We Were Never Taught to Love Ourselves, But We Can Teach Each Other Now

Ogden, from the visit ogden website

by Nick Call, LCSW

I’ve spent decades walking the streets of Ogden, Utah; from the east bench to the west side, from Historic 25th Street to the foothills of Ben Lomond. I’ve listened to stories of heartbreak and healing, of survival and resilience. I’ve sat with addicts, with families in crisis, with tired therapists, with teachers barely hanging on, and with kids who are desperate for someone, anyone, to show them they matter.

What I’ve come to believe is this: our collective healing won’t come from systems alone. It won’t be dictated from a legislative desk or dropped into our laps from a polished nonprofit pitch. It’ll come when we, neighbors, parents, leaders, healers, teachers, and everyday people, look each other in the eye and say, “You are not alone, and neither am I.”

Because here’s the truth: most of us were never taught to love ourselves.

Not really.

We were taught to perform.

To protect.

To hustle for worth.

To minimize our pain.

To earn belonging.

And to question whether we ever really deserved it.

We were raised by generations doing the best they could with what they had, but what they had were survival tools. Trauma responses. Emotional silence. Quick tempers. Deep shame. Hard work, yes. Sacrifice, yes. But not often tenderness. Not often vulnerability. And rarely the slow, steady presence of someone saying, “You are already enough, just as you are.”

Because of that, our brains were wired early on not for self-trust and connection, but for self-protection and distance. We learned how to spot danger, not how to sit with love. We built neural pathways to guard, to hide, to prove. Not to be open. Not to be.

And now, here we are. Adults raising the next generation, wondering why we’re so tired, so disconnected, so anxious. Wondering why our kids seem more depressed, more checked out, more lost than ever.

It’s not because they’re broken.

It’s because they’re inheriting the weight of generations before them, and they’re looking at us, hoping we’ll show them a better way.

And we can.

But it starts with a radical, grounded idea: we must become blessings in our own lives before we can be a blessing to others.

That’s not just a catchphrase, it’s a strategy for survival. And more than that, it’s the foundation of community healing. Because when I learn to love me, I stop needing to control you. When I stop fighting myself, I stop projecting my pain onto others. When I practice being whole, I create space for you to do the same.

Ogden is a city with a wild heart and a beautiful mess. We’ve got grit, but we also have grace. And if we want to rise together, we’ve got to get honest. We have to call each other into vulnerability, not performative positivity, not “just get over it” grit, but the kind of courage it takes to sit in a circle, share what’s real, and stay.

The world is aching for more rational, authentic voices. Not louder ones. Not angrier ones. Real ones. Voices rooted in healing, not in hierarchy. Voices that say, “We don’t have all the answers, but we are willing to figure it out together.”

It’s time we teach our children what we were never taught:

How to sit with pain and still choose compassion.

How to feel anger and still choose dignity.

How to know themselves, trust themselves, and love themselves.

We can only teach that when we’re practicing it ourselves.

So, Ogden, let’s come together. Not for a headline. Not for a hashtag. For our own healing. For our kids. For our city. Let’s rewire what connection looks like. Let’s build a new collective consciousness—one brave conversation at a time.

Because the future is watching. And they’re hoping we’ll show them something different.