Healing Self-Worth: The War Between Heart and Mind
0
0
Read Time:12 Minute, 47 Second
I have spent a lifetime convincing myself that I am not enough—without ever realizing I would eventually begin the long, slow journey of healing self-worth.
It wasn’t always loud, this belief. It crept in through whispers—small, subtle moments that piled up over time. A dismissive look. A comment brushed off as a joke. The quiet sting of realizing I was an afterthought. These moments, insignificant on their own, each became bricks in a wall that I built around myself—a wall that I’ve only recently started to dismantle through the slow and intentional process of healing self-worth. A wall of doubt. A wall of self-blame. A wall that made it nearly impossible to believe I was worthy of the same love I gave so freely to others.
When I first heard Big Enough Mountain, I saw it as a song about the depth of my love for those closest to me. It felt like Joe Jordan had reached into my heart when writing the song and translated what I struggled to express into something I could finally hear, comprehend and feel outside of myself.
Music has always been a lifeline for me—a way to feel understood when words failed or when no one was listening. It’s how I’ve processed pain, grief, joy, and clarity when I couldn’t speak the words myself. Sometimes a lyric would say the very thing I didn’t know I needed to hear. Other times, the melody alone held space for an ache I couldn’t name. I’ve always carried soundtracks with me—songs that reminded me I wasn’t alone, even in the messiest parts of my mind. But Big Enough Mountain—this one didn’t just stay with me, it grew with me and is now joining me on the journey of healing self-worth.
It didn’t just mirror my emotions—it gave them structure, space, and a voice when I didn’t know how to speak them myself. In many ways, it marked the beginning of healing self-worth, even if I didn’t have the words for it then. It didn’t just resonate—it lingered. It evolved with me, walking alongside me through each fragile step of healing self-worth, finding its way back into my life over and over again until I was finally able to hear it in a new way. It cracked something open in me that I didn’t even know was closed.
This song didn’t just help me survive a moment—it offered a level of clarity and self-understanding I had never had before. In that one moment, it acknowledged everything I had been carrying and, in a way, released me from it-even if it was just long enough to realized I was in need of healing self-worth. It allowed me to see myself differently—with compassion, with softness, with truth—and gave me the first real sense of direction that I’ve had in a long time. It gave me something to move forward with, not just survive through.
Big Enough Mountain came back to me in quiet moments, in heavy ones, always seeming to meet me where I was. It echoed not just my pain, but also the depth of love I had been pouring out, often without choice, without pause—and eventually, the love I needed to give myself.
That’s why it stayed. Because even when I wasn’t looking for it, it found me. It was the first time a song spoke to the way I love others and now, speaks to the way that I had forgotten to love myself. That’s what made it stick. I thought about my ex. My children. How much I wanted them to know—no matter what, I would love them beyond measure. But when I listened, when I really let the lyrics sink in, I saw something else: me.
I saw the rainclouds in my own eyes. I heard my mind whispering, “You deserve this.” anytime something bad would happen. I felt the weight of every time I had convinced myself that I wasn’t good enough. One of the loudest moments came on a night I should’ve been proud—I was presented with an award for my involvement with a non-profit, something I had put my heart into over the years. But instead of celebrating, I found myself downplaying it to everyone, brushing it off like it was no big deal. I went home and sat in silence and found myself replaying every time I’d been told I was too much, too sensitive, too dramatic.
And that whisper echoed louder than ever: “You don’t deserve to feel proud.” That night, like many others, I believed it. Those weren’t just fleeting thoughts. They had become my truth. And now, for the first time, I find myself wondering—why I believed it?
The Lies We Tell Ourselves
It’s easy to love others. It’s easy to see their worth, to see their good, to remind them they are strong, resilient, and deserving of happiness. I do it without hesitation—because I know how powerful it can be to hear those words when you’re drowning in doubt. And maybe, deep down, I hoped that by offering that kind of love to others, I would somehow be worthy of receiving it in return.
I often think, if my support system had consistently reminded me of my strength instead of pointing them out as flaws—if they had looked at my sensitivity as a gift instead of a liability, if they had seen my passion as drive instead of drama, my attention to detail as thoughtfulness instead of control, my emotion as connection instead of instability—maybe I would’ve learned to see the good in myself sooner.
Maybe I would’ve learned to use those so-called “flaws” in places where they could actually be appreciated—places where they could nurture healing self-worth before doubt had a chance to settle in—where my sensitivity could bring empathy, where my passion could inspire, where my intensity could drive real change.
Maybe I would’ve chosen to focus on what was right with me instead of automatically assuming I was wrong just because others didn’t like it or found it inconvenient, challenging, or uncomfortable—especially when my actions had little to no impact on them personally.
I give that love freely because I know what it feels like to need it and not have it. But when it comes to myself? The words choke me. I still hesitate. I still wonder if I’m asking for too much.
I have spent so long believing the worst about myself that even when love is offered, I question it. I look for a reason for it not to be true, not to be valid. I pick up on cues and behaviors that support my doubt—replaying past actions, dissecting every pause or shift in tone. I notice how quickly someone grabs their phone when they get a text, and then I remember how long it took them to reply to me. I build my own evidence against myself.
And that’s where I struggle the most—how can 1+2 equal 3 for everyone else, but not for me? Even now, looking back on many of those moments, they still feel true, still line up logically. And yet I’m the one labeled dramatic, overly sensitive, or just ‘too much.’
