“Your butt is saggy.”

I stared at myself in a full length mirror, hoisting my tush up to resemble the altitude that I wished it would sit at. I thought about the Brazilian swimsuit models with their bronze glutes and let out a dejected sigh as things fell back into their rightful place.

“Nice saddlebags,” I thought.

I spent the greater part of my youth — my teenage years and on into my early twenties — hiding behind self criticisms like these. I might have attended a party or showed up at work with a smile on my face, but underneath, an inner dialogue was running a most aggressively hurtful script.

“You’re boring. You ramble. Your hair is mousy. Your outfit looks cheap.”

If anyone ever said those things to me, I would not hesitate to smack them in the face. So, why then was it okay to talk to myself like that? It wasn’t, is the point, I guess.

I realized how transparent my habits were when my fiance told me he didn’t bother complimenting me anymore, because he knew I would just throw it back at him. That was admittedly a rough patch in our relationship.

He went on to explain that I was an expert at rejecting his compliments and made him feel dumb. I had this face that I would make, and I’d shrug my shoulders, furrow my brow and say: “Oh no, no. I am not that.”

“Don’t be silly,” I’d say all the time.

Apparently, my fierce modesty wasn’t fooling anybody; just hurting them and hurting myself.

When I realized that my negative inner dialogue was pouring over into my relationships and causing rifts, I decided to start writing myself letters.

“Dear Dayna,” I would write, “You are smart, and witty. You have pretty eyes.” My notes were pretty cut and dry, at first, but they got the point across. I felt a bit silly, but better, somehow.

“Dear Dayna, You are good at listening and you give good advice.”

“Dear Dayna, You are a good gift giver. You have a big heart.”

The kinder words began to jump off the page. I would find myself flexing my biceps in the mirror and smirking a proud smirk. “Not bad,” I’d say to myself, nodding my head in approval. Someone would pay me a compliment and instead of rejecting it with my usual schtick, I would smile and say: “Oh, that’s a nice thing to say, thank you.”

“Thank you” seemed to be just exactly what people wanted to hear, so I ran with it.

It’s not a perfect system. I still find myself knee deep in self criticisms if I’m not careful. And, if anyone ever found my letters they might suspect that I had a multiple personality problem, but I enjoy reading those letters back to myself, from time to time, and remembering the things that I thought were important; the things that incited praise.

Dayna Copeland is a writer and a publisher in Denver, Colo. She hikes, camps, cooks and pretends to play guitar for her family and friends.