Finding Your Worth: My Journey from Self-Doubt to Healing

To Anyone Who’s Ever Felt "Less Than"

This is for you, the person who has ever felt unworthy, like you're not enough. I’ve been there too.

I'm a 41-year-old gay man, and I’ve been battling with my mental health for as long as I can remember. Since I was 18, I’ve been in and out of therapy, tried almost every type of treatment—both in-person and virtual therapy sessions, intense outpatient programs, psychiatric consultations, medications, and now, ketamine therapy.

Despite all of that, it wasn’t until a recent session with my new therapist that something finally clicked. It felt like years of therapy came together in one powerful moment.

The Weight of Imposter Syndrome and Self-Worth

When my therapist asked me what I wanted to bring into the session, I said I wanted to focus on my self-worth, imposter syndrome, and the feeling that I don’t deserve to achieve the things I want in life. We decided to focus on self-worth, and I opened up about a recent experience that triggered these feelings.

I’d been reaching out to LGBTQ+ publications to promote my business. After some market research, I decided to shoot for the stars and contact some of the top publications. To my surprise, I received an email from Out.com that very day. They wanted to feature my Halloween sweater and even wholesale some of my products throughout the year.

Sounds like a dream, right? But instead of celebrating, my mind immediately spiraled. I thought, You should cancel. Once they speak to you, they’ll realize they made a mistake. You’re not good enough.

Facing My Inner Critic

My therapist introduced me to an exercise that would, at first, feel downright ridiculous but soon turned into a powerful moment of self-realization. He could see I was struggling to articulate the storm of emotions swirling in my mind, so he asked me to do something simple but unusual—choose two stuffed animals from a bin beside his chair.

I hesitated at first, thinking, I’m a grown man. What good is this going to do? But in that moment, I decided to trust him. I picked out an Incredible Hulk doll and a pink unicorn.

The Hulk: My Inner Critic

The Hulk was easy to identify. He represented the loud, persistent voice in my head that always told me I wasn’t good enough. You know the one—it’s the voice that shows up when you’re on the brink of something exciting, something important, and whispers, You don’t deserve this. You’re going to fail. Why even try?

The Hulk had been with me for as long as I could remember, always ready to remind me of my limitations, my flaws, and my insecurities. He was the voice that told me I wasn’t worth the success I wanted or capable of achieving the goals I’d set for myself. He was the one who urged me to quit when things got too difficult, convincing me that staying small and hidden was the safest path.

The Unicorn: My Anger

Then there was the pink unicorn. She was different. She didn’t represent doubt or fear—she embodied my anger toward that voice. My therapist had me talk to the Hulk, to tell him why I was angry, why I resented him so much. And as I opened up, years of frustration poured out.

I was angry at myself for working tirelessly for two decades and still not achieving the success I craved. I was angry that I always gave up when the challenges became too great, when it felt easier to retreat than to push through the obstacles. Life felt unfair, and instead of blaming the world around me, I turned that anger inward.

I was angry that I couldn’t fully believe the kind, encouraging words people around me said. It was as if their compliments, their support, and their belief in me were all part of some grand performance. They’re just saying that because they have to, I would think. They don’t really believe it. Deep down, I believed those positive words were lies, and the Hulk’s voice was the one telling the truth.

Resentment and the Blue Owl

As I talked, something in me shifted. I started to realize that my anger wasn’t just directed at the Hulk. It was something deeper, something more insidious. It wasn’t just anger—I was resentful.

The pink unicorn in my hands suddenly didn’t feel like the right symbol for what I was feeling anymore. My therapist asked me to find something else, and I chose a blue crocheted owl. The owl wasn’t about anger; it was about resentment, about the bitterness I felt toward that voice inside my head.

I resented the Hulk for all the times he showed up just as I was on the cusp of something good. Every time I was close to success, or happiness, or growth, he would rear his ugly head and convince me to stop. To retreat. To give up. And every time, I listened. I allowed him to hold me back.

The Hulk had convinced me that failure was inevitable, so why bother trying? He had kept me small, trapped in a cycle of self-doubt, fear, and self-sabotage. And as I sat there, staring at this blue owl in my hands, I realized just how much I resented him for it.

The Realization: It Wasn’t Just Anger

The more I spoke, the more I uncovered layers of resentment that I had buried for years. I resented the Hulk for being the voice that made me doubt my own potential. For always telling me that I wasn’t enough. For keeping me from believing in myself. I resented him for holding me back, for making me feel like I didn’t deserve success or happiness.

