I Need to Feel Loved
--
The biggest fight I ever had with my father climaxed when I suggested he didn’t really love me. Our one-millionth screaming-crying-fight crescendoed as he shouted the words that only ever came out of his mouth while enraged — “you know I love you.” He used love as an excuse. I am meant to forgive the violent words he hurled against me because he said I love you and that is enough. But that is not enough for me. I countered this wordlessly, shaking my head in response because I knew my voice would fail me. He paused with a look that told me I had broken his heart.
“You don’t think I love you?”
The pattern didn’t stop after this fight. My family doesn’t communicate love in words. They show love in other ways, sure. They show up in time of need, always. They provide financially for me, without fail. But I need words to understand my place. I need to be told, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Imagine the uncertainty that rests in my gut when the only time I hear those words is through rage and excuses.
I am older now, and I understand that love takes many forms. My parents have watched me grow and they understand that words are what I need. Very rarely still do they voice their affection, but it holds the weight of entire cities when they do. I feel it in my chest and it carries me through until the next time they say it. It is stated in passing as if it falls easily from their lips, but I know how hard it is for them to express it because it is just as hard for me to say it in return. I used to question if they respected me, wanted me, or loved me. Now I know that I am all of these things to others, but just what am I to myself?
My twisted idea of my worth growing up morphed into a form of self-esteem that is, well, fucked. From my adolescence, I hid behind a wall of self-deprecation and self-hatred that no one looked for a way through because the outside stood painted with humor. I constantly made jokes at my own expense, downplaying the harsh thoughts that plagued me. I called myself stupid, untalented, lazy, and told myself that I had no friends and I would not succeed. This is the universal experience of almost every other adolescent I knew.
Self-deprecation is an epidemic. I have been immersed in online culture since middle school, and hating yourself has become the norm. There are endless memes about feeling useless and constantly falling short of what is expected of you. I laugh at them, as most do, because that is how we feel. We see ourselves in the caricatures of normal life that are presented online. These caricatures have always resonated with me, but there has been a steadily growing undercurrent of arrogance and grandiosity building in me the past few years that goes directly against the hatred I claim to feel towards myself.
I have always been successful. I’m athletic, I’ve never made a B in my life, I’m creative and artistic, I have good friends, I have a solid taste in music, and I’ve always been fairly popular. The self-deprecator that I have meticulously trained in my mind screams at me to backspace those words. They are arrogant and grandiose. But there is another voice, steadily growing louder, that questions, why? They are facts. Ask anyone around me and they will agree with everything I said. They have told me these things about myself, to my face, many times. Why is it so wrong for me to believe them? More so, why should I have to wait to be complimented to think something nice about myself?
I have labeled myself as arrogant for years. A certain ex-boyfriend screwed this idea in tightly because he thought the same and told me so. But the line between arrogance and confidence has always made me highly and painfully confused. What is the difference between arrogance and confidence? How can I take my arrogance and turn it into confidence, an arguably healthier state of being?
This is a question I have brought to friends, family, and therapists. No one seemed to know the answer. I continued to be accomplished and successful. I continued to feed on the praises of others as my one and only source of encouragement because I could not do it myself. Honestly, other people say nice things about me all the time. I had a friend in high school express her jealousy towards me because she thought me “cool.” I’ve been told I’ve always been genuine and never afraid to be 100% myself. I’ve been told I am funny, talented, special. Empathetic, quick-witted, a good friend. Other people think this of me, but who am I to dare think that about myself?
I found myself nominated for Homecoming court in high school. I remember sitting in the bleachers at a pep rally in our maroon and silver gym while they read off the names of those who had been selected. When they called mine I stood up, walked down the steps, received my sash, and stood in line with the other nominees. I looked into the faces of my friends who cheered and smiled and made me feel good. Only afterwards did I receive my criticism: it looked like I had expected it. That floored me. Did I really give off that impression? I’ll admit I am not like the pageant queen who had accepted her sash before me, who emoted outrageously and looked on the verge of tears. My affect has always been subdued and I lack the ability to fake enthusiasm.
