“No One Likes Me”: What Your Soul Is Really Trying to Say When You Feel Unliked or Unworthy

This morning I came across a facebook notification that 3 people liked my new profile picture, a full day after I posted it. A small, quiet ripple moved through me. I noticed it and let it pass.

I remembered the complete opposite I used to be. That version of me who would’ve stared at that number —only three likes?? — and felt her stomach drop, blood rush to her head, chest tighten with shame. She would’ve spiraled into the thought: “No one likes me. I must not be good enough.”

And she would’ve scrolled through other coaches’ pages, her heart like a sinking ship, comparing herself to their hundreds or thousands of likes — wondering why she couldn’t seem to be more magnetic or likable.

But now? I simply see it, and peace moves through me like a gentle stream. I no longer cling to the numbers. I no longer make it mean something about my worth. It just... passes.

Yet I wasn’t always this way.
Growing up, I always felt like the odd one out, the invisible quiet one, the one nobody cared about. The one people forgot to invite, the one whose absence was never noticed by popular guys.

It felt like standing at a grand gala, watching groups of people huddled in deep lively conversation, laughing easily – and you're just... standing near the wall, fingering the edge of your glass, unsure of where to stand, unsure if anyone would notice if you left.
Or like giving a speech where you poured your heart into it — and yet the applause barely stirs the air, while the person before you received a standing ovation. You feel exposed, like everyone saw the silence that followed your final word.

And now, with social media, the wound has gone digital. It’s no longer invisible. It’s quantified.

Maybe you post something vulnerable, meaningful– something you hoped might resonate. And the only likes are from your mom, your grandma, and maybe your childhood best friend. The rest? Crickets.

And for those of us who are sensitive, deep-feeling, soulful, this pain can cut even deeper. It can become a narrative that says “Something is wrong with me. I’m not enough.”

So we try to override this feeling by trying to get people to like us more. You may throw yourself into self-help, learn confidence building skills, or try to become “more magnetic” through feminine energy and manifestation. You may try to look prettier, sexier, have more flawless skin, dress harder, do anything and everything so that you are never not liked again. 

And sometimes, we do succeed.
I remember a time when one of my posts went viral where thousands of people were liking, sharing, praising. For a moment, it felt like I had arrived. Like I was finally seen. But beneath all the attention, I felt scared.

Scared that if I made the wrong move, it would all disappear.
Scared that it was just my 15 seconds of “fame,” a fleeting illusion. And soon they’d realize I wasn’t actually that cool, that magnetic, that worthy.
Then the weight of the pressure came on top: now I had to keep performing, keep impressing, keep being liked. I found myself no longer just creating. Instead I was preserving a persona.

Just like that, you may have found success — in your career, in your business, in the way others now perceive you. Maybe you’ve gained the attention of the masses, the applause of the room.

And yet, this hollow ache — this feeling that something is still “wrong” with you may slip in whenever the spotlight fades. Or maybe no matter how hard you try, how much you shine, you still get bothered when someone scrolls past you, when they don’t reply, when they don’t like you back.

And that is because, for a lot of us, we try to brush off this pain of no one liking us. When actually we haven’t fully processed what we actually feel inside when no one likes us. 

And that pain often shows up as a heaviness — a howling void inside our heart and chest, dragging us down into the pit of sadness. And when you look even deeper, what you will see is a little girl crying inside, feeling abandoned and not noticed at all. 

But every time we try to brush off that feeling and instead try to “improve ourselves” so that people like us more, this little girl gets locked up even tighter — exiled in the attic of your heart. There, she is deprived even more of the attention she is longing for. Because what she is most looking for is:

“I love you even if nobody likes you.”

What this little girl inside of you is longing for isn’t just another applause, another compliment, another like button from someone else. What she’s most yearning for is this kind of love.

Not just like — but love.

The kind of love that stays, whether the crowd is big or small.
The kind of love that doesn’t flicker or vanish depending on whether someone starts a conversation with you or pretends you’re not there.

This kind of love is likely something she never had.
Maybe she never had parents who assured her. Someone who told her, “I will always be here for you,” even when her classmates didn’t cheer. Maybe she never had caretakers who looked into her eyes after someone mocked her shoes and said, “I love every part of you, even when the world doesn’t like you.”

This is the kind of presence she’s most longing for. The kind of care that wraps around her softly. The kind of companionship that doesn’t leave when things get quiet.

Just like a fairy godmother who wipes her tears each time she cries. Or the stars that smile back at her through her bedroom window when the night feels long and cold, and the echo of “no one likes me” presses against her chest. Or a knight in shining armor, shielding her gently even when others throw arrows of dislikes or judgment.

It’s the kind of love that whispers,
“It’s safe to not be liked by others. I’m still here. I will always be here. You are allowed to not be liked — and still be completely lovable.”