It was eye-opening to see how this voice—this Hulk—wasn’t just a nuisance. He was a constant presence that shaped the way I saw myself and my future. I had allowed him to control my decisions, my beliefs, and my actions for so long that I didn’t even realize how much power I had given him.

This wasn’t just anger; it was betrayal. The Hulk wasn’t some external force—he was a part of me. A part of me that had convinced the rest of me to believe in my own inadequacy.

"Why Won't You Just Leave?"

In that moment of therapy, I felt a rush of anger toward the Hulk—the inner voice that had tormented me for years. I told him to "F*ck off." It felt powerful, even though it was just a stuffed toy in my hands. My therapist smiled, celebrating this breakthrough, he asked me a simple but profound question: Why do you want him gone?

At first, the answer seemed obvious. I was exhausted—tired of constantly feeling like I wasn’t good enough, tired of pushing away the truth that deep down, I know I am worthy. I mean, if I weren’t good enough, why would Out Magazine reach out to me? Why would they show interest in my work? Yet, every time an opportunity like this arises, the Hulk—this voice—tells me I don’t deserve it.

I was tired of fighting the voice that tells me to retreat, to give up, to not even try. Tired of the constant push and pull between who I am and who I’ve been convinced I should be—small, invisible, and unworthy of success. I just wanted to be free of it. Why won’t you just leave me alone? I thought. It felt like a monster that had taken over my life, always whispering in my ear, holding me back.

Then, as I sat there in that vulnerable space, a wave of sadness washed over me. It wasn’t just exhaustion anymore—it was grief. Grief for all the years I had wasted, believing that I wasn’t enough. I felt the weight of how much space that voice had occupied in my life. It had consumed my confidence, my ambition, and my sense of self-worth for as long as I could remember. How many opportunities had I missed because I didn’t think I was worthy? How many dreams had I abandoned before they even had the chance to begin?

The sadness grew deeper as I realized how much time had slipped away. I had been so focused on protecting myself from potential failure that I hadn’t allowed myself to truly live, to embrace the fullness of who I am. And for what? To satisfy this internal voice that told me I couldn’t, that I shouldn’t, that I wasn’t capable. I felt a deep sorrow for the person I could have been if I hadn’t listened to the Hulk all these years.

When Did the Hulk Appear?

Just as I began to process this sadness, my therapist asked me something that completely shifted my perspective: When did the Hulk first show up in your life? He paused, then added, Why did this voice—the one telling you you’re not good enough—appear in the first place? What purpose did it serve?

I was stunned. I had never thought of my inner critic as something that served a purpose. To me, it had always been the villain, the antagonist in my life story. But this question forced me to think differently. I sat there, searching through years of memories, trying to pinpoint when that voice had become such a defining part of my identity.

After a long silence, it hit me. The Hulk showed up in middle school, but he became most powerful in high school. I was severely bullied—every day was a new battle. I was called names, shoved into lockers, humiliated at social events. I was called a “faggot,” “gay,” “a girl,” told I deserved to be beaten. I went from being an outgoing, happy kid to someone who found safety in silence, in blending into the background. The world around me felt unsafe, and I quickly learned that the best way to protect myself was to become invisible.

That’s when the Hulk stepped in. His voice told me that I wasn’t good enough, but it wasn’t just to hurt me—it was to shield me. He convinced me that if I stayed small, if I stopped trying, if I didn’t put myself out there, I could avoid the pain of rejection and cruelty. His voice wasn’t just a critic; it was a defense mechanism. He told me I wasn’t worthy because, in some twisted way, that was safer than facing the harsh judgment of others.

The Hulk: Protector or Prison?

As I said those words aloud—He was there to protect me—I realized that the Hulk wasn’t the villain I thought he was. He was a misguided protector. When I was young and vulnerable, when I didn’t have the tools to stand up for myself, he stepped in to shield me from the harshness of the world.

At that time, the world was cruel. Middle school and high school were war zones for me. The bullying was relentless, and I didn’t have the emotional skills to understand that the things people said to me weren’t true. When they called me names, when they told me I was worthless, I believed them. Why wouldn’t I? They were older, they were louder, and in my teenage mind, they must have known something I didn’t.

So, the Hulk convinced me that disappearing was the best way to survive. If I stayed out of sight, I wouldn’t be targeted. If I didn’t speak up, I wouldn’t be humiliated. If I didn’t try, I couldn’t fail. And for a while, that worked. It kept me safe in a world that felt dangerous.