I felt disappointed in myself. My arrogance had bared its teeth again and the whole school thought less of me for it. I have felt shame for this moment for years. Only recently have I let myself admit the truth — I did expect it. I fully expected to be elected onto Homecoming court by my peers. I didn’t express surprise or shock because I did not feel those things. Frankly, I would have been surprised and shocked if I hadn’t been called down those steps. But this is not the way I’m supposed to feel, right? I’m supposed to hate myself, supposed to think I’m not worthy, supposed to accept every morsel of positive attention with overwhelming gratitude and humility. Any thoughts of deserving honor must be suppressed to fall in line with what is expected of me.
I have discovered where the line between arrogance and confidence falls. I have taken a hard look at everything I have done and experienced that made me label myself as an arrogant fool. They all resembled the example above. I received praise, I did not feel surprised, I buried myself in shame. The word arrogance, to me, represents feeling things about yourself that you do not deserve to feel. I labeled myself as arrogant because I told myself I did not deserve to feel accomplished, to feel talented, to feel special. I repressed these so-called arrogant feelings because I did not want to let them slip out and risk my internalized shame being shared by the people around me. I did not want anyone else to label me as arrogant, so I made sure it would never happen by submitting to what is expected of me — self-deprecation. My internal monologue consisted of I hate myself, I am so arrogant, I am not as good as I think I am, I have no right to believe that I am special.
Sometimes I catch myself in a lie. I will be having a conversation with someone, say, about something I created. I will show it to them and say something like “I don’t think it’s that good.” Then, internally, I realize that statement is a complete and utter lie. I think it’s really good. I’m proud of it. I want to show it to everyone. The thoughts I have about myself are filtered through shame before they come out of my mouth. The end result is words falling off my lips that do not accurately portray how I feel but are accepted easily by those around me. It is only natural to doubt yourself, and that doubt makes you more relatable. My self-deprecation breeds compliments which breed good feelings about myself which in turn breeds more shame. It is a vicious, all-consuming, restricting cycle that I saw no way out of until I confronted a very real and very scary fact: I love myself.
I have been striving for confidence for years, but it always seemed out of reach. I had everything I needed — praise, support, accomplishments. What else is there? The answer eluded me and I found myself frustrated and exhausted. I continued to hide behind a forced self-hatred to fit in, unknowingly driving myself further and further away from my goal. I wish I could go back, grab myself by the shoulders, and shake my own body, shouting the answer loudly and over and over and over — you have to be okay loving yourself. You have to stop hiding the thoughts that make you feel worthy, stop squishing them into a too-full suitcase, sitting on top of it as you struggle to zip it up. Stand up, flip it open, and empty it. Put on those beautiful clothes and say it with confidence — I love myself and that’s okay.
It is scary to be confident. It is scary to face the world and say yeah, that’s right, I expect to succeed. I know who I am, I know what I’m capable of, and I know that I’m special. I expect to be good at what I’m doing and I expect you to support me and love me.
All of my self-esteem issues are self-inflicted. No one has ever told me or even suggested that I am not capable of great things. I have been supported and praised and encouraged my entire life. I have always been the only voice hurling insults and insecurity my way. I know now that your voice will always be the loudest and the closest to your heart. All the compliments in the world cannot drown out the shame that you cultivate yourself.
My parents struggled to learn to express their love to me while I struggled to learn to express my love to myself. It took a quarter of my life for me to admit that I believe I have worth. Arrogance is rooted in shame and fear of disdain; confidence is rooted in love and hope for all that I am capable of. I need to feel loved, not just by my parents, but by myself as well. Each day I take a new step. I allow myself to think nice things about my existence. I fight against my habit of constantly trying to take myself down a peg. Instead, I reach for the next rung and take another step up. Every muscle in my body is moving to lift myself out of a pit I dug with my own hands. My own words. When I finally emerge, fully confident and free of doubt, I’m going to take this world by storm.
