You seem like someone who’s trying. You read self-help stuff voluntarily, which already puts you in the top tier of humanity. So why, when you burn dinner or forget a friend’s birthday, do you immediately go: “I’m useless,” “I ruin everything,” or my personal favorite: “I can’t do anything right.”
Really? Over a bolognese?
You wouldn’t say that to your best friend. Or your mom. Or probably even your houseplant. But somehow, saying it to yourself feels fair game.
Here’s the thing: the words we use with ourselves matter. And we didn’t just wake up one day fluent in self-loathing. That inner voice? It’s got history. Tone, cadence, timing – it all sounds suspiciously like someone we’ve known for a while.
Which brings us to Little You.
Not to blame them – they’ve been through enough – but they are the blueprint. The first version. The one who absorbed how to interpret mistakes, love, stress, approval, time management, and, yes, how to spiral over minor errors like they’re international incidents.
Take my dad, for example. Loving, dependable, hilariously early for everything. Once had us at the gate – not the airport, the gate – almost three hours early for a flight. Classic dad move, sure. But also: man started working at 17, walking 5km to a job where being late meant being replaceable. You don’t grow out of that kind of pressure. You just pass it along in the form of over-preparedness and a mild obsession with departure times.
That’s what I mean. The way we operate now? It’s not random. It’s a patchwork of early lessons, fears, habits, and survival strategies. Some still serve us. Some are… outdated. And some are flat-out toxic when left unexamined.
So when your brain starts yelling that you’re the worst human alive for missing a deadline, take a second. That reaction didn’t come out of nowhere – it’s coming from a long history of expectations and learned responses. Maybe it’s time to update the script.
You’re not failing. You’re functioning with old programming. And just like any glitchy software, it can be debugged. But first, you have to realize it’s running in the background at all.
So next time your inner voice goes full drama queen, pause. Ask it: “Hey, where did you learn to talk to me like that?”
You might be surprised by the answer.
And then, maybe – just maybe – you’ll start talking to yourself the way you actually deserve: with a little compassion, a little curiosity, and a lot less name-calling.
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