I’ve heard it all before - we were all a bunch of very insecure individuals with massive egos - and when I look back on that now, it could not be more true. The movement gave individuals a false sense of pride, but beneath that pride was shame rooted in years of internalizing how others had treated me. As an adult, I see now that much of the shame I carried was from external sources. I no longer blame myself for other people’s actions, while still taking responsibility for my own.
It was different when I was younger. I did not join the movement already consumed by shame; that came much later. When I became involved at seventeen, what I developed most was a strong ego. That ego didn't appear out of nowhere; it emerged in response to a long-standing insecurity that had been present much earlier in my life.
From a young age, I felt uncertain about myself and where I was headed. For most of my childhood, I felt like an outsider and was often treated as one. My mother remembers my very early years better than I do, and she would describe me as a loner. She once picked me up from school and found me standing alone at the edge of the playground while the other kids played together. I had a nonchalant look on my face, as if it did not matter, but I imagine I was wondering why I was left out or simply wanted to go home. It’s hard to say, but at this point I’d say it was a mix of both.
As the years went on, my self-esteem continued to drop. I had friends later in elementary school, but those were not healthy relationships. One friend consistently mocked me and put me down, often insisting she was better than me at whatever we were doing. I remember trying out for the girls’ volleyball team because she did, failing miserably, and then being constantly reminded of it. I went home after those tryouts believing, for the first time, that I would never amount to anything.
I was only twelve and did not yet have the insight to recognize what was happening. Looking back now, I can see that I internalized shame that came from someone else’s behavior, something that had nothing to do with my own self-worth. There were also things I was genuinely good at, but I dismissed those and only focused on my weaknesses.
By the time I entered high school, I carried this mentality of I cannot and will not. Several times, I knew the answer in class but didn't raise my hand because I was afraid of humiliation. What I thought was self-protection was actually self-sabotage. My grades suffered, and I began skipping class on days when I was meant to present. I was willing to sacrifice academic progress to avoid exposure. Today, I speak publicly without fear or making mistakes, but there was absolutely no convincing a fourteen-year-old version of me to do that.
Just before becoming involved in extremism, I accepted unhealthy friendships because I believed I did not deserve better. When people in the movement contacted me, the level of validation I received was unlike anything I had experienced before. One of my earliest conversations centered on pride, something I felt I lacked. I was told I should be proud of being ‘different’, of not being in the mainstream like the rest of the ‘sheep’ at school. I was welcomed to the outcast club, a place where we think for ourselves. While having an independent mindset is a strength, that strength does not include joining an extremist group where conformity is enforced, and dissent is punished; you are taught exactly how to think, how to act, and how to rebel against society.
Within months, I stood taller, smirked more, and carried myself with an air of superiority. I was confident. In reality, it was ego - a sense of value built on things I had not earned, or even deserved. Outwardly, I appeared confident; inwardly, I felt very different. I was deeply insecure. I became obsessed with winning arguments and having the last word. I need to win. I can recall multiple instances where friendly conversations escalated into anger and threats, sometimes serious enough that complaints were made to my high school. In the back of my mind, on some level, the other person was right, but I interpreted that as an attack on my sense of self.
As I spent more time in extremist circles, it became clear that the group functioned less as a collective and more as a competition - it was a dick-measuring contest. In fact, status was everything, and people were willing to step over one another to reach the top. There was no real top to reach, yet people took immense pride in believing they had reached it. Once I no longer fit what the group wanted, the ego-stroking stopped. I was criticized and shamed for not wanting children to advance the White race. I was also mocked after becoming sober following years of substance abuse. The group viewed my sobriety as a threat. Misery loves company, and recovery disrupts that dynamic. On some level, they were right to be concerned. Sobriety forced me to look inward and confront the reality of who I was, and the lies I told myself to maintain that image.
My former therapist had once asked me what the shame was in just being me or living my own life for myself; I had no answer for him. He explained to me that real self-confidence meant living authentically, and to this day, I will not disagree with him.
