Nobody Likes You When You’re 23

A couple years ago, I was in one of the hardest times of my life. It’s, in fact, true that nobody likes you when you’re 23. I had no idea who I could trust. Even when I thought someone was worth letting in, I still couldn’t believe they didn’t have ulterior motives.

What would they try to take from me? What are they gaining from me? Are they putting on a façade? Am I the monster this person says I am? Am I the good person this other person says I am? Who am I?

Who am I?

The constant stream of thoughts and worrying about how I was perceived overtook every part of my being. It didn’t matter if it was at work or in my personal relationships; I felt unworthy unless I was overgiving myself— being the good girl I was raised to be… quiet. Respectful. Useful.

Even at my own expense.

At 25, I still struggle with certain things, but I no longer doubt my character. I know that I am kind and that I have a heart of gold. I will go to the ends of the earth for people I love. That doesn’t mean I don’t fuck up sometimes, but I can honestly say I have never purposefully gone out of my way to hurt someone.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t hurt people. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been selfish or completely unaware. Maybe in another person’s story, I was selfish or hurtful. I’ve accepted that. Two things can be true at once.

My biggest breakthrough was when I realized I cared so much more about other people’s experiences with me than I did my own experiences with them… which, by the way, is an honest detriment to oneself. It’s been hard to learn to take people at face value and honor my own feelings. Example being, instead of wondering if I’m good enough for someone to like, I’ve tried switching my thoughts to “Is this person worthy of having a place in my life?” or “Is this situation worthy of my energy?”

I always try to understand people and why they are the way they are. In fact, I’ve dedicated so much of my time and energy to psychoanalyzing every small detail front to back— making excuses for intolerable behavior because I “understood” why they were that way. I realized I had become addicted to being a people pleaser, shrinking myself to fit everyone else’s narrative— as well as to the idea of who I was as a person who never fucked up, because my intentions were always good.

As someone who has always been told I’m wise for my age, that I have a good head on my shoulders, I developed a bit of a God complex. I’ve been through so much in my short time that I thought I knew better than most people. For those who don’t know what that means, the definition is as follows: “An unshakable belief that one is superior and infallible, possessing a sense of inflated ability, privilege, and entitlement.”

I never thought of myself as better than others, per se, but I thought of myself as more knowledgeable. I thought I could help others by bestowing my own experiences onto them so they wouldn’t have to hurt the way I did. While there is truth in learning from others’ experiences, my problem was that I thought I could fix everyone who didn’t want (or need) fixing. Like it was my responsibility to heal everyone around me— and if they didn’t do the work, then I had to do it for them. Truthfully, not only was it not my place, but it was never my responsibility to take on in the first place.

It wasn’t for me to play God; it wasn’t for me to force people to learn their lessons before their time. That can even harm people from learning what they need to by processing everything for them. Why would I be living someone else’s life for them?

If no one has ever told you, please don’t lose yourself in the idea of saving someone else and using your “big heart” as your reasoning why. People need to hurt, reflect, and sit with the things they’ve been through and done. It’s not for you to filter out all the hard shit for them and caress their head while you’re absorbing all the pain. It’s not right, nor is it normal. Unfortunately, I had to unlearn how not normal that was—and sit with my own shit as well.

You can get backlash from that, too, as a means of learning boundaries— and from people not accepting this “new you,” because they can’t use you anymore. It hurts, but not as much as you not living your own life. This is YOUR life. You’re not here to live to please others, but to discover you. You’re not here to meet others’ expectations. You’re not here to be understood. You’re here to figure out yourself

When I look back on the time I’ve spent living in Nashville, I’ve realized that most of the patterns I struggled with at home still followed me here— with new names and faces. What was meant to be a fresh start still ended up being a fresh start— it just took time to realize that you can’t outrun yourself until it slaps you in the face a few more times. I got my self-worth from being important to others because I didn’t know how to value myself. That was my lesson, and still is something I’m learning— how does one finally put themselves first?

What is the difference between selfishness and self-preservation? What does life look like after giving up people-pleasing, and what does boundary-setting look like from here? Am I acting out of my trauma or my truth?

Putting yourself into the practice of newness after a lifetime of bad habits is like trying to teach an old dog new tricks. It’s a harder path— less taken, but more rewarding. Our brains are hardwired to choose what we know, even if the known is painful. It’s willfully being strong enough to hold up a torch in the darkest of your nights to the things better left unseen.

It’s staying present on the days you sit in your room alone, staring at the ceiling, wondering if it ever gets better while your tears run down your cheekbones. It’s accepting the fact that you have the control to do whatever you set your mind to, but not losing your mind on every small detail. It’s accepting you’re human and that you have flaws, too. It’s finally choosing yourself and not letting the imposter syndrome get in your head, making you sell yourself short and telling you that you aren’t worthy of a fuller life.

It’s in every small breath and reoccurring thought that turns into your habits. It’s in who you surround yourself with and where you pour your energy.

Life isn’t forever, and that’s the joy and the sorrow in it. Enjoy the journey for what it is. Take it seriously, but don’t forget to stop and absorb all you can as it’s happening— or else it’ll just pass you by.

At 23, I thought I might have been the world’s worst person to walk the earth and that nobody liked me.

At 25, I know my worth isn’t based on others’ opinions.