there has to be something magnificent about me
the little girl who ran the show, the karmic debt I kept paying, and why I’m done proving my worth
"Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. The way it tunnels into you allows your soul room to grow. The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way."
— Janet Fitch, White Oleander
Every tear I shed is for the little girl that walks beside me—the girl who often feels unseen and unloved. Easily forgotten. Unworthy. I try to recall the earliest memory of this feeling, but perhaps it’s for the best that I don’t remember. Maybe it just happened over time.
Time after time, experiences and people reminded me that I do not matter—that the only time people ever really need me is when I can do something for them.
I saw a TikTok last night of a girl sharing her diary entries, and it had an effect on me.
I think we harbor a lot of shame around sharing our feelings. It always makes me cry, seeing others have the courage to share theirs. It reminds me that no matter how alone we feel, there’s someone out there who feels the same. That thought brings me comfort.
Reading her entries helped me realize one thing:
The part of me that has such an intense desire for love and connection is the six-year-old girl who simply stopped receiving it.
The part of me that drives around my hometown. Sits alone and watches television. Goes to the mall alone. Gets coffee alone. Travels alone.
Adult me is satisfied, happy, and thriving. The flicker of self-doubt—the quiet Are you sure?—is the six-year-old girl with divorced parents, an alcoholic mother, and a sometimes-present father.
My mother had a lot of boyfriends when I was growing up. It would have been fine if they weren’t terrible people. She drank and partied. Got engaged and divorced once or twice.
I saw my dad on weekends—sometimes. Sometimes, he wouldn’t come get us. He got into one long-term relationship when I was a kid. I was happy he didn’t forget about me and my siblings, but I was jealous that he was happy with his new family.
My parents tell me they love me, and I don’t believe them. Frankly, part of it is because I have no reason to. My dad tries his best. We spend time together. We see movies. He tells me he loves me, and part of me wonders if he’s just saying it out of obligation.
I’m not close to my mother and haven’t felt an emotional connection to her since I was nineteen. She tells me she loves me in passing, and I respond. She hugs me and I stiffen. Sometimes we talk, and I get annoyed.
My friends tell me they like me. They reassure me. But there’s a nagging feeling deep inside that tells me that’s not true. Self-protection. Paranoia. Hyper-vigilance. All three. I don’t know.
What I do know is that the part of me that keeps me on high alert is still very much a child. If you expect disappointment, there’s never an actual opportunity to be disappointed. And for most of my life, the person responsible for me only let me down.
So, I’ve been letting a child run the show. And when I type that out, it seems silly.
I wouldn’t let my six-year-old sister give me directions to her elementary school. Why would I let my inner child tell me that everyone secretly hates me?
Or that I don’t deserve to be loved?
I spoke about patterns a few essays ago. I believe I seek out the individuals I do because I have an intense subconscious desire to understand why my mother was unable to love me and show me affection. This hasn’t worked in my favor, but has instead reaffirmed this core wound I have. I don’t think I want to refer to it as a belief, because I don’t want to believe in it anymore.
I’m using people to play out this twisted form of karmic debt. I keep thinking if I work a bit harder than last time, I can rewrite the script. I feel as though I owe those individuals an apology. I owe my friends one too. Because if this proves anything, it’s that I am lovable. I am worthy.
I’ve put these people through the wringer, and they stayed anyway. My friends could have dropped me when we were kids and never spoken to me again, but they didn’t. They kept choosing me.
There has to be something magnificent about me.
Adele wrote Chasing Pavements after a break-up. It came on shuffle while I was writing this, and I kept circling this idea. We spend a good chunk of our lives believing that if we try hard enough, we can make people love us. I spent most of my life chasing pavement, trying to get my mom to see that I was worthy of her time. I was more than an obligation—I was a being that needed to be nurtured, deserving of that nurturance simply by existing.
As I spend my 20s parenting myself, I’m realizing that this is difficult work. And not a lot of people are really up to the task. They say parenting doesn’t stop when your child becomes an adult. I think it applies in this scenario too. I’ll never be perfect and will likely always make mistakes. There will always be something new for me to learn or a part of me to “fix.”
I learned my value system from everything I did not want to be. Every single thing I wish someone had done for me. I gave out kindness to get it back. Empathy. Consideration. Love. I believe in doing the Right thing. The Hard Thing. Because it matters.
So, as I circle this idea like a hawk—maybe it can finally be a way to give myself permission to let it go.
You cannot force someone to love you. You cannot prove your worth. And it’s okay to stop trying.
And when a great love does come, it’s okay to give yourself permission to feel that too.
I hope my inner child is proud of me. I get up every day for her. I think about what she wants for breakfast. Remind her she should probably go for a walk or to the gym. To smile at others. Say please and thank you. Hold open doors for the elderly. Because the world is cruel enough, and our job is to not add to it. And through this act—I know I would make a very good mother one day.
What a joy it is to be alive. What joy to have this opportunity.
If this cracked something open in you, good. Me too.
💌 Find more essays like this under Girl on the Verge or Woman on the Cusp.
🌀 Start here if you’re new or just lost and spiraling gently.