But now, that protection has become a prison. The voice that once kept me invisible to avoid pain now holds me back from stepping into my potential. What started as a defense mechanism became a constant barrier, blocking me from pursuing what I want in life. The Hulk was supposed to protect me, but now he’s suffocating me.

Filling in the Hulk: My Journey Since High School

After I confronted the Hulk and poured out all my anger and resentment, my therapist gave me a moment of pause. He asked me to take a step back and think about everything that had happened since high school—the moments, the accomplishments, the relationships that had helped me grow and evolve. He wanted me to update the Hulk on the real me, the person I had become, not the scared, invisible kid I once was.

It was a bit overwhelming at first. I wasn’t used to reflecting on my wins and growth. The Hulk had always been so loud that he drowned out the parts of me that knew better. But my therapist encouraged me to take my time and think of one important thing from each year since graduation—one thing that directly challenged the story the Hulk had been telling me all these years.

Starting with Graduation

I started with my high school graduation. That moment may have seemed small in the grand scheme of things, but for me, it was huge. Walking across that stage was proof that I could push through hardship and uncertainty. I made it through despite the years of bullying, despite the self-doubt. It was a symbol of resilience, a moment that said, You did it. You made it.

Building Relationships

Then I thought about the friendships and relationships I had formed over the years. I told the Hulk about the people who had entered my life and stayed, people who saw me for who I really am—not the weak or scared person I used to believe I was. These were genuine connections, relationships where people valued me not out of obligation, but because they wanted me in their lives.

I thought about the first time I let someone close enough to see the real me, without the walls or defenses. That moment challenged the belief that I didn’t deserve connection, that I had to stay hidden. These relationships were built on trust, mutual respect, and love—things the Hulk had convinced me weren’t for me.

Career Accomplishments

Next, I began to think about my career. The journey hasn’t always been easy, but each step was proof that I wasn’t the failure the Hulk made me out to be. I’ve worked jobs that challenged me and forced me to grow. I’ve taken risks that paid off. I’ve created things—like my merchandise and brand—that have value and that people appreciate. Out Magazine reaching out to me wasn’t an accident; it was a direct result of the work I’ve put in.

I told the Hulk that I had proven, time and time again, that I could achieve things. That I wasn’t stuck in the background anymore. That I had learned to show up, even when it scared me.

Letting the Hulk In on the Truth

As I downloaded all of this, I realized that this was more than just updating the Hulk—it was rewriting the narrative. I was no longer the scared, invisible kid he had to protect. I had grown, achieved, and become someone who didn’t need the Hulk’s harsh protection anymore.

I told him about my accomplishments, my resilience, and my strength. I told him about the love I had found, the connections I had made, and the success I had created for myself. I told him that the person sitting in that therapist’s office wasn’t broken or weak. I was whole, and I was worthy.

By the end of that session, I felt lighter. I had finally let the Hulk in on the truth: I am no longer the kid he had to keep hidden. I’m an adult who has faced fears, taken risks, and accomplished things that the Hulk never thought possible. And as much as I had once needed him, it was time to let him go.

Letting Go of the Hulk

Sitting in that therapy session, I came to a realization that was both profound and unsettling: I don’t need the Hulk’s protection anymore. For years, I had carried this voice, this internalized doubt, believing it was essential to my survival. But I’m not that bullied, insecure kid from high school anymore. I’m an adult now, and I’ve grown. I’ve developed the tools, the resilience, and the strength to face the world head-on. I don’t need to hide in the shadows or shrink to make myself invisible.

For the first time, I began to understand that I deserve to be seen. Not just by others—but by myself. I deserve to recognize my own worth, to honor the person I’ve become despite all the challenges and struggles I’ve faced. The Hulk had been a part of my life for so long that I couldn’t imagine myself without him. But now, I realized that I don’t need him anymore. His purpose, which was once to protect me, has outlived its usefulness.

The Cost of Staying Small

The Hulk wasn’t just holding me back; he was keeping me small—keeping me from the life I want and deserve to live. Every time I got close to something good, every time success was within reach, that voice would step in and convince me to stop. It would tell me I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t deserve happiness, that it was safer to stay hidden. And I listened, because it was easier to retreat into the safety of self-doubt than to risk failure or rejection.

