Learning to Love Oneself After Years of Self-Criticism

I used to believe that if I pushed myself hard enough, criticized myself constantly, and held impossibly high standards, I would somehow earn worth. That my value would be proven through perfection. And for most of my life, that belief shaped everything—my choices, my relationships, and especially how I treated myself.

Growing up, I wasn’t taught how to be kind to myself. I was taught to strive. Praise came when I excelled. Attention arrived when I performed. Mistakes were corrected with sharp tones and even sharper words. I carried that voice inside me as I grew, convinced it was necessary. After all, how else do you get better?

But here’s the truth: Constant self-criticism doesn’t make you stronger. It makes you smaller. It chips away at your confidence, your joy, and your sense of self until all that’s left is a person who doubts their every move.

I became that person.

By my early twenties, I was excelling on paper. I had a steady job, a decent apartment, and a long-term relationship. But internally? I was falling apart. Every day felt like a performance. I wore makeup like armor and smiled through the anxiety that never quite went away.

My inner monologue was relentless:

"You're not working hard enough."

"You looked awkward in that conversation."

"Everyone is doing better than you."

"You should be thinner, smarter, more interesting."

I thought this voice was helping me. I believed it kept me disciplined and motivated. But over time, I began to notice how exhausted I felt. How joyless I had become. I avoided mirrors, not because of how I looked, but because of what I thought when I saw myself.

And then came the burnout.

I was in the middle of a presentation at work when my hands began to shake. My voice trembled. My vision blurred slightly, and my heart raced. I barely made it through the slides. When it was over, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried.

That night, I didn’t sleep. For the first time, I wasn’t afraid because of what someone else said—I was afraid of what I was saying to myself. And I realized: If a friend talked to me the way I talked to myself, I would walk away. So why was I still listening?

The journey to self-love didn’t begin with some magical moment of enlightenment. It began with one small act of rebellion against that inner critic. I wrote myself a letter.

"Dear Me,

I know you’re tired. I know you’re trying. I see the effort, even when no one else does. I’m sorry I haven’t been kinder. I’m learning to support you, not sabotage you. Please hang in there."

It felt strange. Silly, even. But something shifted. I kept that letter. Reread it when the voice got too loud. And then I did the next thing: I started therapy.

Therapy didn’t fix everything overnight. In fact, it was uncomfortable. Sitting across from someone and admitting you don’t like yourself isn’t easy. But little by little, I learned to identify where that inner voice came from. It wasn’t me. It was a collection of voices, experiences, and messages I had internalized.

One exercise that stayed with me was writing down every critical thought I had for a week. I filled pages.

"You're boring."

"You're lazy."

"You're not enough."

When I read them aloud, I felt sick. Not because they were true—but because I had allowed them to live rent-free in my mind for years.

My therapist asked, "Would you ever say these things to a child?"

I shook my head.

"Then why say them to yourself?"

The next phase of healing was hard: replacing those thoughts with kinder ones. Affirmations felt fake at first. Saying things like "I am worthy" or "I am doing my best" didn’t land right away. But I said them anyway. Because I realized healing isn’t about feeling better right away—it’s about choosing better, over and over again.

I began to practice self-compassion. When I made a mistake, instead of spiraling, I reminded myself that everyone messes up. When I felt anxious, I didn't berate myself—I checked in. I asked, "What do you need right now?"

I also took social media breaks. I stopped following accounts that made me feel less-than. I unfollowed toxic fitness influencers and started following body-positive, mental health-focused pages. I surrounded myself with messages of healing.

One day, something unexpected happened.

I woke up, looked in the mirror, and didn’t wince.

I didn’t instantly analyze my dark circles or think about how my body looked in my pajamas. I just... saw myself. And I smiled.

It was subtle. Small. But it was real.

That was the day I knew the work was working.

Healing isn’t linear. Some days I still slip. I still compare, still doubt, still hear that old voice creep in. But now, I know how to answer back.

I remind myself of how far I’ve come. That self-love isn’t a finish line—it’s a practice. A relationship. A daily decision to treat myself with care.

I started journaling daily. Just a few lines about what I’m grateful for or proud of. I wrote things like:

"I stood up for myself today."

"I rested when I needed to."

"I forgave myself for an old mistake."

Each line was a brick in the foundation of a new self-image—not built on perfection, but on grace.

Eventually, I shared parts of my journey with friends. I was scared they’d see me as weak. Instead, they opened up too. One of them said, "I thought I was the only one who felt like that."

That’s when I realized: So many of us are silently suffering under the weight of our own expectations. We are our own harshest critics, when what we really need is to become our greatest supporters.

Moral of the Story:

Learning to love yourself doesn’t mean you think you’re perfect. It means you finally stop believing that you have to be. It means embracing the messy, beautiful, evolving human that you are—with compassion, forgiveness, and understanding.

You don’t need to earn your worth. You already have it.

And the moment you begin to speak to yourself with love instead of judgment, you begin to change everything—not just how you see yourself, but how you move through the world.

Because when the mirror finally smiles back, it’s not about your reflection. It’s about your recognition.

You are enough.

You always were.

Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi