The Weight of it

There are days when I feel as though I should not exist. That I have somehow stolen a place in this world that was never meant for me. On those days, even the smallest gestures of kindness feel misplaced, undeserved. A text message from a friend, a warm meal set before me, the simple act of being addressed by name—each one bears the weight of an unbearable debt, one I can never repay because I am, at my core, unworthy.

Unworthiness is a strange thing. It does not come with grand, sweeping tragedy. It creeps in, silent and insidious, often disguised as humility or self-awareness. It convinces you that you are being rational when you question whether you deserve the very fundamentals of human existence—food, shelter, dignity. It presents itself not as a feeling, but as an undeniable fact. And once it has taken root, it is difficult to see yourself outside its shadow.

The Human Tendency Toward Self-Doubt

This feeling is not unique. It is embedded in our literature, our philosophy, our very understanding of what it means to be human. Jean-Paul Sartre wrote of ‘bad faith’—the lies we tell ourselves about who we are and what we are worth. He argued that we often accept an identity that has been handed to us, instead of creating one for ourselves. Similarly, Franz Kafka’s characters stumble through life as if they are on trial for their very existence, condemned not by any crime, but by the sheer weight of being.

Even the ancient Greeks understood this phenomenon. In The Odyssey, Odysseus, despite his cunning and heroism, frequently doubts his own worth, fearing that he may never return home, that he may not be enough for the gods or his family. And in our own modern world, this sentiment has not disappeared. If anything, it has been magnified by a society that measures human value through productivity, achievement, and social validation.

The Psychology of Unworthiness

Psychologists often link feelings of unworthiness to early experiences of rejection, neglect, or comparison. When love and validation feel conditional—based on performance, obedience, or success—we begin to internalize the belief that we are only as valuable as what we provide. The moment we falter, the moment we cannot meet an expectation, we feel as though we have lost our right to be seen, to be cared for.

This is why even basic human needs can feel undeserved. If worth is tied to action, then inactivity—failure, exhaustion, sadness—becomes proof of our lack of value. We believe that if we are not giving, then we should not be receiving. And so, we shrink. We push away kindness. We refuse to ask for help. We punish ourselves for our own existence.

The Fiction of Deserving

But here is the truth: worthiness is not something to be earned. It is not a reward for good behaviour, nor is it a privilege granted to the few. It is, simply, the right to be. The very fact that you are here, breathing, thinking, feeling, means that you belong.

To say ‘I do not deserve love’ is to assume that love is something transactional, something that must be justified. But love, at its core, is not a commodity—it is a recognition. It is the acknowledgement of another’s existence, of their presence in the world. It is given not because someone has proven themselves, but because they are here. And that is enough.

To say ‘I do not deserve food’ is to ignore the fundamental truth that survival is not a privilege—it is a birthright. No tree must prove its worth before it can take in sunlight. No river must justify its existence before it can flow. Why, then, must a human being convince themselves that they are worthy of sustenance?

Moving Beyond the Narrative

The first step in dismantling unworthiness is recognising it as a story, not a truth. It is a narrative that has been constructed—through experience, through culture, through a thousand whispered doubts—but it is not fixed. It can be rewritten.

There is no simple solution. No single piece of advice can erase the years of conditioning that have made you feel this way. But there are moments—small, fleeting moments—where you can challenge the story. You can accept a compliment without arguing against it. You can eat a meal without believing you must first ‘earn’ it. You can remind yourself, over and over, that you are not an imposter in your own life.

Literature, philosophy, and psychology all tell us that to be human is to doubt, to wrestle with our own significance. But they also tell us that we are never alone in it. Every piece of art, every great novel, every timeless poem exists because someone, somewhere, felt as you do now—and they wrote it down, in the hope that another might feel less alone.

And if they are worthy of being heard, then so are you.

A Final Thought

If you are reading this, then something inside you is looking for proof that you matter. And while I cannot give you that proof, I can remind you of this: your existence is not conditional. You are not an equation to be solved or a problem to be fixed. You are not valuable because of what you do, what you give, or how well you perform. You are valuable because you are.

And that is enough.

Works Cited

Brown, Brené. The Gifts of Imperfection. Hazelden Publishing, 2010.

Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus. Translated by Justin O’Brien, Vintage International, 1991.

Kafka, Franz. The Trial. Translated by David Wyllie, Project Gutenberg, 1925.

Neff, Kristin. Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself. HarperCollins, 2011.

Sartre, Jean-Paul. Being and Nothingness. Translated by Hazel E. Barnes, Washington Square Press, 1956.