WHY YOU DONT LIKE YOURSELF?

A deeply realistic, non-poetic, universal explanation of the quiet war inside you

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INTRODUCTION:

You wake up with yourself. Live with yourself all day. Sleep with yourself every night.

But if you're honest, you don’t really enjoy your own company. You fill silence with noise. You keep yourself busy. You avoid facing the mirror too long. You overthink what you said. You replay what you didn’t say.

You keep wondering: “Why do I feel hollow even when I seem to have everything?”

The truth is uncomfortable: you don’t like yourself. Not completely. Not honestly.

You may like your achievements, your appearance on a good day, or your public image — but that’s not the same as liking your real, private, vulnerable self.

This essay explains why.

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1. YOUR CHILDHOOD TAUGHT YOU TO BE SOMEONE ELSE

You learned to perform early. You were praised when you behaved “well” — sat quietly, ate fast, scored high, smiled on demand. That wasn't you. It was the version that got claps.

You were punished for being natural. Slow? Called lazy. Curious? Called naughty. Honest? Called disrespectful. You slowly hid parts of yourself. You learned: “I am not good enough as I am.”

You were compared constantly. Against siblings, cousins, friends. No matter how hard you tried, you felt smaller than someone. That wound never healed. You still compare.

You absorbed guilt. Whether it was religion or school or home — you were told you had to be “good.” But “good” meant obedient, not authentic. So you began hiding your thoughts and calling them wrong.

That’s where it began — the idea that the real you is a problem.

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2. YOU PRETEND TOO MUCH

You pretend to be okay when you're not.

You laugh at jokes you hate to avoid awkwardness.

You say yes when you mean no because you fear rejection.

You hide your struggles because you fear judgment.

You post happy moments to prove you’re doing fine, even when you’re not.

Every time you pretend, you lose a bit of trust in yourself.

And eventually, you start to dislike the one you’ve become — a mask-wearer.

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3. YOU BETRAY YOURSELF DAILY

You stay in toxic jobs, relationships, routines — just to avoid change.

You ignore your real feelings — just to keep peace.

You give time, energy, money to others — and neglect your own needs.

You break promises to yourself — wake-up times, diets, dreams, healing journeys.

Each time you betray yourself for others or comfort, you tell yourself you don’t matter.

And how can you like someone you keep abandoning?

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4. YOU HATE YOUR OWN HABITS

You overeat, binge, scroll, waste hours, sleep late, skip care — and then blame yourself.

You know you should stop — but you don’t.

So you feel weak, guilty, ashamed.

You start believing, “I am not disciplined. I am hopeless.”

But these habits weren’t born from laziness — they were survival.

Still, because you don’t understand that, you blame yourself and feel disgusted.

You dislike yourself not because you’re bad — but because you feel out of control.

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5. YOU DON’T TRUST YOUR OWN MIND

You regret old decisions.

You doubt your current choices.

You fear your future actions.

You’ve lost faith in your own ability to think clearly.

And because you don’t believe in yourself, you look outward — for advice, opinions, validation.

Each time you ignore your gut, you weaken your relationship with yourself.

And over time, that distance grows into dislike.

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6. YOU COMPARE. CONSTANTLY.

You compare your looks.

Your job.

Your house.

Your children.

Your body.

Your skills.

Your speed of healing.

Your number of likes.

Comparison was never meant to help. It was designed to make you feel inferior.

And it works.

Even if you're doing well, someone else always looks better.

So, you believe, “I’m behind. I’m not enough. I’ve failed somewhere.”

And liking yourself while feeling like a failure is impossible.

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7. YOU’VE NEVER MET YOUR TRUE SELF

You’ve met your student self.

Your professional self.

Your family self.

Your spiritual self.

Your romantic self.

Your social media self.

But you haven’t sat quietly long enough to meet your real self — the one behind all roles.

That self doesn’t perform. It just is.

But it’s buried under years of noise, fear, pressure, and pretending.

Until you meet that real self, you will dislike the one you’ve become.

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8. YOU CARRY TOO MUCH GUILT

Guilt for past mistakes.

Guilt for not being a better parent.

Guilt for yelling.

For quitting.

For lying.

For being silent when you should’ve spoken.

But no one teaches us how to forgive ourselves.

So the guilt becomes identity. And identity becomes dislike.

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9. YOU THINK YOU SHOULD BE SOMEONE ELSE BY NOW

“I should be more successful.”

“I should be more confident.”

“I should be thinner.”

“I should be calmer.”

“I should’ve figured it out.”

This pressure creates a deep resentment toward your present self — who never feels enough.

