While I looked completely fine on the outside, every day felt like a war inside my mind. I carried guilt and shame for not being able to be as “normal” as everyone else.

Why the hell were the simplest things so hard for me? Why was I always exhausted, even after doing nothing but lying in bed all day? Why couldn’t I just change my habits and become my best self instead of spiraling over and over again?

But the truth is… it was never really me. It was an inner judge—born the moment I was first rejected as a child.

Imagine this: a teacher, a parent, or a relative tells you, “How could you mess up like this when you're such a good girl?” or, “How could you fail when you’re a straight-A student?” And then they punish you.

That moment becomes imprinted in your core memory—translating into a belief: “You are only worthy when you're perfect.”
“You only matter when you make no mistakes, when you behave, stay quiet, and look pretty.”

Every time you make another mistake, that voice returns—full of disapproval and disappointment—whispering that you’re a failure, that you’re the flaw.

Eventually, the voices of parents and teachers fade. They stop judging you out loud. But they don’t need to anymore—because now, you do it yourself.

You let this inner tyrant live rent-free in your head, believing that if you suffer enough, you’ll somehow earn redemption. So you let that voice police your every move, criticize every slip, and replay every mistake like a crime scene.

Suddenly, you’re a child again. Small. Helpless. Terrified of being punished for not meeting impossible standards.

Your body lives in the present, but your mind lives in the past—haunted by the ghosts of words once said to you. That inner voice holds a gun to your head and calls you stupid. And memories become weapons.

Even though those judgments were spoken years—maybe decades—ago, you still believe them. You still live by the programs they installed in you. Every time you fall short of an impossible standard, the same tape plays.

Nobody else is punishing you anymore. But you are. You’ve become your harshest judge.
And deep down, you think pain is the only way to heal. You feel like you have to suffer to be worthy of forgiveness.

The saddest part? You're so quick to forgive others. You’re understanding, empathetic—even when others hurt you deeply. But when you make a mistake, even a tiny one, it’s unforgivable. Even if no one else is watching… you are. You never stop watching yourself.

And when you fail, that inner voice—like a witch hunter—emerges from the shadows to burn you for daring to mess up.

In therapy, I learned that this inner judge has a name: The Shadow.

Carl Jung defined it as the part of us that holds everything we've repressed—our feelings, flaws, traits we were told to hide. It shows up every time we do something that doesn’t align with the "good girl" image we built.

That's why we fear being exposed as a fraud. That's why failure feels like a threat to our identity.

Whenever we fall short, the shadow screams:
“I told you. You're a failure. That’s why no one loves you. That’s why you don’t deserve good things.”

And we believe it. Because someone we loved once believed it too. If they thought that about us, how could anyone else not think the same?

But most of the time, people aren’t judging us. It’s not them—it’s our shadow, rising from the darkness, projecting fear onto everything and everyone.

Sometimes, I close my eyes and I still see my parents’ disapproval. I see old teachers. Old friends. People who aren’t even in the room anymore—but their disappointment still echoes. And I punish myself for it.