Why I Struggled to Believe Kindness Was Real and What Came Next
When compliments felt like lies and love felt suspicious—and how healing helped me begin to receive again
There was a time in my life—not that long ago—when a simple compliment could ruin my whole day.
Not because it was unkind.
But because it was too kind.
Too generous. Too foreign. Too out of place in the world I had grown used to.
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re really good at that.”
“You’re a wonderful mom.”
“You’re so strong.”
I’d smile. Nod. Say thank you, maybe. But inside? I’d flinch.
I didn’t believe it.
Not any of it.
When Kindness Feels Suspicious
When you grow up with a warped sense of worth—when your body, your personality, your presence has been picked apart by criticism or comparison—compliments don’t feel comforting.
They feel confusing.
You wonder if the person is just being polite. Or if they feel sorry for you. Or if they’re just trying to cheer you up. You start dissecting the tone, the timing, the motive—anything to explain it away.
Because deep down, you believe something else:
“If they really knew me, they wouldn’t say that.”
Compliments feel like trying to put fresh flowers in a muddy vase. They don’t sit right. Something inside says, “This doesn’t belong here.” And eventually, you start rejecting the compliment not because it isn’t kind—but because your self-concept can’t absorb it. You’ve been trained by pain to be suspicious of tenderness.
It’s like someone handing you a wrapped gift, and your first reaction is to question what’s wrong with it. You shake the box, check the tag, wonder if they mixed up your name with someone else’s. That’s what it’s like to live with shame—you expect love to be a trick. And when love feels unsafe, even the kindest gesture can feel like manipulation. Compliments become emotional puzzles you try to solve instead of simply receiving.
The Self-Hate Filter
I didn’t realize for a long time that I had a filter—an emotional lens that took every kind word someone spoke over me and distorted it.
It was like trying to hear something beautiful underwater.
The words were there. The intention was good. But everything came through muffled, garbled, hard to trust.
And when Michael—my husband—would tell me something affirming, I would instantly think:
“He’s just saying that because he has to.”
“He’s biased.”
“He doesn’t really see me clearly.”
Which is heartbreaking—because Michael is one of the most honest, sincere, and spiritually grounded people I’ve ever known. But I couldn’t receive the gift he was offering me. Not because he wasn’t giving it—but because I didn’t believe I was worthy to receive it.
It’s like standing in the rain with an umbrella and still getting wet—because your umbrella is full of holes. You’ve got kindness pouring down on you, but your shame keeps poking holes through every drop. So even when people affirm you, you stay soaked in self-doubt.
But it didn’t just affect me. It affected us. It affected our marriage. When I couldn’t receive his words, I began to close myself off—not just emotionally, but physically. Every “you’re beautiful” was followed in my mind with, “you’re lying.” And how do you receive affection—true intimacy—from someone you quietly believe is blind or wrong or just being nice?
I didn’t realize it at the time, but my inability to receive compliments turned into an inability to receive love. I didn’t want to be touched—not because I didn’t love him, but because I didn’t believe I was lovable. I didn’t want to linger in hugs. I pulled away during kisses. I kept the lights low and my guard high. Affection made me feel exposed. And being truly seen—body and soul—felt terrifying.
And here’s the thing most people don’t talk about: self-hate doesn’t just damage you—it creates distance in your marriage. It erodes connection. It turns your spouse into a stranger who can’t reach you. Because when you reject the love they offer, you’re not just rejecting them—you’re silently rejecting yourself on their behalf.
Michael wasn’t being withheld. I was.
He wanted to pour into me. I was already full—of fear, of shame, of doubt.
And that filter made every loving word he spoke feel like a threat instead of a gift.
Self-hate isolates. And in marriage, isolation is dangerous.
Why Isolation Is Dangerous
Self-hate doesn’t stay contained. It doesn’t politely keep to itself inside your mind or your journal or your reflection in the mirror. It isolates. And isolation, especially in marriage, is dangerous.
Because isolation creates division—not just physical, but emotional, spiritual, and sacramental.
Marriage is a covenant. Two become one. But isolation says,
“I’ll share space, but not my soul.”
“I’ll give you conversation, but not closeness.”
“I won’t give you my heart—and I won’t give you my body either.”
And that is not union. That is coexistence with walls.
Isolation might look like distance, silence, coldness, surface-level communication, or what seems like random irritation. But underneath all of that is usually one or both spouses believing, “You wouldn’t love the real me if I let you get too close.”
It’s like trying to dance while holding a shield between you. You might be moving in sync, you might even be smiling—but there’s a barrier. No matter how close you try to get, something is always in the way.
And eventually, that distance becomes the new normal.
Here’s why that’s dangerous: distance leaves room for doubt.
For assumptions. For resentment. For temptation.
