Self-Hate Jailbreak

On internalized self-hatred, coping through addiction, and the tool that broke the cycle.

It feels reasonable, even in retrospect, to assume that I’d at least have been aware of how deeply I despised myself.

Taming the bully.

1. The Bully

Having an angry, disdainful, mocking inner voice – spewing venom at the least provocation – felt perfectly normal. The worst bully from middle school was in my head, endlessly ripping into me, always searching for the slightest flaw. He was a mole on my neck, the ache in my right shoulder - an old, unremarkable part of me I’d long ago grown used to.

Being someone regularly described as kind, empathetic, and caring made this extra ridiculous. I was a great teammate, a pleasure to work with, and a good friend. How was I simultaneously laying into myself with a stream of profanity any time I spilled a few drops of coffee?

I was an absolute master at avoiding any hint of introspection. I may have hated myself, but the moment I started to realize that, or just looked in that general direction, I’d find a way to avoid thinking about it. I’d honed this through the years, first with binge reading, then video games, finally advancing to alcohol, spurred on by PTSD acquired in my twenties. I needed things that would numb me and turn off my brain - anything to keep me from having to listen to the bully.

I was miserable, deeply unhealthy, unable to maintain a relationship - and had a great system for avoiding admitting any of this to myself, let alone others.

2. The Question

I’m still in awe, and a tad annoyed, by the simplicity of the mental subterfuge employed by my therapist to finally get me to see my internalized hatred for what it was.

I had two very separate, but very active realities playing out in my head. I aimed to treat those around me with kindness and compassion - core values of mine. I treated myself with disdain and disgust - traits I couldn’t stand in others.

To combat this, my therapist introduced me to a tool to use after hearing the bully in my head - a question that every time I asked it would force those two realities to merge, and make me confront the extreme dissonance within me:

“What would you say to a close friend?”

For example, after knocking over a glass:

• To myself: Groaning, with a disgusted shake of my head. “You idiot, what were you thinking? What is wrong with you?”

• To a close friend: With a concerned face, and compassionate look. “Oh no! Let me grab some paper towels. Seriously, don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal at all.”

Or after realizing I forgot to buy something at the grocery store:

• To myself: With a disdainful look and grunt of annoyance, “Are you kidding me? Again?? What is going on with you? You can’t even do something that simple? Were you even thinking at all?”

• To a close friend: With a smile and brief touch on the shoulder, “Hey no problem at all, we can just run down to the corner and grab it. This happens to everyone, no need to beat yourself up about it.”

The difference in tone, words, facial expressions, and how I felt in my body was extreme, even in these simple examples. I couldn’t help but immediately see how radically differently I was treating myself from others. For the first time in my life, I viscerally understood what self-hatred was.

As I became more aware of this inner bully, I found examples of this dismissive tone several times a day. Every time I was able to stop the internal lambasting felt like a win, and the growth was multidimensional. I was both being kinder to myself, and becoming far more self-aware and introspective. Just by noticing my inner bully, and asking that one question, I was able to make gradual improvement.

This tool was unequivocally helping. I was learning about myself, and for the first time in my life, not stoking the fires of self-hatred. I was creating a small but sturdy foundation of compassion for myself, each act of kindness a vote towards believing I was worthy of existing in this world, and not just a failure and waste of space. But being kind to yourself when you drop and break a plate is one thing - finding kindness when you’ve legitimately messed up is a whole different beast.

3. Accountability

At this point in my life I had started to fall into a dangerous trap. I despised myself to a point where it became an excuse for behavior not in line with my values. 

Break up with someone out of nowhere, after letting them think everything is great? Oh I’m just broken and undateable, and I’m doing them a favor by not dragging things out.

Ignore a friend’s repeated requests to hang out, and then finally make up an excuse for why you can’t see them? I’d be boring to hang out with anyway, as all I want to do is stay home and read, so they wouldn’t want to see me.

Agree to finally see a friend, then drink 3 beers in the first hour and spend the rest of the night talking about myself? We were just drinking, it was fine! That’s what people do when they hang out! I had a good time, so they must’ve also.

This last example I was having particular trouble with. At this point, I had a life full of memories of doing dumb, hurtful, annoying things to people I cared about while drinking. I had an immense amount of shame and self-hatred bottled up around this behavior, and in all honesty there were valid reasons for it.

I was in a self-perpetuating cycle of shame and escapism. 

I drank to escape feeling terrible about how I treated people when I drank.

I desperately needed to stop, to break the cycle, but how? It felt like my house of cards would come tumbling down if I upset this careful balance of chemically induced ignorance.

I already possessed the tool I needed, I just hadn’t learned how to turn it up to the required intensity. I don’t recall exactly what triggered it, but I remember waking up one morning feeling hungover and deeply ashamed. I had let someone down, or made someone uncomfortable, or been annoying, or likely a combination of all three. At this point I knew that endlessly berating myself wasn’t the solution. I’d end up feeling so terrible that more drinking would be inevitable. So I tried using my new tool. I asked myself, what would I say to a close friend who was in this situation?

I immediately felt my body rebel. How dare I try to escape from my shame? I needed to atone for my actions, I needed to deeply feel like the absolute scum I was. Who was I to try and avoid the consequences of my drinking?

