There was a time in my life—mostly during my 20s—when I slowly became my worst self, and I didn’t even realize it right away.
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Nothing dramatic happened. No big fight. No major heartbreak. It all started in my mind.
I was convinced that people didn’t like me. Worse, I believed they were angry at me, even when I hadn’t done anything wrong. Every time I talked to someone—friends, relatives, even people I barely knew—I immediately felt like I had said or done something offensive. I would replay conversations in my head over and over, searching for mistakes that probably weren’t even there.
I became overly sensitive. Simple things affected me deeply. A delayed reply, a different tone, a small change in behavior—I took everything personally. I watched how people acted toward me and compared it to how they treated others, and in my mind, I always came up short. I started thinking, Maybe I’m really a bad person.
So instead of asking questions or clearing things up, I chose distance.
I isolated myself.
I stopped going out. I avoided meeting friends. I didn’t want to socialize, didn’t want to make new connections. Even my personality changed. I became easily irritated, suspicious, and short-tempered. I was always on edge. I got angry quickly, raised my voice, and honestly didn’t care anymore what people thought.
In my head, they already hated me—so I thought, Why not just hate back?
Looking back, it’s sad. I was punishing myself for things that weren’t even real. The truth was, people weren’t angry at me. They were actually treating me just fine. But fear, shame, and overthinking completely took over. My self-esteem disappeared. I wanted to stay hidden. Sometimes, I wished I could be invisible.
I didn’t even feel like celebrating my birthday. That’s how deep the negativity went. I felt stuck, scared, and embarrassed for reasons I couldn’t fully explain.
Then one day, my mother said something that woke me up.
She looked at me and said, “When are you going to change? I don’t recognize you anymore. You used to be happy, jolly, friendly. You had so many friends. Why are you like this now?”
It hurt. A lot. But it also stayed with me. Her words echoed in my mind for days.
Slowly, I started reflecting. I began to see how much I was hurting myself. So I prayed. I asked God to guide me, to teach me how to move forward, how to live right again.
I didn’t change overnight. I started small.
I tried being around people again. I joined my officemates instead of isolating myself. I practiced speaking up, even when I felt uncomfortable. And somewhere along the way, I started writing.
Writing became my safe space. It allowed me to release emotions I had bottled up for so long. Platforms like Hive played a huge role in my healing. Through writing, I felt seen. I felt heard. I slowly rebuilt my confidence, one post at a time.
Little by little, I let go of negative thoughts. I learned how to connect again. I took care of myself—not just how I looked, but how I treated myself inside.
One of the hardest lessons I learned is this: sometimes, we are the problem, and we don’t see it right away.
Making mistakes is not something I encourage—it’s painful, and it can cost us a lot. But in my case, those mistakes opened my eyes. They taught me accountability, humility, and growth. They reminded me how important it is to have people in our lives who tell us the truth with love.
And above all, they reminded me of the power of prayer.
I’m still learning. I’m still growing. But I’m no longer hiding.
And for that, I’m deeply grateful.
Thank you, Lord, for my life—and for helping me become better, one step at a time.