All of that love she longs for… is what she’s waiting to receive from you. And she will not be able to receive that unless this love now comes from you. 

“What I’m most interested in is YOU.”

When other people like you, it’s actually not you that they are liking.
Sure, they may like your skills, your face, your body, your charisma — the outer layers that shimmer and catch light — but the truth is, none of that is ultimately you. These are the things that may draw attention, but they are not who You are. These things that they “like” will someday shift, change, and even vanish with time.

Such as, the body may soften and wrinkle with age. The confidence-boosting skills may gather dust if not practiced. The career applause may quiet down if your interests change. But who YOU actually are — i.e. the Self beneath the surface — never changes.

The Self that you really are is the one who watches it all. It is the awareness that sees through your eyes but is not your eyes. It is the part of you that cannot go up or down, cannot wax or wane, cannot be measured by numbers or filtered by perception. The Self that you are is what remains when everything else is stripped away. And that — that my love, is the real treasure.

Yet when we obsess over whether others like us or not, when we are preoccupied by what they think about us, we’re actually clinging to the outermost layer — the surface of the Self. It’s like gold trying to cling onto dust. We become so distracted by what’s on the surface that who you are within becomes forgotten. 

And that you — the truest you — is where the little girl inside of you lives, buried in silence and waiting.

She’s been pushed aside for so long, hidden beneath the layers you put on to be accepted, to be safe, to be liked. For perhaps your entire lifetime, she couldn’t be her real self because she feared others would walk away if she was fully herself. She was pressed down under the fears that they would think she was “too much,” or “not enough,” or “messy,” “flawed,” “bad,” or whatever other labels you learned was not “good.”

So she remained buried.
And with her, your unlived life remained buried. Your unlived joy. Your unlived potential.

And yet, other people can only brush the surface of this treasure. They might admire the wrapping, but they can’t see the jewel inside unless you are the one to uncover it.

Because my dear, only you can excavate her. Only you can kneel down beside her in the inner dark and say:

“What I most want is you. What I am most interested in… is you.”

And when you say this — when you truly mean it — the noise of other people’s likes and opinions begins to fade. Their voices, once sharp and commanding, become nothing more than distant echoes, like ghosts that no longer have a body to cling to. They drift, powerless, because now you’re no longer shoving this little girl into the grave of shame.

Instead, you unearth her. You dust her off, look her in the eyes, and bring her home.
You’ve returned to the one audience that has always mattered most:
the soul within you who has been waiting all along.

“Can I be enough for you?”

As this little girl waits for your return back to her, the one last thing she is looking for is your humble, loving ask.

To the little girl, it is like a mother or a father finally kneeling down — not to command, not to correct, but to listen.
To ask, “What do you need, my love?” Not from a place of control, but from reverence. From care. From the ache of finally realizing she was never meant to do all this alone.

This question flips the entire dynamic of our hearts. Where instead of the little girl endlessly chasing, pleasing, performing for others — she gets to receive.
And with that, you get to receive.
Because you and she are not separate. You are one breath. One root system. One soul.

And when you receive in this way, when you finally drink from your own well, that’s when you stop feeling like your heart is a scorching desert, cracked and dry, waiting for other people to toss you droplets.
Instead, you become the one who waters yourself. The one who knows how to bring rain to your own soil.

Because the truth is, it’s impossible for others to fully nourish your inner desert.

As long as humans have egos, there will always be something we like and something we reject. The ego will always prefer one texture, one flavor, one version over another — and there are infinite preferences in this world. Which means it’s impossible to be liked by everyone, and for every part of you to be accepted by every person.

And the only reason why not being liked hurts so deeply is because you might still be turning away from that same part inside yourself. Since the way others treat you is often a mirror — sometimes painfully clear — of how you also don’t like about yourself.

But when you begin to see love, feel love, choose love for every part of yourself. Then when others like you, it simply becomes a soft breeze. A gentle bonus. Not a lifeline for the starving child inside of you.

~
So my love, when someone doesn’t like you, it’s actually an invitation. To turn inward. To walk barefoot into the field of yourself. To love even more of the flower field blooming inside of you.

Not everyone will love every flower within you, especially if they’ve never tended to that same flower inside themselves.
And that’s okay.

You are not here to beg others to admire your wildflowers. You are here to kneel down and marvel at it your blooms. To notice the way each petal unfurls even when no one is watching. To know that the sun rises for you, too.

Other people’s flowers will bloom in their own timing. And so will yours.

But right now, here, in this moment, there is a flower inside you, soft and trembling,
waiting to be loved by you.
It is waiting for your permission to blossom — not in someone else’s garden,
but in the wide, wild meadow of all that you are.