Is it better to think everyone hates you when they don’t, or that everyone loves you when they might not?
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“Shut up!” “You shut up for once!”
I couldn’t quite believe what was happening. The words, shouted at me by a member of my partner’s family, left my shoulders somewhere up by my ears. My blood was rushing to my head before I’d even opened my mouth. My heart was racing, and for a moment, I genuinely didn’t know how I was going to respond.
The feeling running underneath it was no stranger to me. The anger, the frustration, the fear. I’d felt this before, a long time ago, though I couldn’t quite place when. Through the haze of confusion and anger, I saw my mum’s face, scowling at me over something to do with school decades earlier. That same anger, frustration, fear, had travelled all the way from there to here. To this beautiful place we were spending our holiday. To this moment, where I’d tried to help someone and got screamed at for it.
Now, before I tell you what happened next, and how I actually got through the five days of drama that followed, I want to back up and explore why a moment like this lands the way it does. Not just for me. For you too, whenever it happens to you.
The reverse paranoia
Something surprised me about what happened. But it wasn’t that that person didn’t like me as much as I thought they did. Although that was brand new information to me, I always thought I had a great relationship with that person.
But this summer, after that explosion, it hit me: this was the build-up of months, maybe years, of resentment I hadn’t seen coming at all.
But what surprised me the most wasn’t that they weren’t my biggest fan. What surprised me the most was that I was completely oblivious to it until that day. So I reflected on that. And here’s what I realised:
“I used to think people hated me all the time, when they didn’t. Now I’m completely oblivious to the people who dislike me.”
I call it reverse paranoia: assuming people like you, instead of assuming they don’t.
Which brought me to a question: Is it better to go through life thinking everyone hates you when they don’t, or thinking everyone loves you when they might not?
The second one. Definitely the second one.
Judgment is a mirror
The difference between me ten years ago and me now is that I don’t dislike myself anymore. So I don’t expect anyone else to either. What changed isn’t how people perceive me. It’s how I perceive myself.
“Other people’s judgment is a reflection of your own insecurities. Like a mirror that shows you what you consciously, or unconsciously, believe about yourself.”
Ten years ago, that person shouting at me would have sent me into a spiral. Replaying it, turning it over, wondering exactly what I’d done wrong, whether I should say something back.
But this time, nothing like that. My hands stopped shaking within minutes. My shoulders came down from around my ears. There was shock, of course, sadness, anger, but these time-traveling feelings had very little to do with what was going on here and a lot more to do with my past. I couldn’t trust them to tell me how I should react or what I should say because they were telling me about an old story. So I let them go as quickly as they barged in. Thank you for the tip, guys, but if you don’t mind, I’ll take it from here.
I also felt something else in that moment, something unexpected: a strange calm in my body, like part of me was holding me. Telling me: it’s okay, it’s not about you, don’t worry, you’re fine.
It occurred to me, right then, that this little voice had always been there with me. Always supportive, always telling me what to do. But this time, I really heard it. Clear and strong, maybe for the first time ever.
Why do some comments land and not others
“Judgment only lands when it matches something that’s already inside you.”
Think of it like this. You know those velcro balls you throw at a target? Other people’s judgment works exactly the same way, people throw the ball, whether it lands on you depends on one thing only: whether you’ve got a patch for it to stick to. The patches are your insecurities.
Say you have an “I’m not a good cook” patch. Someone comments on your food, whether they meant it unkindly or not doesn’t really matter, the ball matches the patch. You take offence, you react.
Now say someone comments on your outfit, maybe even gives you a look that could be read as judgmental, and you see it. But you don’t have an “I shouldn’t be seen” or “I am not good enough” patch. The comment bounces off. You might notice what they’re doing and it makes you laugh or you might not even register it.
People throw things at us all the time: actions, words, looks. Whether they’re mal-intended or not doesn’t actually matter; it’s our perception that counts. And our perception directly depends on whether we have an insecurity that matches their judgment.
“Whether a comment, a look, an action lands or not isn’t telling you much about what they think about you. It’s telling you about what you think about you.”
Where the patches actually come from
So what’s happening when one comment sticks and another doesn’t, even though both, technically, could be judgment? Your patches aren’t random, but they’re old. Every patch got put there a long time ago, well before you were choosing anything consciously. It’s the result of small or big moments, usually from childhood, that taught you your limitations.
That’s what I felt underneath the shouting on that holiday. My mum’s face, scowling at me over something to do with school, decades earlier. The same anger, the same fear, arriving in a completely different context, telling me tales about what I should do or say to protect myself, because back then that moment felt truly terrifying.
It’s also the conditioning that turned into a negative lesson about ourselves. All the “I can’t” and “I am not” that keep us small. With my clients, I call this the script. In adult life, it shows up as anger, frustration, sadness or jealousy that feels a bit too big for the moment. It shows up as reacting strongly to other people’s behaviour, or being overly defensive.
Thankfully, not all patches are on, all day, every day. That’s why one day a comment cuts particularly deep, and the next you barely notice it at all. When you’re stressed, low, or just not in a great state of mind, they get extra sticky.
If I’d had an “I am not lovable” patch that day, I’d probably have reacted strongly to what happened, and spiralled for days afterwards, looking for every clue that I was the victim.
But I didn’t feel like the victim. I didn’t feel like it had anything to do with me at all.
What that person was doing in that moment was reacting to their own insecurity. Their own patches, filled with balls I had no idea I’d been throwing at them, for months, maybe even years.
