If you had asked me a few years ago what I thought of myself, I don’t think I would have admitted it out loud but deep down, I genuinely believed there was something wrong with me.
Not because anyone had ever said those exact words.
But because it was the only explanation I could find.
Why did I feel things so deeply?
Why did I overthink everything?
Why did I struggle to trust people?
Why did I find it so difficult to ask for help?
Why did I always feel like I had to prove my worth?
Why did I work so hard just to feel like I belonged?
I wasn’t just looking for answers.
I was looking for a diagnosis.
Something that would explain why everyone else seemed to find life easier than I did.
For years, I judged myself for the very things that had once protected me.
I judged my anxiety.
My sensitivity.
My need for reassurance.
My independence.
My tendency to withdraw when I felt overwhelmed.
I thought these parts of me were flaws.
Things I needed to overcome.
Things I needed to fix.
I spent so much of my life trying to become less like me.
Slowly, through reading, therapy, spirituality, reflection, and a willingness to ask difficult questions things started changing….shifting.
I stopped asking,
“What’s wrong with me?”
And started asking,
“What happened to me?”
That question changed everything.
Because suddenly my behaviours made sense.
The little girl who cried silently beneath her duvet wasn’t weak. She was lonely.
The teenager who hid her feelings wasn’t cold. She was protecting herself.
The woman who believed she had to earn love wasn’t needy. She had simply learned that love felt uncertain.
The counsellor who worked herself to exhaustion wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She was trying to prove she was worthy of staying.
Every part of me that I had criticised suddenly made perfect sense.
One of the biggest shifts in my healing came when I realised something I had never considered before.
My mind had never been working against me.
It had been working for me.
Every anxious thought.
Every protective instinct.
Every wall I built.
Every belief I carried.
They all had one purpose.
To keep me safe.
They weren’t mistakes.
They were survival strategies.
And survival strategies are not character flaws.
They are evidence that, somehow, we found a way to keep going.
For years, I looked at my life through the question,
“Why can’t I be different?”
Now I find myself asking something much kinder.
“Why was I expecting myself to be different?”
If another eleven-year-old child had experienced what I experienced, would I expect her to come out untouched?
Of course not.
I would understand.
I would have compassion.
So why was I refusing to offer that same compassion to myself?
I often think about that little girl now.
Not with sadness.
Not with pity.
But with admiration.
She kept going.
She learned to adapt.
She found ways to survive.
She grew into someone who devoted her life to helping children feel seen, supported, and safe.
Perhaps she didn’t become despite her experiences.
Perhaps she became because of them.
That doesn’t mean I am grateful for every painful thing that happened.
Some things should never happen to children.
But I can be grateful for the strength that grew alongside the pain.
Healing has taught me that two things can be true at the same time.
You can acknowledge that something hurt you…without allowing it to define you.
You can recognise that your past shaped you…without believing it has to limit your future.
You can carry compassion for the person you were…while gently becoming someone new.
One of the greatest acts of healing has been learning to stop arguing with who I am.
I no longer see my sensitivity as a weakness.
It allows me to connect deeply with the children I work with.
I no longer see my empathy as something that makes life harder.
It allows people to feel understood.
I no longer see my resilience as something I earned because I had no choice.
I see it as part of my story.
Every part of me has a purpose.
Even the parts I once wanted to erase.
There is a quote that says,
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”
I think healing has taught me to take that one step further.
Be kind…to yourself.
Because you are also someone whose story deserves understanding.
For years, I believed I needed to become someone else before I could finally love myself.
Now I realise something beautifully simple.
The person who needed my love the most…was me.
Sometimes I wonder how different my life might have been if someone had sat beside that little girl all those years ago and whispered,
“There is nothing wrong with you.”
“You’re responding exactly as any child would.”
“You are not broken.”
“You are loved.”
I can’t go back and say those words to her.
But I can say them now.
And perhaps that is what healing really is.
Not becoming someone different.
But finally giving yourself the kindness you have always deserved.
Because maybe…
Just maybe…
There was never anything wrong with you at all.