When a husband or wife feels shut out over and over again, something inside them starts to ache—and if that ache isn’t brought to the light, it can fester.
Not because they’re bad. But because humans were made for connection.
God wired us for intimacy—emotionally, spiritually, physically.
And when that need goes unmet in marriage, it doesn’t just create sadness. It creates vulnerability to sin.
Isolation doesn’t just hurt feelings.
It weakens the foundation.
And this is exactly where the enemy loves to creep in:
“You’ll never be fully seen.”
“You’re better off protecting yourself.”
“Don’t let him in. He’ll just hurt you.”
“This distance is safer than the risk of rejection.”
But that voice? That’s not God.
God calls us to communion.
To trust.
To truth-telling.
To vulnerability that leads to healing.
So if self-hate has caused you to isolate from your husband—emotionally, physically, or spiritually—know this:
You are not broken beyond reconnection.
But the reconnection won’t happen by accident.
It will take honesty. Repentance. Courage. And time.
And it begins when you stop agreeing with the lie that you’re safer alone.
The Spiritual Side of Compliment Rejection
Let’s call this what it is: spiritual warfare.
When someone speaks truth over you—you’re loved, you’re beautiful, you matter—and your first instinct is to reject it, that’s not humility.
That’s the enemy whispering:
“Don’t believe it.”
“They don’t mean it.”
“You’re still the ugly one. You’re still the failure.”
Satan hates when women begin to receive love. Especially when it’s spoken by a good man. Or, more importantly, by God Himself.
So he distorts it. Twists it. Plants doubt.
Because if he can keep you from receiving love, he can keep you from healing.
The enemy would rather see your marriage cold and disconnected than warm and healing. Why? Because a husband and wife fully united in love and trust is dangerous to the kingdom of darkness. A woman who believes her husband’s loving words—and more importantly, God’s words—becomes strong. She becomes secure. She begins to live in truth. And the enemy loses power. That’s why shame is one of his sharpest weapons. Because when you can’t receive love, you stay small. Silent. Disconnected. And that’s exactly where he wants you.
Learning to Receive Again
What’s changed for me?
Not everything. I still struggle. Compliments still make me squirm sometimes. But I’ve started to practice receiving.
Just like you train your body to build strength, you train your soul to accept truth.
Now, when someone says something kind, I try to:
Pause before deflecting.
Say thank you without a qualifier.
Sit with the discomfort instead of running from it.
Ask God, “Is this something You want me to believe?”
It’s like trying to drink water after years of dehydration. At first, your body doesn’t even know what to do with it. But eventually, it becomes life-giving. Natural. Necessary.
Did you know that when you're dehydrated over time, your thirst mechanism can actually shut down? You stop feeling thirsty even though your body desperately needs water. It’s called hypodipsia, and it’s a survival response. Your body adapts to scarcity by numbing the signal.
The same thing happens emotionally.
When you’ve gone too long without affirmation, tenderness, or safety, you start to believe you don’t need it. You shut down the desire. You train yourself not to want what’s missing, because the ache of wanting it is too painful.
But the truth is—you do need it. Just like your body needs water, your soul needs connection. Love. Truth. Kindness.
So when someone finally offers it—when the truth is spoken, when love is shown—you don’t feel ready. You don’t feel thirsty.
But that doesn’t mean you aren’t dry.
It just means your system forgot how to ask.
And healing begins when you gently start to drink again.
A little at a time. Slowly. With trust.
Until that thirst returns—holy, healthy, and good.
And here’s the deeper truth: when I reject compliments, I’m not just being hard on myself—I’m rejecting the image of God in me. I’m refusing to agree with what He says is good.
And let me be clear: you can’t fully receive God’s love until you begin to agree with what He says about you. The love is already there. It’s been offered. But until your soul opens its hands, it can’t be held. And yes—it’s vulnerable. But it’s also transforming. When you start to believe what’s true, even if you only believe 2% of it at first, it shifts everything. You become more tender with yourself. More open with your husband. More secure in your identity. And that’s when healing becomes real—not just intellectual, but embodied.
A Word to the Woman Who Can’t Accept Kindness
If this is you—if you roll your eyes or shrink inside every time someone says something good about you—can I just say this with love?
That voice is not from God.
You were not created to live suspicious of love.
You were not created to feel like a fraud every time someone speaks well of you.
You were created to receive love.
To let it wash over the lies.
To let it rebuild your inner world.
To let it reflect the Father who calls you His beloved.
So next time someone says something kind, try this:
Don’t deflect. Don’t apologize.
Just whisper in your heart:
“Lord, help me believe this. Help me receive it. Even if it’s hard.”
And trust that over time, He will make your heart soft enough to hold the truth again.
With you in the fight,
Claire Elise Bennett, PhD
Wife, Mother, Counselor, Daughter of the Church
