Just so you know, you’re never too old to hate yourself.
There is never an age that you hit where you’re completely together. Where you’ve achieved the distant “love yourself” pedestal. Where you have climbed to the top of the mountain and now, yes now, you have unlocked self-love. Congratulations, now you’re eternally happy. You will never feel that utter self-loathing ever again.
Ha. It doesn’t happen.
Because (you know…just so you know) there’s never an age where happiness is going to come easy. Where it’s presented all prettily next to the bouquets of body confidence and self-assurdeness and coupled with an abundance of live~laugh~love no matter the circumstances.
That’s just not how life works.
Because, just so you know, you’re never too old to question absolutely everything.
And yes, Mary Martha. I DO mean everything.
It doesn’t matter if you’re “past the age” when this is “acceptable.” It doesn’t matter if it’s not cute anymore or relatable anymore. It doesn’t matter if you’re monotonous or a broken record or boring absolutely everyone around you. It doesn’t matter if you want to stop or if you aren’t even aware that that’s where you’re at.
It doesn’t matter.
Your brain doesn’t care. The world doesn’t care. Society doesn’t care. Circumstances do. not. care.
Just so you know, no one cares what age you are if you feel like it’s time to be hating yourself.
In fact, realistically? Absolutely no one will care at all.
People are very internally obsessed, whether they admit it or not. They really do not notice most things or personalities or idiosyncratic tendencies or those little quirks, because said things do not directly impact outside people’s day to day. Think about it. Do you really concern yourself with who is sitting at home crying to themselves and obsessing over their own perceived failures? No.
Because at the end of the day, no matter what you chant in the mirror or repeat to yourself from 9-to-5, the opinion you care most about is your own.
But we’re our own worst critics aren’t we?
We see every pore, every wrinkle, every personality tick, and we pick, pick, pick. We hear the grate of our own laugh, the cadence of our own speech, the sniff between our more purposeful breaths, and we criticize. And further than that, we find every flaw, every aspect of ourselves that we deem “completely unlovable” and we analyze it to death until all we can do is clasp our hands over our ears and hope we stop being such bitches to ourselves for one fucking night.
Here’s the thing.
Hating yourself? Well, it’s universal.
It’s as normal as drinking a few beers on a Monday when you say you weren’t planning on it, as not doing laundry when you know you should fire up that machine. At some point, no matter how small the instigating reason, you’re going to hate yourself.
Deeply, entirely, consumingly.
And whether you like it or not, there’s never an age when that stops.
There’s never an age when you’re like, “nah I’m fine all day every day” and looking in the mirror is always a fun time. There’s never a day when self-love is unlocked forever and always and you never have to worry about waking up and hyperventilating about yourself again. There’s never an age where you will be immune to self-criticism.
Absolutely, positively, never.
Because, just so you know…
You’re absolutely never too old to hate yourself.
And you’re never too old to realize that that feeling will likely never go away. You just face the facts that you’re probably going to have to deal with it.
And maybe, that’s the only good thing about getting older.
You figure out how to deal with it. No matter what.
Even when, no matter how old you are, you totally hate yourself.