But as I sat there in therapy, I began to understand the cost of staying small. The Hulk had been protecting me from pain, but in doing so, he was also keeping me from joy. He was holding me back from the fullness of life—relationships, opportunities, success, and the simple belief that I am worthy of all these things.

It’s terrifying to think about stepping into the world without that old defense. For so long, the Hulk has been my shield, the voice that kept me from venturing too far out of my comfort zone. But now, the idea of letting him go, of embracing the possibility of failure, rejection, and yes, even success, felt even more terrifying.

Because staying small isn’t living. It’s surviving. And I’m done with just surviving.

Gratitude for the Hulk

As the weight of this realization sank in, something shifted within me. The sadness I had felt earlier—sadness for all the time I’d wasted, all the opportunities I had missed—began to transform. It morphed into something unexpected: gratitude.

Gratitude for the Hulk.

It’s strange to feel thankful for something that has caused me so much pain, but the truth is, the Hulk was doing the best he could. He protected me when I didn’t know how to protect myself. As a young, vulnerable kid facing a world that felt overwhelmingly hostile, the Hulk helped me survive. He kept me safe by keeping me small, by convincing me that blending in and staying invisible was the only way to avoid further hurt.

I needed him back then. Without his shield, I might not have made it through those brutal years of bullying and shame. He served his purpose, and for that, I am grateful.

But now, I no longer need to be shielded from the world. I’ve grown. I’ve learned. I have developed the tools and the inner strength to face whatever challenges come my way, and I know I can handle them without retreating into that old, self-defeating narrative.

Saying Goodbye

Letting go of something that’s been a part of me for so long isn’t easy. Even though the Hulk’s presence brought pain and self-doubt, he was familiar. He was a constant, and part of me feared what life might look like without him. Who would I be if that voice—the one always telling me I wasn’t good enough—was no longer there? Would I even recognize myself without the inner critic I had carried for so long?

These questions swirled around in my mind, and they weren’t easy to face. The Hulk, for all his harshness, had shaped so much of my inner world. But as I sat with those thoughts, I realized something crucial: letting go of the Hulk doesn’t mean losing who I am. In fact, it means finally embracing the person I’ve always been but was too afraid to acknowledge. It means stepping into the light of my own potential, fully aware of my worth and strength, without the weight of self-doubt holding me back.

Embracing My True Self

For years, I was afraid to take up space in the world, afraid to be seen for who I truly am. The Hulk was the protector of that fear, the guardian of my insecurities. But now, I see that letting go of him means giving myself permission to exist fully, without shrinking, without second-guessing myself at every turn.

The Hulk’s voice, telling me I wasn’t enough, no longer defines me. Instead, I get to decide how I show up in the world. I get to determine my worth, not based on old narratives of shame and fear, but on the truth of my resilience, my courage, and my ability to thrive. I’m not losing myself—I’m discovering the parts of me that have always been there, waiting to emerge.

Honoring the Hulk's Role

Saying goodbye to the Hulk doesn’t mean rejecting the parts of myself that were hurt or afraid. Those parts—the pain, the insecurity, the need for protection—were real. They shaped me in ways that I can’t deny. But what I can do is honor the role that fear and self-protection played in my life while recognizing that I no longer need them to survive.

The Hulk served a purpose—he shielded me when I was too vulnerable to face the world alone. He helped me build walls when I needed them. But now, I don’t need those walls anymore. I’m ready to live fully, to embrace what life has to offer, and to let myself be vulnerable without fear of rejection or failure. Vulnerability doesn’t scare me the way it used to. It feels like freedom, like finally stepping out of the shadows and letting the world see the real me.

Ready to Thrive

The truth is, it’s time to say goodbye to the Hulk. Not with bitterness, not with anger or resentment, but with gratitude. He helped me survive when I was younger, when I didn’t know how to protect myself. He was my defense mechanism, the shield that kept me safe. But now, I want more than survival. I want to thrive. I want to build a life where I’m not just getting by, but where I’m flourishing.

I’m ready to welcome new opportunities, to chase after the things that excite me, and to believe that I’m worthy of the success I’ve always dreamed of. I’m ready to move forward with confidence, not because the Hulk is gone, but because I’ve grown beyond the need for his protection.

I’m ready to be seen—to take up space, to own my worth, and to live fully without the fear of being not good enough. That voice may have been part of me, but it no longer controls me. And for the first time in a long time, I feel free.

Goodbye, Hulk. Thank you for your protection, but I’m ready for more. I’m ready to step into the life I deserve.