I don’t remember deciding that something was wrong with me.

But somewhere along the way, that idea took hold.

When things went tense around me, I looked inward.
When someone pulled away, I assumed I had done something.
When a reaction felt too big, too sharp, too cold, I tried to figure out what I had done.

It seemed logical.

If the problem was me, then maybe I could fix it.

Maybe I could be quieter.
More careful.
Less sensitive.
Less demanding.

Children are built to protect connection.

When something in the relationship feels unstable, the child doesn’t assume the caregiver is the problem.

That would be too dangerous.

So the explanation moves somewhere safer.

It must be me.

I’m too much.
Too emotional.
Too difficult.

Or not enough.

Not good enough.
Not interesting enough.
Not worth the trouble.

That conclusion can settle in quietly.

No one has to say the words.

It forms in small moments.

A sigh when you’re upset.
An eye roll when you try to explain.
A reaction that feels bigger than the mistake.

After a while, the body starts preparing for it.

Self-criticism becomes a kind of protection.

If you catch the mistake first, maybe it won’t land as hard when someone else notices.

So the system stays watchful.

Looking for what’s wrong.
Trying to correct it.

From the outside, this can look like conscientiousness.

High standards.
Self-awareness.
Responsibility.

But underneath it can be something else.

A child who learned that when something goes wrong, the safest place to put the blame is inside.

And when that rule settles in early enough, it doesn’t feel like a rule.

It feels like the truth.