I took a few deep breaths and went on a walk around the block. Then I asked myself again - what would I say to a close friend? But it still didn’t land. I realized the question needed some more substance in this scenario. I needed to properly visualize a situation in which this conversation might happen. So I asked myself - If I was getting coffee right now with a close friend, and they confided in me that they were feeling really ashamed around how they had acted last night, what would I say to them?

This time, the answer wasn’t obvious. It was emphatically not, “Oh don’t worry about it! These things happen. Everyone does it.” I did need to worry about it. I wasn’t acting how I wanted. But the answer was also not, “Well, you need to just sit here all day and feel completely horrible about it. I know you well, and you’re a genuinely repulsive person, and this is exactly the type of behavior I expect out of you. Honestly, I have no idea why we’re getting coffee right now. In fact, I’m going to leave, please never talk to me again.” As much as I felt like I might deserve that response, I knew that wouldn’t be what I would say to someone I cared for.

So, I dug deeper. It took several tries, and my inner hater attempted to hijack the conversation more than once. But eventually I was able to come up with a genuine response:

“Oh man. First, thanks for sharing that with me. I appreciate you trusting me enough to bring this up. I care about you, and this is a tough situation you’re in. I’m not going to tell you that I think what you did last night is ok, but I also know that you’re so capable of doing better than that, and it doesn’t represent who you are as a person. I’ve known you for a long time, and have seen you at your best and worst, and your best is pretty amazing. I know that the person you were last night is not who you want to be, so let’s talk about what caused that, and what you can do from today on to make amends, move forward, and do better.”

This kind of thoughtful, caring yet honest response landed, and was what I needed to hear.

Over time, I came to realize that I was learning more than how to not hate myself. I was learning how to hold myself accountable, as that’s what I’d do with someone I truly cared for. I wouldn’t let them off the hook, I wouldn’t tell them their behavior was fine. But I would be kind, caring, and ultimately honest. Telling a friend that their bad behavior is justifiable is not an act of friendship, but one of appeasement and enablement. I needed accountability and reassurance, and over time I taught myself how to provide it.

I had the tool I needed, but this was not an instant transformation. Month after month I gradually built up my self-compassion and accountability, while draining the pool of shame I’d been submersed in. I built up the habit of taking a breath, placing a hand on my chest, and finding myself some compassion. At times I failed, but more often I succeeded.

4. The Present

As the shame and self-hate receded, I found it easier to drink a bit less. If I bought a six pack after a rough day and had a few drinks, I was able to give myself some compassion the next morning and break the cycle, making it a one-off instead of a multi-day (or multi-week) descent into heavy drinking and self-loathing.

I even began to see myself as that close friend, worthy and deserving of my love. Someone I could champion in his good moments, comfort in hard times, and hold accountable because I knew he could make mistakes but had a good core and was always capable of being better.

As I’m writing this, I haven’t had a drink in over a year and a half, and even the idea of having one rarely crosses my mind. I am proud of myself, but I don’t see my success as some triumph of will and determination over weakness. When filled with shame and self-hatred, I had no chance of giving up the one thing that allowed me to briefly feel good about myself. Instead, I’ve learned to treat myself with kindness, to the point where it feels intrinsic. As a result, the addiction has lost its purpose, and thus its stranglehold.

The bully still arises in me from time to time, six years after I first started confronting him. I find he lurks in old memories and situations, old neural pathways that I haven’t yet had the chance to re-train. The default instinct of disdain remains, and I expect to spend years yet stamping it out. Fortunately, reaching inward and finding some internal kindness has become second nature. Even better, finding such compassion for myself unlocks a wealth of genuine, deep compassion for those around me.

I spent the majority of my life drowning in self-hatred. I wish I could reach back in time to a younger me and let him know how wonderful life will be once he learns to show himself some kindness. He deserved to be aware of that bully in his head and the massive impact it was having on him. We all deserve that awareness of the demons lurking within us, and we deserve the tools needed to battle them and find a better way to live.

Resources

Think you might be a self-hater? Here are some practices for treating yourself more kindly:

First, notice how you react when you make a mistake. This can include your inner voice, but also consider facial expressions, emotions, and physical reactions. Even if you don’t hear an inner bully speaking, do you feel judgment, disgust, or shame welling up?

Next, ask yourself the question “What would I say to a close friend, someone I deeply care about?” 

Does your answer line up with how you’re treating yourself? If not, tell yourself what you’d tell that close friend in this situation. You can say it internally, out loud, or write it out.

• If you can’t immediately access the perspective of a close friend, consider returning to the exercise later. Finding that compassion for yourself, even much later, can still be extremely healing, and help you build up the mental muscles needed to access it more easily.

• I personally find writing the conversation out (by hand or typed) extremely helpful here, especially for more complex scenarios. It helps keep me focused, slows me down, and if I’m feeling a lot of resistance I can come back later to pick up where I left off.

If having a conversation with yourself isn’t working out, another option is writing yourself a letter. The prompt would be nearly the same - “What letter would I write to a close friend, someone I deeply care about, to help them through this situation?” I’ve found the change in format to be quite helpful in some circumstances, as it allows me to explore my motivations and struggles more deeply than an imagined conversation might.

Good luck, and please remember - this can be hard. It may not come naturally at first, and your bully will likely fight back. But doing this work is how you heal. Keep it up, you’re worth it.

Thank you for reading. If you’ve made it this far but haven’t yet subscribed, please do! More subscribers means more visibility on Substack. And as always, please take a few seconds to click that ♥️ button.