Photo by Perry Merrity II on Unsplash
If you keep thinking “I hate people,” you’re not a monster and you’re not alone. Most of the time it isn’t hatred of people at all. It’s exhaustion, old hurt and disappointment that have hardened into contempt, because contempt is easier to carry than the loneliness and grief underneath it.
The colleague who talks over everyone. The friend who only calls when they need something. And slowly, without deciding it, you’ve stopped liking anyone. You’d rather stay in. And there’s a quieter thought under it: maybe the problem is me.
On the mainland, being cut off in traffic could light me up. A spike of offence, a tightening that felt almost righteous. Then I moved to Hawaii, and something in my body softened. People look up when you pass them. They talk story before they talk business. When somebody cuts in front of me here, I can throw a shaka instead. Not always. I’m not claiming sainthood.
But watch what happens when the tourists arrive. I stop to let someone cross the road and they don’t look up. Don’t acknowledge it. And I can feel myself slip. Judgment rises faster than compassion. I fall out of aloha because my irritation becomes bigger than the absence of aloha I’m reacting to.
That’s the whole trap in one crossing. I wanted to be seen, I wasn’t, and in half a second I’d turned a stranger into the enemy.
Before I explain any of it, try something. Read the next sentence slowly, let the out-breath go, and notice what happens in your body as you read it. You don’t have to like everyone to belong somewhere. Don’t argue with it and don’t agree with it. Just notice where it lands, the jaw, the chest, the eyes, and whether something in you softens a little or folds its arms. Stay with that one more breath. That’s the place we’ll work from.
What’s really going on
If something in you folded its arms just now, that’s the part we’re talking about.
There’s a line in my book I keep coming back to. Underneath most hardness is longing. Underneath most contempt is grief. And underneath most dismissal is fear. “I hate people” is hardness. It’s a wall built by someone who wanted in.
Shame is the unbearable sense of unworthiness we feel when we’re separate from belonging. Donald Nathanson, building on Silvan Tomkins, mapped the four directions we run when it hits, and he called it the Compass of Shame. Attack self. Withdraw. Avoid. Attack other. “I hate people” is usually two of those at once: attack other, and withdraw. Everyone is stupid, so I’ll stay home. It feels like a choice. Very often it’s a protector doing its job.
And the protector has a point. If you’re standing on a train track and the train is coming and someone asks for a hug, the right decision is to push them away and run. The trouble is when the train left the station years ago and you’re still standing there braced, pushing people away, and calling it a preference.
So you make sense. If people hurt you, used you, laughed at you or left you, of course a part of you decided they’re not worth the risk. That part kept you safe. It just doesn’t know the danger has changed.
Why you might hate people
You’ve been hurt by people. Betrayal, bullying, a family where nobody was safe. Every new person gets read through the old ones.
You’re exhausted. Burnout, caring for others, a job that drains you. When there’s nothing left in the tank, everyone feels like a demand.
Your bar is set where no human can clear it. High standards protect you from disappointment, but they also guarantee it. Nobody passes the test, so nobody gets in.
You’re surrounded by the wrong ones. Sometimes it’s these people, this office, this feed. Fiat belonging is a tribe where belonging matters more than truth, and if that’s the only kind on offer, contempt can be the healthiest part of you saying no.
It’s part of something heavier. Depression can make you feel cut off from everyone, and that can sour into resentment. If the hatred comes with hopelessness, numbness or no joy in anything, take that seriously.
The verdict and the invitation
When certain arguments come looking for me, what rises is an eye roll. And I’ve watched people who managed to see through some game in the world, and the first thing they did with the wider lens was call everyone still playing an NPC. A non-player character. The background figures in a video game with no inner life.
Hating people can feel like clarity. But an eye roll isn’t wisdom. It’s a third village, smug about all the other villages.
The test is simple, and you can run it on yourself in one breath. Does your seeing come with an invitation, or a verdict? “People are idiots” is a verdict. “I’m tired of being let down and I don’t know who to trust” is an invitation. Same eyes. Opposite work.
In the therapy room I can hold everyone. At my own dinner table, when the talk turns to the state of the world, a judgmental stance rises that I can feel and can’t always stop. I’m a work in progress, still learning to contain my eye rolls from hurting people.
