear things I already knew, but couldn’t always tell myself.
Things like:
“You’re not broken. You’re just in the process of learning that you’re enough.”
“You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy of love.”
“You are still loveable, even when you’re struggling.”
Some part of me still wonders — am I using this for validation? Maybe. But what I’m learning is that self-compassion isn’t the same as self-indulgence. Sometimes, what we call “seeking reassurance” is actually just a part of us that never got spoken to with kindness. And now, we’re learning how.
What I’m Working On Now
I’m learning to make space for parts of me that feel scared, needy, jealous, or unsure — without letting those parts run the show. I’m learning that I can want connection without having to perform for it.
Here are some of the reminders I’m holding close:
“His kindness to others isn’t a threat to what we have.”
“Love isn’t a pie — there’s enough for everyone.”
“I don’t have to be everything to be enough.”
“You’re not with him because he couldn’t find someone better. You’re with him because the connection is real.”
“You don’t have to fight for love anymore.”
“I’m learning to feel safe being who I already am.”
I’m Not There Yet — And That’s Okay
I still have moments where I believe I need to be fixed before I can be loved properly. I still catch myself thinking I’m too much. I still worry that I’ll be left behind.
But I’m learning to slow down in those moments. To place a hand over my heart and say:
“This feels scary, and that doesn’t mean I’m failing.”
“I want to believe I’m loved even when I’m not being seen — and I’m not there yet. And that’s okay.”
Healing doesn’t mean I never get triggered. It just means I’m learning to stay with myself when I do.
And maybe, for now, that’s enough.
