The toxicity of self hatred

Oh, this post can end up going so many different ways. I feel so many things right now.

Front and center is self hatred. I feel like a fucking diasaster right now. I’m completely aware of the level of fucked up that I am. Like, I would literally rather die than live with the knowledge that I’ll never amount to anything more than the natural fuck up that I am. There’s likely not a person in this world who hates themselves more than I do.

And that’s such a shitty feeling. It just perpetuates itself. If that’s the way I feel, it will never change. It’s the definition of a self fulfilling prophecy.

Of course I didn’t learn this fun trait all by myself. No, I was taught this feeling. Shouted at and forced to hear it for my entire life. Sure, I fought it for a while. But eventually we all fall into the roles that we’re taught. We always will. And we will stay there until and unless we do something about it.

It will come as a surprise to literally no one on the entire planet, that I fucked up in therapy tonight. Come on. Did anyone really think that I wouldn’t?! The first one back after a break?

And the sad part is that I tried SO fucking hard not to. I tried so hard. And I fucked it up anyway. I literally hate myself more than words can even describe.

All I want to do is just be normal and actually talk about all the impossible things going through my head. I just want to have the genuine conversations with people and have it actually mean something.

That’s all I want.

Yet that’s the exact opposite of what happens.

Because I fucking feel too much. Too much anxiety or fear or hatred, or even sadness. And instead of knowing how to deal with it or handle it..I guess I just fuck it all up instead.


(For the sake of introspection, I had to break this post up. I had to stop writing and put myself in a better head space. It’s probably been about 20 minutes, and my husband has since told me that he loves me, fed me snacks, and made me a drink. So, with that being said….)

Yes. I’m upset with myself. On one hand, I know I could have maybe done better, or done things differently…but on the other hand… I know that I probably put too much pressure on myself to begin with. I went in with so much anxiety, in part because of the break, and also because of the nature of the topic that’s weighing me down.

The thing that needs talking about has sort of been forced down my throat. And while this person is right…that doesn’t make it easy. Otherwise I wouldn’t have avoided it for this long.

There’s no point in hating myself for doing the very thing that I straight up KNEW I was going to do. Yes, it’s upsetting and frustrating…but it’s not like it was unexpected.

I shut down. And I got frustrated and withdrawn and then anxiety took over and I physically couldn’t talk even if I wanted to.

Self hatred is one thing. But mix that with feelings of shame and embarrassment and like…I don’t even know. I just feel gross. And I hate that this has to even be a thing. But it is. And it’s not my fault that this is hard as fuck to deal with or talk about. Because now there are so, so many new layers to it. And I haven’t even begun to process what that means.

Self hatred is toxic. It’s a lie and it’s going to keep you exactly where you are. It stems from the lies people have told you, and the lies you now tell yourself. But you don’t deserve that hatred. No one does.

So you didn’t have a good day. You let yourself down, or you feel you could have done better.

That’s fine. Continue to work hard and strive for better, but don’t let it consume you.

I’ll quote myself here now and say “you do not need to wait to start again”.

All night during therapy, I kept coming back to this thought and laughing at myself. How I should take my own advice. I gifted my future self, I guess this “now” version of me, with that advice.

I didn’t do a good job. And I can try again.

I can do better.

Does this mean I won’t completely fuck it up once again on Friday when I have therapy next…? No. I fully expect to. Because the anxiety will perpetuate itself. But I will show up. And I will try.

I don’t need to wait to start again.
And I don’t need to hate myself for it.

(One day, I hope I can really believe that for myself like I do for everyone else.)

3 thoughts on “The toxicity of self hatred”

  1. What a good job you did, breaking off the initial post and allowing yourself to absorb a bit of kindness and love from your husband. There is such a big difference from the first and second sections of what you wrote. In the first, you are convinced that everything is terrible and will NEVER improve. In the second, you are still hard on yourself (I don’t think you “fucked up” in therapy; I think you were paralyzed by anxiety or some type of trauma response), but you allow space for the possibility of change. You move from condemning your very being to condemning your “performance” in therapy that day. Since there are no grades for how you show up in therapy, I still think it’s too negative an interpretation, but it’s softer than you started out—and closer to a realistic assessment. Yes,it was frustrating and disappointing, and yes, it may happen again, but it’s not inevitable or forever. It can get easier.

    Having been exactly where you are, and having moved from that painful place, I can assure you that it’s possible to for things to change more than you imagine. And that’s what I wish for you.

    1. Thank you, I really appreciate you saying that. It means a lot.
      I tried pretty hard to change the perspective I was writing from. I knew when I started that it was going to be more harsh than I wanted it to be, but I still wanted the things that I was feeling to have a voice too.
      Accepting love from my husband in those moments is actually incredibly hard for me to do, I usually just try to push him away and let myself feel worse.

      Even though I messed up (and I’m quite sure I will again), I still feel like I’m doing better than I was. Things are hard, but knowing that change is even a possibility for me is all I need to keep fighting.

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