I never intended to be judgmental or unkind towards that person. But they must have felt that way, to react like that towards me.
Does this mean we completely stop caring what people think?
No. This isn’t about tuning everyone out, we are wired for connection and belonging. To stop carring completely about others would result in isolation. But it’s about which compass you’re using, your own values, not everyone else’s opinions.
There’s a difference between not caring what people think, and not caring about people. Or, as I say to my clients:
“There’s a difference between being comfortable and confident within yourself, and simply put… being a d*ck.”
You can be blissfully unaware of what people think of you, or be aware and simply not need their approval, and still, not go around upsetting everyone. We owe each other kindness and respect, but that doesn’t mean we’re responsible for other people’s limitations and trauma. It doesn’t mean it’s our job to fix their insecurities.
When we cross our own boundaries.
Here’s an important caveat.
I said earlier a strong reaction usually means a small part of you agrees, and that most of the time, that part is an old insecurity that isn’t actually true. Well, sometimes the part of you that agrees is your own wisdom, tellign you you’ve crossed your own boundaries.
“When your unconscious is telling you you’ve crossed your own boundary, bringing you back to yourself. It’s really important to listen to it.”
This, too, is a reflection of our own judgment. But it’s one worth listening to, It’s where we learn, reflect, maybe change something, or make amends. Even then, the feeling is still coming from our own judgment, not theirs. The difference is that this time, it’s pointing you towards something useful.
I remember being overly defensive once when my mother commented on me about posting pictures of my daughter on Instagram when my account was public. When I went back over it, I realised I wasn’t comfortable doing that myself. Every post, I was crossing my own boundary. My mum’s comment landed because it was a mirror of my own wisdom, looking back at me.
That wasn’t the case with the holiday. When I reflected on what had happened, I knew I’d always treated that person with respect and love. I’d never acted out of line with my own values, so I knew this wasn’t about me.
In that moment, they were reacting to their own insecurities. Reacting to what they’d done would have made their insecurity my responsibility. My problem. Letting them pull me into their drama.
It takes two to play this game.
So far, this has all been a solo game. Someone throwing balls at a target. Whether they land depends on your patches, but it’s still just them, throwing.
The moment you react, that changes. The moment you catch the ball and throw it back, their solo game becomes a two-player one. It becomes a game of ping pong. If someone tries to pull you into their drama, they’re trying to start a game of ping pong with you. And you can’t play ping-pong with someone if they don’t pick up the paddle too. They’d be playing on their own, throwing balls that just bounce back aimlessly.
“Drama is a game of ping pong that only works if two people play. Refuse to pick up the paddle, and there’s no game.”
Fitting in, or paddle down
This is the difference between fitting in, and what I call paddle down.
Fitting in is when we say or do something out of fear of being judged. In that holiday scenario, it would have looked like me reacting, because I was afraid other people might think I don’t back myself. It can also look like piling onto people gossiping about someone else, just to feel included.
Paddle down means choosing your peace, acting from a place of alignment with your own values. For me, that meant not screaming back, not worrying about whether people might think that person had walked all over me.
That’s what that voice was doing, the one that held me while it happened. I call it the Self, with a capital S. The you behind the noise, the one that already knows, before the rest of you has caught up.
“From the outside, fitting in and paddle down can look exactly the same. They can look like silence or like stepping up. It’s the feeling underneath it, the reason you’re doing it, that matters.”
The drama didn’t stop that day. It kept going for five more days. There were probably plenty more balls thrown my way in those five days. I don’t know, I wasn’t counting, instead I had a wonderful holiday. And it wasn’t because I didn’t care what happened, nor because I don’t care about that person. But because none of it was ever mine to carry in the first place.
Oblivious, this time, on purpose.
Try this
Next time you feel a comment land, or feel someone trying to pull you into their drama, there’s two questions worth asking:
What’s the script? What’s the “I am” or “I am not” story this comment just activated? Naming it is often enough to loosen its grip.
Have I acted against my own values here? If the answer is yes, that’s worth listening to. That’s the useful kind of judgment. If the answer is no, there’s nothing to defend. The paddle stays down.
FAQ
Why do I keep replaying one comment for days?
Because it landed on something. A comment only stays with you like that when there’s already a patch underneath it, an old insecurity it matched. The comment itself is rarely the whole story.
What does “paddle down” mean?
Not reacting to someone’s drama, not because you’re afraid of them, but because there’s genuinely nothing left in you to defend.
What do you mean by “the script”?
The old story a velcro patch tells about you, all the “I can’t” and “I am not” statements that got written a long time before you were choosing anything consciously.
Does this mean I should just stop caring what people think?
No. It means choosing which compass you’re using, your own values, rather than everyone else’s opinions. You can care about people without needing their approval to feel okay.
How do I know if a strong reaction is an old patch, or something worth listening to?
Ask whether you’ve acted against your own values. If you haven’t, there’s nothing to defend, the paddle stays down. If you have, that reaction is your own wisdom, not an old insecurity, and it’s worth listening to.
Why did someone I thought liked me suddenly explode at me?
Often it’s been building for a while, and you simply hadn’t seen it. Their reaction is usually about their own unlooked-at insecurities, not about what you actually did.
Why do some comments sting one day, and barely register the next?
Your patches aren’t switched on all the time. When you’re stressed, low, or not in a great state of mind, they get stickier, and things land that wouldn’t otherwise.
