Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Self-loathing

(This post comes from a reader named John Joseph.)

One effect of my early childhood sexual abuse has been self-loathing. For the longest time I didn’t understand that was what I was dealing with. I thought I was just so messed up that I didn’t deserve the air I was breathing. I constantly compared myself to others, especially men, and I never measured up. The problem with that perspective is that it kept me from being the best me that I could be.

Self-loathing is an emotional habit rooted in envy. As a child my body was never as big as the men who abused me. They were taller, stronger, and their genitalia were bigger. I could never measure up. I can see clearly now that my lifetime of irrational comparisons was founded in those moments of abuse in which I was weaker and the abusers stronger. It wasn’t a fair fight. I was a child.

My continuum of self-loathing ran from a minor comparison of hair or height to athleticism or financial status. At best, it caused an irritation. At worst, it caused deep anxiety and self-destructive behavior such as addiction or depression. A few times I was so distressed by not being like someone else that I despaired and could have taken my life.

The cure for self-loathing I have found, is to recognize that envy hurts me. I am learning to celebrate myself—my body, and my lot in life. What I have is what I have. Comparing myself to others causes me to devalue myself. As I grow in recovery my goal is to love and appreciate who I am and to resist falling into the abyss of self-loathing.

3 comments:

Unknown said...

I know this all to well - It's is still a struggle.
I can look in the mirror & say - "It's ok to be me"
I used to hate the image that looked back at me.

Anonymous said...

Larry, I wanted to let you know that I read your comment and appreciate it. It makes it way more difficult for me when I post a comment and there is no response.

Joiseph said...

I too compared myself to the men who wanted me. For many years I thought masculinity was what hung between a man's legs, and I didn't "measure" up. To a young boy, every man in larger, and the resulting comparing is one of the abuse / molestation's sad results. My wife was perfectly satisfied with me, but all my married life I felt less than a man. It was after she died that I sought a counselor and began to understand what masculinity was, and that I am a man, in spite of the abuse and the walls I build around me to protect my wounded self. The walls are down, and I am progressing. Thank God with all my heart.