Self-Respect and Re-Humanisation

There was a time when I sought respect from others, only to realise that the respect I desired could never truly manifest without first cultivating it within myself. My journey through this realisation came from a place of deep empathy, coupled with a fear of abandonment that left me vulnerable to the judgments and manipulations of others. I seemed strong on the outside, but internally I was waging a war —rooted in anger, a misguided attempt to guard against external attacks. What I failed to see was that I was my own worst attacker, constantly pushing myself beyond my limits, avoiding truths, and expecting more than I could potentially have.

I was overflowing with love for others, yet I deprived myself from that love. In moments of reflection, I saw this same deprivation mirrored in the eyes of the homeless people on K Road. When I passed them by and heard they called me a bitch, something in me understood. I would stop and greet them, not out of obligation or fearlessness, but out of the recognition that they, like me, simply wanted to be seen for who they are. In those brief moments, I saw their humanity, often neglected by society, and through them, I saw my own neglected self. 

Leaving Auckland behind marks a significant milestone in my growth, a chapter of my life where I’ve learned to accept the many facets of my being. I have come to love the unlovable —the parts of myself and others that we often discard. Whether it's the homeless on the streets, the overlooked, or the darkest corners of my psyche, I now realise that these unlovable aspects are as worthy of compassion as anything else. It is from this compassion that self-respect is born, a self-respect that flourishes when we distance ourselves from the dehumanisation that festers in hatred and lack of love.

Hate is not easier than love. Hate is a survival mechanism that shields us from confronting our own unlovable parts. We wear it as armour, thinking it will protect us, but in truth, it chains us to our deepest insecurities. I have learned that avoiding the shadow within is futile. Instead, liberation comes when we acknowledge it, accept it, and transform it into something tender, something loving. In accepting my flaws and loving the unlovable within me, I have begun the process of re-humanisation —both for myself and for the world around me.

I killed myself many times by allowing others to impose their perceptions onto me. I allowed their criticisms to invade my thoughts, suppress my desires, and distort my sense of self. My fear of abandonment was ever-present, but I now understand that abandonment is not something external —it began the moment I left the womb. My resistance to birth (as I came out ten days late), to life itself, was an early sign of my need for grounding. I see now that I have always had the potential for both destruction and creation within me. In acknowledging this plurality, I embrace both my light and shadow.

As I prepare for the next phase of my life, I carry with me lessons. My travels will be a path to self-care, a conscious decision to prioritise my health and well-being. I will live a life imbued with joy, free from the constraints of external expectations.

As the rain pours and I watch the homeless pass by, their presence serves as a reminder of how easily any of us could end up in their place. The forces of individualism, isolation, financial strain, and modern-day enslavement have relegated them to society's edges. What repulses me is not the homeless themselves, but the very system that perpetuates their plight and those who blindly support it. People criticise the homeless without acknowledging that their unquestioning loyalty to this flawed system is part of the problem. The homeless are not a reflection of society’s failure; they embody resistance.