Need to talk this through right now? Figlet is an AI coach that’s there at 2 in the morning, or right now. It runs this loop with you on the Belonging ground.
The loop, on your situation
The practice underneath this is one I learned from Aftab Omer, reflexive participation: what am I noticing now, how am I affected, and what creative action is being called for? Run it on the last person who got under your skin.
Get ground in your body first
Feet on the floor. One long breath out. Let your eyes soften, the way you’d look at the sea instead of a screen.
What happened
One plain sentence. “My sister cancelled again and didn’t say sorry.”
Where it lands in the body
A curl in the lip. Heat in the chest. A heaviness that wants to lie down. Find it and stay for one breath. And now what do you notice?
Who’s driving
Name the direction on the compass. Attack other (“she’s so selfish”) or withdraw (“I’m done with everyone”). Then ask the protector what it’s protecting you from. Usually it’s a coin: I’m not enough for them to show up, or I’m too much to be worth the effort.
Trace it
Only as far as today needs. Who taught you that people let you down? Was it safe to need anyone in your house? And the system you live in now: how much of your day is spent watching strangers be awful on a screen?
Feel it and tell someone
Underneath the contempt, find the softer word. Lonely. Disappointed. Left out. Say it to one person who’s glad to hear from you. Shame feeds on aloneness. The antidote is company, even a little of it.
One creative action
Make one invitation where you’d usually hand down a verdict. A text: “I’ve been a bit closed off lately. Fancy a walk?” Small. Real. One person, not all of them.
How to stop hating people, honestly
You don’t have to love humanity. Start smaller. Belonging lives at three scales: the parts inside you, the few people around you, and the wider world. Most people who hate people are trying to fix the third scale first. Fix the middle one. One friend. One neighbour. One crew.
Look for places that make it easier. Living somewhere people wave each other out into traffic changed my body more than any insight did. Find your version: a club, a team, a walking group, somewhere people connect first.
And keep the boundary. Some people really aren’t safe for you. Seeing that clearly is health, not hatred.
One thing to do tonight
Write down the names of three people you don’t hate. It might be a short list. Then send one of them a line that isn’t a request: “Thought of you today.” You’re not trying to love everyone. You’re reminding your body that somebody out there is safe.
Would therapy help with this?
Coaching is how we go from where you are now to where you want to go. We only address the past when it emerges in the present. For a hardened heart in a draining season, that’s often the right size of help.
But if the hatred comes with hopelessness, if you can’t feel anything good about anyone including yourself, or if old trauma keeps flooding in, please talk to a licensed therapist where you live.
The path
What I’ve just walked you through is the Empathi Method. For an individual, it’s built on my Proof of Work of Being Human protocol: building sovereign ground inside yourself. On the Belonging ground, that means seeing people clearly and still keeping your heart for them.
There are two ways to keep going. You can start now with Figlet, an AI coach that’s there at 2 in the morning, on the Belonging ground, and it’ll help you catch the verdict as it forms and find the longing underneath it. Or you can get on the list for the book and the live program with me, where we do this work together.
Figs O’SullivanFiglet Life Coaching
Get help now
Figlet is an AI coach, there at 2 in the morning or right now. It runs this loop with you on your actual situation, as often as you need. It’s coaching, not therapy. The list hears first about the book and the next live program with me.
Proof of Work, Greenleaf Book Group Press, February 2027. Not sure which ground is hurting? Take the two-minute Ground Check.
I still slip at that crossing. But more often now I notice it, soften my eyes, and wave anyway.
I go deeper into this in my book, Proof of Work (Greenleaf Book Group Press, February 2027).
Common questions
Is it normal to hate people?
Feeling fed up with people is very common, especially when you’re tired, hurt or lonely. It usually points to disappointment or old hurt, not to who you really are.
Why do I suddenly hate everyone?
A sudden shift often follows stress, burnout, a betrayal or a run of disappointments. It can also be a sign of depression. If it came on fast and won’t lift, talk to a doctor or a licensed therapist where you live.
Can social anxiety make you hate people?
Yes. Social anxiety often wears hatred as a costume. Saying “I hate people” is easier than admitting “people scare me.” Naming the fear is the first step out.
If you’re thinking about hurting yourself, call or text 988.
Reflexive participation comes from the teaching of Aftab Omer at the Institute of Imaginal Studies, where I trained.