I tell myself I haven’t earned love. I hold onto every mistake, every failure, every moment of weakness, and use them as proof that I am not enough.
But through the journey of healing self-worth, I am recognizing that this didn’t happen in a vacuum. Many of us were conditioned—over time, by the people that surrounded us, by what was modeled to us, by what was withheld from us. That conditioning shaped how we see ourselves, how we interact with others, and even what we believe we deserve.
And when those patterns are left unchecked, we often seek out dynamics that reinforce what we already believe. We find people who mirror the negativity and dismissal we’ve internalized, not because we want to hurt—but because it’s familiar and over the years. we have come to believe that we have mastered dealing with it. And that’s not a personal failing. That’s survival. That’s adaptation. But now that I am recognizing it, I am hoping I can start rewriting it and stop being my own worst enemy.
Rewriting the Narrative of Healing Self-Worth
But what if I’m wrong? What if the things I was told to believe about myself—the things that keep me stuck—aren’t true? What if the voices in my head, the ones that echo old wounds and outdated narratives, have been lying all along? What if I have been gaslighting myself, convincing myself that I am unworthy when the truth is, I have always been enough?
That question alone has the power to shift everything. Because if I’m wrong about being unworthy, then maybe I’ve also been wrong about what I deserve. Maybe I’ve been living a version of myself shaped more by fear than fact. And maybe it’s time to challenge that.
The war between heart and mind is not won overnight. It’s not a single breakthrough or an epiphany that magically erases the pain. It is fought in quiet moments, in small choices that feel insignificant but build toward something bigger.
I am finding it in the moments when I choose not to reply to a message that made me feel small, even though the old me would have apologized just to smooth things over or tried to over-explain my thought process. It’s when I let myself rest for a full day without guilt, even though my inner critic insists I’m just being lazy.
It’s when I catch myself spiraling and pause long enough to ask, “What is this serving?” When I don’t overexplain myself after setting a boundary. When I let someone else’s silence or bad day be theirs to carry, instead of turning it into my own shame.
It’s choosing to breathe through the panic of not being wanted or needed. It’s resisting the need to fix someone else’s discomfort so I don’t feel abandoned, or out of fear that their discomfort is about me—because I’m afraid that if I don’t fix it, I’ll be blamed, left, or misunderstood.
It’s telling myself I am safe, even when everything in my body is screaming otherwise. It’s reminding myself that two things can be true at once. Someone can be upset, and it doesn’t automatically mean I caused it. Their emotion doesn’t have to become my burden or my responsibility to fix.
It might not even be about me at all—and even if it is, I am allowed to make mistakes and still be worthy of care and understanding. Just as I work to take responsibility for how I communicate and show up in relationships, I am finding that it is equally important that others do the same. If something I’ve done has hurt them, it’s their responsibility to communicate that openly, honestly, and constructively. I have clearly proven over the years that I do not hold the ability to read minds—or do I?
I can’t carry the weight of unspoken expectations or silent resentments. That’s not accountability—that’s guessing. And I’m learning that healthy connection can’t be built on assumptions.
These aren’t grand gestures—they’re quiet rebellions against the story I’ve always believed. They’re subtle rewrites of a narrative that’s been handed down and reinforced for years. They’re not the kind of progress that’s easily seen or celebrated, but they form the quiet groundwork of healing self-worth. But they are progress and they matter.
Choosing to believe I am enough. Choosing to show up for myself. Choosing to silence the voices that tell me otherwise, even when they wear familiar tones. Each time I do, I am building the muscle memory of healing self-worth—however slowly.
This is the battle I am in now. And while I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, I know I showed up for myself today.
Finding My Own Love
The song says, “You think you’re not worth my love / I’ll show you time and time again.”
I have spent my life proving my love to others. Now, I need to prove it to myself. I find myself doing it more and more, in the smallest way—by choosing not to chase clarity or closure from someone who had hurt me. In the past, I would have pushed for resolution, hoping that if I explained myself better, they would understand and offer the reassurance I needed or I could prevent it and understand why.
But this time, I am letting the silence speak. Not because I didn’t care, but because I finally realized I didn’t need their validation to believe I was worthy. It didn’t feel like power. It felt like peace—another quiet but defining moment in my journey of healing self-worth.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for today.
Featured Song
“Big Enough Mountain” by Joe Jordan ▶️ Listen on Apple Music
Music Speaks, where Words Fail – for me at least. Music has always been more than just sound to me—it’s been a language when words fail, a refuge when the world feels too loud, and a mirror reflecting the emotions I struggle to express.
Music has this unique ability to validate feelings I didn’t even realize I had, making sense of the chaos in my mind. I use music as a form of connection—to myself, to my experiences, and to others. Whether it’s finding solace in lyrics that speak the unspoken or using a melody to ground myself in the present, music is woven into every part of my journey and is the one constant that has been there all along the way.
It’s not just background noise; it’s a guide, a coping mechanism, and, sometimes, the only thing that makes sense when nothing else does.
Table of Contents
Additional Resources
Self-Love Is Self-Care | Psychology Today | This article delves into the concepts of self-love and self-care, offering practical steps to incorporate these practices into daily life and enhance the journey of self-worth.
The Most Neglected & Powerful Act of Self-Care | Zen Habits | Highlights the importance of self-love as a fundamental yet often neglected aspect of self-care, offering guidance on how to practice it during the journey to healing self-worth.
Happy
0 %
Sad
0 %
Excited
0 %
Sleepy
0 %
Angry
0 %
Surprise
0 %