When “I Love You” Feels Like a Lie

They say learning can be painful. And I can attest to that — because I’m right in the thick of it.

I’m currently participating in a program that’s challenging me in ways I didn’t expect. The content itself isn’t so important. What is important is the resistance it’s kicking up inside me. One particular module has stopped me in my tracks — the one about self-love. (Cue the internal eye roll.)

It’s the kind of topic I’ve previously filed under woo-woo. You know, the mirror work. The three minutes of staring into your own eyes and saying “I love you.” I knew as soon as the task was mentioned that I wasn’t going to do it. And I haven’t.

Resistance Dressed as Logic

I got through the module on loving your inner child with the emotional equivalent of gritted teeth and a pinch of salt. It felt like a part of the program for everyone else — not for me. But then, as life often does, it kept showing up. That same uncomfortable theme. Frequency illusion. Suddenly, everything I read, everything I heard, echoed the same uncomfortable invitation: love yourself.

And I’ll admit, I’m stuck. Because it seems I can’t progress unless I address this. Even writing this feels like peeling back skin I’d rather leave untouched.

The Inner Child I’d Rather Ignore

Here’s the truth: I don’t particularly like my inner child. I’ve done therapy. I’ve unpacked some of that history. And sure, I grew up in a home where love was present — but it wasn’t named. It was implied. Love looked like food on the table, not hugs and affection. And maybe that’s why the idea of looking in the mirror and saying I love you feels not just difficult — but alien. Slightly nauseating, if I’m honest.

The Thing I Teach But Struggle To Do

Yet — and here’s the maddening bit — I do get it. I teach this stuff. I speak about resilience. I remind people that empathy isn’t just a gift we give others; it’s a necessity we must offer ourselves. Because life is hard. It bruises us daily. And if we’re going to go back out and fight our battles, we need to be able to bandage our own wounds.

Self-love isn’t indulgent. It’s survival.

This morning, I was reading Conscious Living by Gay Hendricks, and once again, I got slapped in the face. The book asked me to breathe in deeply and fill myself with love — especially for the parts I find unlovable. “Don’t think about it,” it said. “It’s unthinkable.” And that part made sense to me.

Because it’s the thinking that’s getting in the way.

The thinking that says, You don’t deserve this. The thinking that says, You’re not that person. The thinking that says, This is silly. That same thinking that fuels the inner critic I warn others about — the one who calls you names you’d never accept from a friend, yet somehow, you let it whisper in your ear every single day.

The Common Thread in Everyone I Coach

And I see this all the time in my coaching. One of the most common threads I have to untangle with people is the sheer toughness — and sometimes even cruelty — they direct inward. We talk a lot about imposter syndrome like it’s something rare or academic or mainly about women. But I see it everywhere. It’s practically a default setting in most people I work with. Except for the truly delusional narcissists (and even they’re running from something), most of us have a quiet belief that we are, at some level, undeserving. And here’s the thing — it’s not just unkind. It’s also unproductive. That voice doesn’t pull the best from us. It drags us down, holds us back.

There’s nothing wrong with a little doubt. Doubting our behaviour, our effort, our choices — fine. That’s how we grow. But doubting our essence? That’s where the real damage begins. That’s what blocks growth, connection, and confidence. And I’d bet anything that everyone reading this knows exactly what I’m talking about. Because loving ourselves — really loving ourselves — is one of the hardest things any of us will ever do.

Kindness Gets Better Results Than Criticism

Here’s what I know — and what I’ve seen in others: self-criticism doesn’t get the results we think it will. We imagine that being harsh will somehow motivate us to do better, try harder, be more. But all the research says the opposite. Shame fuels insecurity. Harshness brings out the worst in us. And we don’t perform better under pressure — especially when we’re the ones applying it to ourselves.

It makes sense, then, that if there are parts of us we don’t like, the only way they’ll soften, evolve, or grow is through kindness — not punishment. If you want to raise a child who thrives, you don’t lock them in a room and berate them. You take them gently by the hand and show them another way. You offer guidance, patience, warmth. And strangely, it’s no different with the wounded, younger parts of ourselves.

So I guess what I’m really saying is this: it is the inner child work that needs to be done. We all have it. That’s why it appears in every self-development program, in every meaningful personal journey. Because unless we make peace with our younger selves, our older selves can never be truly whole.

And yes, I now realise what this means. I’m going to have to go back and do that module again. Properly this time, even if it is still stomach turning.

Maybe “I Love You” Isn’t the First Step

Gay Hendricks writes: “There’s always something we haven’t loved. The most beautiful people I’ve worked with have more unlovable places in themselves than the average person on the street.” That hit me. Because it means I’m not the only one. But it also reminded me that I still don’t know what all my “unlovable parts” are. And if I’m honest, I don’t want to go poking around. Maybe I’m scared of what I’ll find.

But I also know this: fear has a lot to answer for.

So maybe self-love isn’t a feeling. Maybe it’s not meant to be true in the moment. Maybe it’s an action — something you do even when it feels false. Like holding the hand of someone who doesn’t believe they’re worthy of being held. Maybe it starts not with “I love you,” but with something simpler, like “I see you.”

That, at least, I can try.

Because I know this: if I keep letting the ego eat the unloved parts of me for breakfast, I’ll never grow beyond the critical voice. And I don’t want to live there anymore.

So this is where I am. Stuck in the discomfort. Trying not to overthink it. Learning, slowly, that being with yourself — even when you don’t like yourself — is still an act of love.

And maybe that’s enough, for now!