I Used to Be the Problem

There was a time when I was the problem — not the misunderstood, not the “hurt person hurting people,” but the actual, undeniable problem.

It’s hard to admit that. Harder still to write it down. But I think that’s what growth really is — the courage to tell the truth about who you were, even when the person you are now cringes at the thought.

I wasn’t always kind.

I wasn’t always honest.

And I definitely wasn’t always self-aware.

At seventeen, I was surviving more than I was living. The weight of my emotions sat on my chest like a constant storm I couldn’t escape. I had just undergone gastric sleeve surgery, thinking it would fix the insecurities that haunted me, but it only shifted them into new shapes. I started binge eating again — not for hunger, but for comfort. I was grasping at control in all the wrong places. My body changed, but my mind hadn’t caught up.

I sought validation in attention, in chaos, in people who couldn’t possibly give me what I needed because I didn’t even know what that was. I was loud when I should’ve been listening. Defensive when someone tried to love me. I mistook self-destruction for independence — because pain was familiar, and I didn’t trust peace enough to stay in it.

And when people tried to help, I pushed them away. I told myself I didn’t need anyone. I made a habit of turning honesty into arguments and turned my loneliness into something I wore like armor.

Looking back, I realize I had become addicted to being misunderstood.

It gave me a reason to never take responsibility.

It was easier to believe everyone else was the problem — my friends, my parents, the world — than to sit with the truth that maybe it was me all along.

Therapy helped. Time helped more.

But most of all, honesty helped — the kind that makes you sick to your stomach. The kind that forces you to admit that you weren’t just reacting to your pain, you were spreading it.

I’ve had to apologize — not always out loud, but internally — to the people I hurt when I didn’t know how to love.

I’ve had to grieve the version of me who didn’t yet understand softness, who thought vulnerability was weakness, and who only knew survival as a language.

I used to be the problem because I didn’t know any better.

Now, I do.

And the most humbling part of healing is realizing that accountability is freedom. Owning your mess doesn’t make you broken — it makes you real.

Today, I still make mistakes. I still speak before I think, still shut down when things get too heavy. But now I pause. I breathe. I reflect.

Because growth isn’t about perfection — it’s about awareness. It’s about saying, “I did that. I was wrong. But I’m trying to do better now.”

I used to be the problem.

Now, I’m learning to be the solution.