I’ve always dealt with self-esteem issues. I was born to very damaged parents who were dealing with their own pain, and couldn’t give me something they didn’t have.
Between the two of them, there were eight marriages and five engagements. Trust and security were not things that I ever knew, or understood.
Their insecurities made their judgment and condemnation palpable.
As an adult who has done a ton of healing, I now understand this. But as an eight-year-old trying to find herself in this enormous world, I was only taught to hate myself, just like they did.
As a child, compliments were only back-handed. My appearance was only a negative. When my mom looked at me, all she saw were her own perceived inadequacies.
“You’re so skinny!” to most people would be a huge compliment, but coming from her it was mean, degrading, and full of animosity. It was always said with such angst and disgust.
When I was 10 years old, my mom and I went to the Mall. I was in the dressing room trying on jeans and as I looked in the mirror, I was horrified. I shouted over the door to my mom, “These make my butt look too small!! My legs are too long!! Uggg! I’m too skinny!!!”
The woman in the adjacent dressing room peaked from under the divider, saying, “I’m sorry, I just had to see who was saying such ludicrous things!”
I was totally humiliated, as she and my mom just laughed.
I felt like I had just discovered that I was deformed AND stupid.
I stood there in the dressing room not knowing what to do.
Was I wrong for these thoughts, or am I ALSO an idiot?
My mother often told this story, and always with ridicule and dismissive laughter. For her, it was a tale about how silly I was for doubting my appearance, but for me it was a memory of shame and how much I hated myself. I was dumb and ugly.
Regularly, between the ages of 10 and 18, I was approached to do modeling. Every time this happened she became enraged. She would scream at me claiming that they were either child molesters or con artists — because there was NO way their interest was professional or sincere.
When I did model (fully clothed, print and runway work) she was disgusted and enraged. She said I was exhibiting sinful sexuality and hoped the experience was worth my soul burning in hell for eternity.
As a child, I was an inconvenience. As a teenager, I was her competition. She would segregate me to my room or tell me not to “look good” so her dates wouldn’t want me instead of her. It confused me. How could I be gross and competition? I concluded it was beyond my comprehension, because I was also dumb.
When it came to my dad, he was absent until I was 7. When he resurfaced, seeing me was used as a cover for his affairs. We would stop by his mistress’s house on the way home to his wife and my brother. He would tell me what to say when we got “home” and how to maintain his life of lies.
I was 13 when he stopped hugging me, or having any physical contact. It was the day after his birthday. His 4th wife stormed in to my room, screaming that I was too old to be sitting on his lap. She scolded me and told me that it would never happen again!
Evidently, the night before, when I sat on my dad’s lap to sing him “Happy Birthday” one of his friends made an obscene comment. This “friend” asked whether I was going to remain his daughter, or become his next mistress.
From that point on, I was no longer my dad’s daughter. I was just another female that he could throw away, or replace with another child.
If you take this little girl and then add the guilt, shame, and fear from religion, it leaves a woman who is full of holes. Someone always looking for something or someone to fill the tormenting voids.
I looked. I searched far and wide for anything to ease my battered self-esteem. The more I tried to fill the gaps, the deeper and wider they grew.
People would say and do the most wonderful things for me, but the initial elation and feelings of being loved never lasted. I could cherish the memories of kindness, but the feelings of being fulfilled vanished.
No one ever made me feel whole for more than just a moment.
I accused them of insincerity, or only saying what I wanted to hear.
I blamed them when the results of their actions, didn’t last in my soul.
I blamed everyone else, because I felt like a total piece of shit.
The thing about self-esteem is that no one can repair it for you. No one’s words can make you see what you can’t see. No one’s good deeds will ever prove to you that you’re valuable, if you don’t know your worth.
But while no one can give you self-esteem, they can take it away.
Other’s words cannot genuinely build you, but they can destroy you.
Words are either putty or pickaxes on the foundation of insecurity.
Nice words can be the putty that patches a wound temporarily, but once that pickax makes its first dent, everything crumbles.
You collapse, unless that foundation is strong.
You must know your worth. Easier said than done, right? Not really.
Actions build self-esteem. Results breed confidence. Overcoming obstacles gives you strength.
I did all of that. I purchased and remodeled my home, MYSELF. I raised a child on my own who has become a great man. I succeeded in my career, always rising to the top of my field.
I had confidence in so many aspects of my life, so why did I still feel so unlovable?
Then one day I heard some guy giving a self-help chat about love and our connections to each other.
He had us do an experiment. We were to remember a time when we felt the most loved. To feel the emotions we felt then, as if it was happening again. He told us to focus on and accept that love. I thought of the nice things people said or had done for me and a smile crossed my face.
After giving us time to ponder and feel those emotions, he then asked us to give love. Instead of wanting love, we were to give it away. The recipient had to be special, but not a child because of the natural love and bonds that occur with your offspring. The focus of this part of the experiment was someone that you chose to love.
Based on these parameters I thought of my nieces and my dog because with them I feel the closest thing to unconditional love.
While doing this part of the exercise I was overwhelmed with warmth and closeness. I wanted to kiss and squeeze them until I collapsed from exhaustion. I became emotional just thinking of how special they are to me. I was full of love.
The speaker explained that the only way to truly feel love, is to give it away.
I had heard the cliché so many times, but this time it was proven through this exercise.
I finally understood.
Over the years, I had built my confidence by doing hard and scary things, but for the first time I felt unimpaired.
I felt like I had just discovered that I had another arm, that had been all along, I just didn’t realize it.
I truly felt loved because I knew that I could give love.
Instead of searching and crying over what I perceived I wasn’t getting, I just had to give it.
I have found it impossible to feel unlovable when I am loving others.
I realized that when someone who’s insecure receives love, it just falls through their holes. The love may coat the cavities with warmth and security, but for the anxious recipient, it is only temporary.
For a short time you feel whole, but minutes, hours, or days later, that glaze is gone and the voids are again exposed.
These gaping holes of self-worth are insatiable, so any generosity you’ve been shown eventually becomes insufficient.
Your self-esteem is Swiss cheese.
It all finally clicked. I realized that if love was lacking in my life, it was because I wasn’t being loving. If I wanted to feel more love, I had to give more love away.
No one could ever make me feel more loved than I do when I’m thinking of how much I love my Nieces and my dog.
No one could ever say or do anything that could take away that love. It is mine and depends on no one’s validation, acceptance, or even presence.
When there is no fear of loss, there are no insecurities.
I would no longer fear losing something that could never be lost.
My self-esteem was no longer Swiss cheese, but a foundation of strength and love.
A foundation that was protected by steel patches, not putty.
A foundation strong enough to give others something I didn’t even realize I had.
A foundation where I loved myself enough to be able to give that love away, and know, that I would never go without.
