August: Why we Hate Ourselves

I never can recall a time when I didn't despise myself. Well, maybe that's a lie, I'm not sure it's possible for a 1-year-old to hate themselves but like I said, if this is the case, I can't remember. My first memory is my parents telling me I was adopted. I don't know the appropriate time to tell a child they're adopted but toddlerhood is not it. At least it wasn't for me. Being so young, I could not wrap my head around or even begin to understand what it meant to be adopted. All I heard was, your parents gave you up, and you're different. In the fifth grade, I recall disclosing to my class that I was adopted during a school project where we had to share something we thought made us special. I was surprised when everyone started laughing and whispering, looking around the room as if I just confessed I shit my pants. "That means your parents didn't want you" one kid shouted. I looked down and went home that day feeling shame and embarrassed. Immediately, I regretted telling this secret. I thought it was something cool, something to be proud of but it, in fact, was something I learned to be humiliated by. I didn't know where I came from, all I knew was I didn't belong.

The first time I remember self-hatred was around age 7. What precipitated this? Again, I couldn't tell you. I don't recall any extreme traumas happening before age 7. My parents didn't abuse drugs, I didn't witness domestic violence in the home, and none of my parents had a crippling mental illness (that I was aware of) I wasn't homeless, what was the big deal? I should be overjoyed for my perfect, precious childhood, right? Wrong. Like a thousand tiny paper cuts, over time, I learned to abandon myself. Knowing what I know about childhood development, I can not being to fathom why a kid would reject themselves so deeply. Quite frankly, it breaks my heart to think of an innocent child feeling so utterly worthless at such a young age before they've had a chance to live. As a psychologist, I'm aware of the devastating effects these self-beliefs have when ingrained early on, & how they'll negatively shape a person's relationships and experiences throughout the course of their lifetime.

Fast forward to present day and here I am, 29 years old, struggling with chronic body dysmorphia. I knew my entire life I didn't see myself the way others viewed me, but the extent to which my dysmorphia interfered with my quality of life wasn't as clear. What triggered this extreme onset was my recent experience in London (listen here). It's interesting because this wasn't the first time I had dated someone who made comments about my appearance. Almost every guy I ever went out with had something to say about the way I looked. Whether it was "You're too fat, your face is ugly, I don't like your clothes, your hair isn't long enough, you should get Botox, try this diet and on and on" every person I adored was overtly critical about me. This amplified, however, in the last year, after I got out of a verbally abusive relationship of two years only to find myself in love with another emotional abuser who scrutinized the way I looked. Despite my best efforts to impress him; when he told me he didn't like my clothes, I bought new clothes, when he told me he didn't like my hair, I changed my hair, when he told me he liked skinny girls I lost weight; it became blatantly obvious that no matter what I did, I could never win his approval. I became a chameleon, constantly trying to morph myself into someone he could love. But after almost a year of breaking my back to fit his mold, I realized there was nothing I could do to become the girl he wanted. And so I did what any other insecure 20-something, rejected lady would do and I downloaded Tinder. I didn't expect much from the dating app except to maybe find a rebound, friends with benefits I could get under to metaphorically get over my heartbreak. Unbeknownst to me, I found myself falling for yet another Albanian living in Italy who would later go on to repeat almost the exact same cycle as the first Albanian. Except this time, it was much worse, like dumping buckets of salt on an already open, infected, gaping wound.

The second Albanian made me feel extra repulsive through way of having a naked girl (me) lying next to him yet he was too preoccupied with liking booty pics to notice. Imagine going to another country with some dude who doesn't say you look pretty and checks out/comments how hot other girls (not you) are. I never felt so low or disgusting my entire life. I left London feeling more invisible than ever, horrified and filled with desperation. All the self-disgust previously there tripled so I began my quest of self-destruction, self-punishment and endlessly searching for a plastic surgeon to fix all my problems (me). On the plane ride home, I sent about 20 different consultation forms to cosmetic surgeons in New York, booked appointments to get back on Ozempic, and was determined to become as sexy as possible so this guy I knew for less than 3 months would recognize my value. Once I got home, I started working out for 2+ hours a day, restricting my diet, getting my hair dyed, cheek filler, you name it, I did it. But here's what I recently discovered while debating if I should spend 16,000$ on liposuction and a boob job... what if those things don't erase my pain? What if the perfect body and new face don't eliminate my trauma? What if I spend all this money and do all these things and the people I lust after STILL don't long for me in return? THEN WHAT? Because let me tell you, there are many people who are objectively far less attractive than I am and they're in healthy, happy relationships. And there are many people who are way more attractive than I am who still haven't found their "soul mate" either. Maybe, just maybe, the things we are convinced we need to do, be, or achieve to be good enough aren't linked to happiness. Perhaps what needs to change is not us, but the direction in which we are looking

Why is it that people who have accomplished and worked less hard than you are majorly successful? Why is it that some people who look far less appealing have an easier and better time finding love? It isn't because they have good luck or some magic formula. It's because they feel they deserve it. They know they can have it, they feel they are valuable and worthy and all those things you don't believe are possible for you. Not long ago, I was taking a walk and asked the universe out loud (some call this praying), God, why is it most girls don't have to try and they get to be loved but I don't? I try so hard and still, my heart gets broken repeatedly. Will I ever measure up? Then I had a thought; what if that were the issue all along? What if love wasn't something you had to fight for, beg for, earn? What if nothing is wrong with you but you're simply the right package at the wrong address? Because everyone is you pushed out... people are simply mirrors, reflecting back to us everything we feel about ourselves. The universe delivers to us on the outside, our internal reality. If we believe we are inferior, inadequate, defective, we will literally attract people who confirm, YES, LAUREN, you are all these terrible things and nobody in their right mind would ever choose you because you're hideous and horrible and will be alone until you die.

We don't hate ourselves because we suck, we don't hate ourselves because we're better off dead, we hate ourselves because we were taught to. We learned from other people, past traumas, and early experiences that conditioned us to believe we are destined to be a miserable, piece of shit. What if I told you your whole life was a lie? Who you believed yourself to be was a false narrative passed down that you took it on as truth. You're not everything your ex's said about you, you're not even anything YOU say about you. When I look in the mirror I see a girl I don't recognize. I know what is expected of me by others, I know who she thinks she is and I know what she was told for the greater majority of her life but I don't know who or what she is without that programming. Sometimes, we are scared to release the version that holds us back because without that identity we would feel lost, stripped, we would have to unbecome all we've known. And that's scary... it's unsettling and intimidating and NECESSARY. Because we don't heal by leaving ourselves or concealing our so-called flaws. We learn to love ourselves by showing up, time and time again, even when we're messy, blemished, and especially when we're "hard" to love. At our worst, and at our best, we stay by our side. Because that's what we've needed all along, to never betray ourselves in our hardest moments, even if everyone else does. Be the lover, the parent, the best friend you wished you always had. Knock down the layers of self-hatred and brick by brick, rebuild yourself from the ground up. I trust that one day I will be turned off, not turned on by people who don't see the miracle that I am. But it starts with us first. We can start again. You must open your eyes and when you do, you will uncover the magic that is you. It's been there all along, just waiting for you to discover it.