So even when you accomplish something, it’s short-lived.

You immediately jump to the next flaw.

You dislike yourself because you’ve made perfection the standard.

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10. YOU NEVER ALLOW YOURSELF TO REST, PLAY, OR FEEL JOY WITHOUT GUILT

You rest and feel lazy.

You enjoy and feel undeserving.

You laugh and feel indulgent.

You succeed and feel it’s luck.

You take a break and feel you’re falling behind.

You’ve been taught that you must earn joy.

And that belief becomes poison — it stops you from experiencing the very things that make self-love possible.

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CONCLUSION:

You don’t dislike yourself because something is wrong with you.

You dislike yourself because you’ve been living against yourself for too long.

You were trained to be liked by others — not by yourself.

So you became everything that the world approved of.

But in the process, you lost the one relationship that matters most: you with you.

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THE FIRST STEP?

Stop fixing. Stop improving. Stop pleasing.

Just sit. Be with yourself. Watch. Listen.

Like you would with a long-lost friend who’s been crying inside for years.

You’re not broken.

You’re buried.

And you’re tired of the mask.

That’s why you don’t like yourself.

But now you know.

And that changes everything.

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HEALING DIALOGUE: “WE DID EVERYTHING RIGHT. WHY DON’T WE LIKE OURSELVES?”

Setting: A quiet afternoon at Madhukar the Healer’s mud home near Bidar. A large upper-middle-class family from Bidar has arrived — grandparents, parents, grown-up children, and their spouses. They’ve all achieved something: degrees, jobs, reputations, assets. Yet, a deep unease, bitterness, and self-loathing shadows each of them.

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CHARACTERS

Appaji (73): Retired headmaster. Built the family name. Now restless, bitter, feels forgotten.

Avva (68): Homemaker. Feels unappreciated. Craves respect, but also self-doubts.

Ravi (48): Son. Government officer. Respected, tired, secretly hates himself for being harsh.

Savita (45): Daughter-in-law. School teacher. Feels like a machine. Thinks she has no real life.

Pooja (25): Their daughter. Engineer. Good job in Bengaluru. Polished, perfectionist, emotionally numb.

Manu (22): Their son. MBA student. Overachiever. Feels fake and addicted to external validation.

Suma (19): Their niece. Doing B.Sc. Feels she’s “nothing” in comparison. Always anxious.

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[Scene: The family is seated on a jute mat. Madhukar, dressed simply in a dhoti, listens silently as they begin.]

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Ravi:

Madhukar… you might find this odd. We’re not here for a physical illness.

It’s something else. Something we don’t know how to name.

We’ve achieved everything — degrees, careers, land, marriage.

But none of us… like ourselves.

Madhukar (gently):

That’s the illness of this age, Ravi.

You’ve all succeeded outwardly. But inwardly, you’re strangers.

Tell me — when was the last time any of you sat with yourself in silence?

Savita:

Silence? (laughs bitterly)

Silence is terrifying. That’s when all the guilt comes.

I start remembering everything I’ve done wrong.

How I rushed through motherhood. How I shouted at my children. How I faked smiles for years.

Pooja:

Same here. If I sit silently, I feel hollow.

Even at work, I’m praised. But I feel like a robot.

Every day I wake up and play a role. Even with friends. Even with my boyfriend.

No one knows the real me… including me.

Appaji (sighing):

In my time, I thought if I educated my family, gave them status… they would be proud.

But now I feel like a failure. Nobody listens to me.

I sit at home like a forgotten statue. I don’t even know what I want anymore.

Madhukar:

Tell me honestly, Appaji…

Do you like the man you became to give this family respect?

Appaji (silent for a moment):

No.

I became strict, cold, feared.

People respected me, yes. But they never came close.

Even my own son was scared of me.

Ravi (murmuring):

Still am, Appa.

Avva (tears in eyes):

And I became the ideal wife, mother, cook, cleaner.

But I never learned to speak for myself.

Now, when I look in the mirror, I see a woman who served everyone…

And didn’t even think she deserved to rest.

Suma (quietly):

Amma tells me to become like Akka (Pooja).

But I don’t even know who I am.

I study, smile, behave. But inside, I feel worthless.

Like I’m already behind in a race I didn’t even want to run.

Madhukar:

You are all tired — not from doing too little, but from doing too much that didn’t match who you really were.

You wore every mask this society demanded:

The obedient child

The shining student

The respectable husband

The silent wife

The high performer

The good girl

But in the process, you rejected your true self.

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Manu:

But if we didn’t follow all this…

How would we have survived? Won respect?

