The Mirror I Despise

Image from Pinterest.

I hate people like me. I hate seeing myself in others, and I absolutely hate feeling less superior. Maybe thats slightly too vague, but the concept of someone being identical to me feels threatening.

There’s a peculiar discomfort in me when I encounter someone who seems eerily similar to me; someone who talks like me, thinks like me, even struggles like me. It’s not admiration, nor empathy, nor connection. It’s irritation. Sometimes even disgust. And I’ve often wondered: Why does seeing myself in someone else provoke such a strong aversion?

At first glance, it doesn’t make sense. We tend to seek people who are supposed to "get" us- friends and partners who understand how we think. Yet in these mirrored personalities, I feel an involuntary recoil. However, the answer lies not in them, but in me. More specifically, in what I project, suppress, and quietly judge within myself.

Whenever I look at someone similar to me, it feels like im staring into a mirror- but not the type of mirror that I can feel beautiful in- the type that exposes my own hideous truths that I believed I’ve buried. Their anxieties resemble mine, but they feel more raw. Their habits mirror mine, but without the self-awareness I like to believe I possess. Their need for validation, their defensiveness, their awkwardness, it all feels too familiar.
I don’t hate them. I hate what they expose.

These people unknowingly challenge the version of myself I want to present to the world - more evolved, composed, above certain tendencies. But when I see them, I’m reminded that those parts of me still exist, just beneath the surface. They bring out a part of me I’d rather ignore.
If I’m honest, the discomfort is less about who they are and more about the harshness of my own self-critique. My aversion is a projection. I judge in them what I haven’t fully accepted in myself. It’s easier to externalize that judgment than to sit with it.

For example, if I find someone needy or attention-seeking in a way that feels too close to home, I’m not just annoyed -I’m also embarrassed. Not for them, but for the parts of me that still crave the same things. Instead of compassion, I offer distance. Instead of understanding, I offer disdain.