Something is Wrong With Me
A Self-Reg® Reflection on Early Stress, Internalized Blame, and the Power of Safety
Vignette: Audrey, Age 7
Audrey is seven. She’s bright, curious, and emotionally sensitive—often the first to notice when something feels unfair or when someone else is upset. But lately, she’s been having frequent meltdowns over small things: the wrong plate at dinner, losing a game, a sharp tone of voice.
At school, her teacher sends her out of the classroom when she gets “too worked up.” At home, her parent—loving but stretched thin—sometimes snaps:
“Don’t start again. Why do you always do this? You’re being ridiculous.”
Audrey can’t explain what’s happening inside her. She doesn’t yet have the words. But her body knows: tight chest, flushed cheeks and ears, heart beating fast. Her nervous system is in overdrive, overwhelmed. Her behavior looks intense, maybe defiant. But it’s not. It’s stress.
And without co-regulation or understanding, Audrey begins to draw a conclusion—not consciously, but somewhere deep inside:
“Something is wrong with me.” “I take up too much space.” “Everyone else seems to get it right—why can’t I?”
How Survival Becomes Story
Children aren’t born believing they’re broken, too much, or unlovable. These beliefs emerge when emotional needs go unseen, dismissed, or misunderstood—not out of cruelty, but often because the adults around them are under stress themselves. Dysregulated. Distracted. Overwhelmed.
From a Self-Reg® perspective, this isn’t a discipline problem or a personality flaw. It’s about the nervous system —a child under too much stress, without enough safety.
When adults respond with logic, sarcasm, urgency, or punishment while a child is flooded with emotion, the message received isn’t “You’re safe” or “I see you.”
It becomes:
“I don’t like being with you.”
“You don’t make sense.”
“You’re hard to love.”
“Why can't you be like everyone else?”
And so, a belief begins to form:
“It must be me. I’m the problem.”
The Logic of Self-Blame
As painful as it is, self-blame is adaptive—especially in early childhood. It offers a sense of control when the world feels unpredictable:
“If I wasn’t so emotional, maybe they’d be calmer.”
“If I were better, maybe they’d be happier.”
These thoughts aren’t true—but they help a child survive emotionally. Blaming yourself can feel safer than believing the people you rely on aren’t able to help you. But this safety comes at a cost.
Over time, that belief stops being a passing thought. It becomes a story—a silent, guiding force shaping how a child sees themself and the world. These stories become whispers in the child’s system—always present, always shaping.
How This Becomes a Trajectory
What begins as a survival response quietly turns into identity. The child grows up, and the belief matures with them:
“I’m not lovable.”
“I always mess up.”
“I'm too much.”
“If I don’t perform, I won’t belong.”
And these core beliefs influence everything—relationships, learning, confidence, risk-taking, and even health. The nervous system becomes wired to expect rejection or failure, to over-function, or to shut down in the face of stress.
These patterns show up in countless ways:
The young adult who agonizes over every decision
The parent who over-extends to avoid disappointing others
The young adult who works hard to be what they think we want
The teen who panics when given feedback
The partner who emotionally shuts down during disagreements
Each of these behaviors is rooted not in dysfunction—but in a nervous system shaped by chronic, misunderstood stress, where co-regulation was inconsistent or unavailable.
Vignette: Marina, Age 42
Marina is in her 40s when she first walks into therapy. She’s high-achieving, dependable, and endlessly accommodating. She gives everything to her job, her family, her friends.
But inside? She’s tired. Not just physically—existentially. She says, “No matter how much I do, I feel like I’m letting someone down. I can’t keep up. And honestly... I think something is just wrong with me.”
She’s not being dramatic. She’s naming a belief that’s been there for decades—one that quietly shaped how she copes, hides her needs, and over-functions to avoid shame.
But now, with safety and space, she finally begins to ask:
“Why do I believe this?”
The Self-Reg Lens®: What We Begin to See
Dr. Stuart Shanker’s Self-Reg® framework invites us to stop asking, “What’s wrong with them?” and start wondering, “What’s going on beneath the surface?”
This lens shows us:
Stress, not stubbornness
Rather, that fixed belief isn’t resistance—it’s protection. It was learned in a moment of survival.
Safety before strategy
We can’t “teach” our way out of a survival state. Reach first, before we teach
Pause before you fix
Our own stress—frustration, urgency, judgment—signals it’s time to regulate ourselves before we respond.
Recognize the unteachable moment
Flooded minds can’t reason. Share your steadiness and care, then re-engage
What Healing Actually Looks Like
Healing doesn’t come from proving we were always okay.
It comes from understanding we were never meant to carry that weight alone.
It means:
Reframing “something is wrong with me” as: “This was a strategy. Not my truth.”
Reclaiming our story by exploring what happened, not just what’s “wrong”
Allowing space to grieve what we didn’t receive
Connecting with the younger self who deserved safety, patience, and presence
Remembering that shame is learned early, relationally, and healed in safe connections
Where We Go From Here
Whether you sit across from a client, stand in a classroom, care for a child, or are tending to your own healing, this work asks us to meet stories with curiosity, welcome what shows up, and repair in the spaces where trust was once fractured.
So that Audrey doesn’t have to grow into Marina carrying the weight of a silent, false belief.
So that we can stop asking ourselves “Why am I like this?” and start asking:
“What happened?”
“What do I need now?”
“Is this still true?”
Because self-blame is not a personality.
It’s not even the truth.
It’s a shadow that still speaks—and it can be updated.
A Closing Thought
That inner voice—the one that says you’re not enough or too much or somehow broken—that voice was built for survival. But you’re not in that place anymore.
Through compassion, co-regulation, and curiosity, you can begin to rewrite the story.
And maybe for the first time, you begin to hear a new whisper or a stronger voice:
“There is nothing wrong with me. I am not a problem. I am a story still unfolding -strong and enough.”
Photo Credit: Ian Edokov