What were we supposed to do? Be rebellious?

Madhukar:

You could have still studied, worked, earned…

But with honesty, not performance.

With pauses, not pretending.

With expression, not emotional constipation.

Instead, you survived by abandoning yourself.

And now that success is here…

You’re haunted by the person you became to achieve it.

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Pooja:

So how do we come back to ourselves?

Madhukar:

Slowly. Gently. Like you would return to a forgotten home.

1. Stop improving. Start observing.

No more fixing. Just start seeing your daily betrayals of self — your fake smiles, silenced truth, over-politeness, swallowed tears.

2. Speak your truth — even if your voice shakes.

Start with small things. “I’m tired.” “I don’t want to go.” “I feel lost.”

Say them out loud. Break the silence. That’s the door back in.

3. Do one thing daily that brings you joy — not respect.

Sing badly. Sit in the sun. Make something. Laugh. Cry.

Joy is where the real self waits.

4. Forgive your past selves.

You did what you could with what you knew.

You were trying to belong. Survival is not sin.

5. Return to the body.

Touch soil. Bathe slowly. Breathe deeply.

Your body has always known who you are.

6. Rethink your idea of achievement.

If it cost you your peace, it wasn’t success.

From now, success is: “I can look in the mirror without flinching.”

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Savita (crying softly):

I’ve never thought of liking myself.

Only being useful.

Only being needed.

Madhukar:

And now you are burnt out.

Usefulness without self-worth becomes slavery.

Appaji:

And what use is a name, respect, house…

If I can’t sit peacefully with myself for even five minutes?

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Madhukar (smiling gently):

Exactly.

From now on, let your healing begin not with “what more should I do”…

But with “what parts of me need to be heard, held, hugged, and brought back home?”

You are not broken.

You are just distant from your truth.

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[The family sits silently. No one is rushing now. No one pretending. The first time in decades — they are just present. Not for respect. Not for success. Just to recover the person they left behind.]

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A POEM FOR THOSE WHO DON’T LIKE THEMSELVES

(For the family in Bidar, and for the world that forgot how to sit with itself)

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They did everything right.

Marked every box.

Tucked every shirt.

Folded every doubt.

Ate with manners.

Spoke with filters.

And walked the path paved by other people’s fears.

They became

engineers,

officers,

mothers,

managers,

caretakers,

and contributors to conversations they didn’t care about.

But not once,

not once

did they become themselves.

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They were told:

Obey first.

Shine next.

Marry soon.

Bear it all.

Smile politely.

Succeed quietly.

And if you feel anything — keep it hidden.

So they did.

They hid their chaos.

They hid their poetry.

They hid their honest no.

They hid their longing to dance in the rain with their sarees tucked up.

They hid the urge to scream,

to break the cup,

to sleep for three days without explaining why.

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They memorized multiplication tables.

But forgot how to play.

They mastered email etiquette.

But forgot how to say: “I’m scared.”

They earned degrees.

But never learned how to like the person earning them.

They achieved.

And achieved.

And achieved.

Until their calendars were full

and their insides were empty.

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They thought love was duty.

They thought rest was laziness.

They thought crying was weakness.

They thought peace was something you earn after forty years of stress.

So they waited.

For a Sunday that never came.

For a holiday where the mind would shut up.

For someone to finally say,

“You’ve done enough. You can be now.”

But no one came.

Because they never came to themselves.

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Now they sit in silence,

not spiritual silence —

but that awkward, itchy, brutal kind.

The kind that asks:

“Do you even know who you are, without performance?”

“Do you like the person who looks back at you when no one is watching?”

Most don’t.

Because that person is tired.

That person is buried.

That person was abandoned to keep society happy.

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But listen closely.

That self is still there.

Not dead — just exiled.

Not lost — just waiting.

In your breath.

In your childhood scribbles.

In the song you hum when no one listens.

In the questions you were too busy to ask.

It is not too late.

You don’t need to be better.

You just need to be real.

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Throw away the applause.

The perfect poses.

The tight faces.

The designer shame.

Sit down.

Take off your shoes.

Touch the earth.

Cry if you must.

Laugh if it comes.

But for once in your life —

Be with yourself

without needing to fix yourself.

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Because liking yourself

is not a reward for success.

It is the permission

to be honest in your bones

and gentle with your own failures.

You were not born to perform.

You were born to feel, fall, pause, heal.

You were born to live — not just be respected.

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And liking yourself,

quietly, deeply, without applause —

is the most rebellious thing you can do

in a world that taught you to hate your own shadow.

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