Putting the Hate Down

Dropped the self-hate so I could finally pick up the keys to the home I’d never dared to move into…

Poem and artwork by Rupi Kaur — used here for commentary and inspiration.

I’ve been a fan of Rupi Kaur’s work for a long time. I first discovered her while in treatment for binge eating disorder at The Emily Program, and I fell in love with her poetry. That’s quite a feat for someone who has never really been a fan of much poetry, but her work touches everything — healing, trauma, body image, love, and loss. At The Emily Program, it was common to see little affirmations, positive thoughts, or sometimes one of Rupi’s poems taped to the bathroom mirrors or stuck on the walls. I’ve followed her work ever since. Today, I finally sat down to read Home Body for the first time, after having read through Milk and Honey and The Sun and Her Flowers a few times each over the years.

I came across the poem above and — oh boy — it tapped into something deep. Only now, after I’ve started to love myself enough to engage in real self-care (the hard self-care, not the pedicures-and-bath-bombs kind), do I realize just how much I’ve abandoned myself over the course of my life. Apparently, learning to actually care for yourself first — in the ways that matter — will show you just how little you previously thought of yourself.

Jose used to tell me all. the. time. that the way I spoke about (and to) myself was dismissive, demeaning, and sometimes downright cruel. He’d remind me of the times I told my mom, “You wouldn’t talk to your best friend that way, so why do you talk to yourself like that?” And he’d ask me why the same rule didn’t apply to me.

Almost every time — until very recently — I’d say, “No, I don’t internalize those things. When I say I’m stupid, I’m just laughing at myself. I don’t really believe it.”

Turns out, I had only done enough work to know I wasn’t supposed to internalize those thoughts… but I hadn’t done enough work to actually live that truth. The news hadn’t traveled from my head to my heart yet.

It had been so ingrained in me to disregard myself that I couldn’t actually hear myself doing it. It was automatic. Reflexive. Background noise.

Lately — with the help of Jose bringing my attention to it over the years, and with the work I’ve been doing around allowing myself to actually feel and experience emotions, as well as nervous system regulation — that’s been changing. I’ve started hearing the thoughts before they come out of my mouth. (and before I automatically believe them in my head — if that makes sense.)

And the more I started catching those thoughts — hearing them in that tiny split second before they took root — the more something shifted. It was like the “news” I’d been repeating in my head for years (“please don’t speak to yourself that way”) finally started making the long walk down to my heart.

And once it landed there, I could suddenly see where those thoughts had been living.

It wasn’t pretty.

Not in the poetic, Rupi-Kaur-raw-wound-beautiful way — more in the “oh… this place has been empty for a long time” way.
Her line — “i’m tired of being disappointed in the home that keeps me alive” — hit me harder than ever, because for the first time, I could feel that truth in my bones.

I realized I hadn’t just been talking badly to myself.
I had abandoned myself.
I had left my own inner world unattended, unprotected, untouched.

And when I finally looked inward with actual awareness — not just with therapy phrases, not just with intellectual understanding, but with that head-to-heart connection Rupi writes toward — I saw the place I’d been avoiding for decades.

And what I found felt less like a “home”
and more like a house left behind after a storm.

Which brings me to The House I Never Lived In. Stay tuned for more.

🥡 Leftovers from the Shame Buffet (a.k.a. Journal Prompt)

Journal Prompt:

“Where in my life am I still standing on the sidewalk instead of stepping inside?
What belief, fear, or habit keeps me from crossing my own threshold — and what would it feel like to take just one step closer?”

If you want a deeper angle:

• Where am I holding onto self-hate or old narratives that fill my hands so much I can’t pick up the keys?

• What part of my inner house feels safest to enter right now?

• What room do I avoid — and why might that avoidance have made sense once upon a time?

Optional add-on if you’re feeling brave:
“What would I tell a friend standing outside their house in the same way?”

📦 Emergency Snack Pack (Grounding Exercise for When You’re Spiraling)

Coming back into your body — gently, without force.

🧘‍♀️ ‘The Key in Your Hand’ Grounding Practice

1. Sit or stand with your feet solid on the floor.
   Notice the ground supporting you — you are on solid flooring, not the storm-wrecked lawn.

2. Bring one hand into a loose fist.
   Imagine it’s holding something heavy you’ve carried for a long time:
   self-hate, shame, the “I’m not worth it” scripts.

3. Take a slow inhale.
   Let the breath fill your chest and belly, like air moving into a long-abandoned room.

4. As you exhale, gently unclench your fist.
   Let the weight drop — symbolically, emotionally, somatically.

5. Now bring your open hand to your chest.
   Feel the warmth there.
   Feel your heartbeat.
   Imagine a key lying in your palm — cool metal, solid, real.

6. Another slow inhale.
   Let your shoulders soften.
   Let your jaw unhook.
   Let your inner house exhale with you.

7. With your next breath, imagine turning a lock.
   No pressure to open the door — just feel the click.
   Just feel the possibility.

8. End with a hand over your heart and this affirmation (or something like it):
   “I am learning to come home to myself. One breath, one key, one step at a time.”