For years I allowed the world – or, worse: my idea of the world – to define me. My sense of self came not from within but from the people around me; people I didn’t understand, couldn’t trust and some of whom I just plain didn’t like. Yet I felt bad for not liking them. I didn’t feel I had the right to dislike anybody, even if I had compelling reasons to dislike them.
All of this just made me feel worse.