If you ask people—what would you like to change about yourself?—you’re asking them to name the gap between who they are and who they believe they should be.
And that gap is where most human suffering lives.
Because the answer is almost never “nothing.” Almost everyone carries a list—spoken or unspoken—of the ways they’re failing to be the person they think they ought to be.
The Surface Answers (What People Say First)
Ask this question casually, and you’ll hear:
Physical: “I’d lose weight.” “I’d be taller, more attractive, have better skin, better hair.” “I’d change my body entirely.”
Behavioral: “I’d be more disciplined.” “I’d stop procrastinating.” “I’d exercise more, eat better, sleep on schedule.”
Social: “I’d be more confident.” “I’d be better at small talk, at making friends.” “I’d be less awkward, less anxious in social situations.”
Emotional: “I’d worry less.” “I’d be less sensitive, less reactive.” “I’d stop overthinking everything.”
These are the acceptable answers—the ones you can say at a dinner party without making people uncomfortable. They’re real, but they’re also symptoms, not sources.
What They’re Really Saying
Dig deeper, and the same answers reveal different truths:
“I’d lose weight”
Surface: I want to be thinner.
Deeper: I want to feel acceptable in my own body. I want to stop hating what I see in the mirror. I want to walk into a room without shame. I want to believe I’m worthy of love at my current size and I can’t, so I believe transformation will finally make me enough.
Deepest: I’m trying to control my body because everything else feels uncontrollable. If I can just discipline my appetite, maybe I can prove I’m not the failure I suspect I am.
The weight isn’t really the problem. The problem is using body transformation as a proxy for self-worth. The belief that “if I change this physical thing, I’ll finally be acceptable” is a trap—because even if you lose the weight, the unworthiness travels with you.
“I’d be more confident”
Surface: I want to feel sure of myself.
Deeper: I’m tired of second-guessing everything I say and do. I’m exhausted from seeking external validation. I watch other people move through the world with ease, and I feel like I’m faking my way through every interaction.
Deepest: I don’t actually know who I am beneath the performance. I’ve spent so long trying to be what others want that I’ve lost access to my own preferences, my own voice. What I want isn’t confidence—it’s permission to exist as I actually am without apology.
Confidence isn’t something you acquire. It’s what emerges when you stop abandoning yourself to please others. But people think it’s a trait you can develop, like a muscle. So they say “I want to be more confident” when what they mean is “I want to stop betraying myself.”
“I’d stop overthinking”
Surface: My mind won’t shut up.
Deeper: I’m terrified of making the wrong choice. Every decision feels like it has catastrophic stakes. I replay conversations for days, analyzing what I said wrong. I imagine future disasters constantly.
Deepest: I learned early that the world is dangerous and my survival depends on perfect vigilance. Overthinking isn’t a bad habit—it’s a trauma response. It’s hypervigilance dressed up as conscientiousness. What I actually want to change is the belief that I’m only safe if I anticipate and prevent every possible threat.
People say “I’d stop overthinking” like it’s a bad habit they could just quit. But overthinking is usually protection against a threat that once was real and might not be anymore. The mind learned to do this for a reason.
“I’d be less sensitive”
Surface: I cry too easily. I take things personally. I’m too emotional.
Deeper: I feel everything intensely, and it’s exhausting. Other people seem to move through life without being devastated by every slight, every criticism, every loss. I wish I had thicker skin.
Deepest: I’ve been told my whole life that my sensitivity is a flaw. “You’re too sensitive” was the diagnosis. So I learned to see my capacity for deep feeling—which could be a gift—as a defect. What I actually want isn’t to feel less. It’s to live in a world that doesn’t punish sensitivity.
The person who wants to be “less sensitive” has usually been shamed for feeling deeply. They’ve learned that their emotional range is a problem. But sensitivity isn’t the issue—it’s that they’re surrounded by people who can’t or won’t meet them in emotional depth.
The Patterns: What Do People Actually Want to Change?
Across hundreds of answers, several themes emerge:
1. They want to change their bodies
Because bodies are visible proof of failure in a culture obsessed with appearance. Every person who says “I’d change my body” is really saying: I’ve internalized the message that my body, as it is, is not acceptable.
This includes:
- Weight (most common)
- Height (especially men)
- Facial features
- Aging (wrinkles, gray hair, physical decline)
- Anything that marks them as different from the idealized standard
But here’s the cruel trick: Even people who achieve the body they wanted often report that nothing changed internally. They’re thin now, or muscular now, or conventionally attractive now—and they still feel inadequate. Because the inadequacy was never really about the body.
2. They want to change their discipline
“I’d be more disciplined, more consistent, more able to follow through.”
This is really about proving they’re not lazy, not weak, not failures. It’s the internalized Protestant work ethic, the productivity gospel, the belief that worth equals output.
People who want to change their discipline are often already working too hard. But they can’t see it because they’ve been taught that rest is failure and effort is virtue.
What they actually need isn’t more discipline. It’s permission to be human, which means sometimes being tired, distracted, unmotivated, and still worthy.
3. They want to change their anxiety
Every version of this:
- “I’d worry less”
- “I’d be calmer”
- “I’d stop catastrophizing”
- “I’d relax”
They’re describing living in a state of chronic threat response. And they blame themselves for it, as if anxiety is a character flaw rather than a nervous system that learned the world is dangerous.
What they actually want is to feel safe. But they think the problem is internal—”I’m too anxious”—when often the problem is that they actually aren’t safe, or they were once unsafe and the body remembers.
4. They want to change their past
Not always stated directly, but underneath many answers:
“I’d erase the mistakes I made.” “I’d redo that choice.” “I’d go back and be braver, smarter, more aware.”
This is regret calcified into self-blame. They’re carrying the weight of decisions they can’t undo, wounds they can’t heal, younger selves they can’t forgive.
What they actually want is time travel—to undo the irrevocable. But since that’s impossible, they settle for punishing present-self for past-self’s failures.
5. They want to change how others see them
Phrased as: “I’d be more likeable.” “I’d be funnier, more interesting, more impressive.” “I’d be the kind of person people want to be around.”
This reveals: They’ve made other people’s opinions the measure of their worth.
The tragedy is that what they’re trying to change—the performance of self that will win approval—prevents genuine connection. Because people don’t connect with performances. They connect with presence, authenticity, vulnerability.
What they actually want is to be seen and loved as they are. But they think they need to change first to deserve that.
6. They want to change their emotional range
“I’d be less angry.” “I’d be happier.” “I’d be more positive, less depressed.”
They’re describing the exhaustion of feeling things they’ve been told are unacceptable. Anger is bad. Sadness is weakness. Negativity is toxic.
So they want to amputate the difficult emotions—not understanding that emotions aren’t the problem. Emotions are information. The problem is not knowing what to do with the information or living in circumstances that cause justified difficult emotions.
You can’t happy your way out of a depressing situation. You can’t positive-think away legitimate anger. But people try, and then blame themselves when they can’t.
What People DON’T Say (But Maybe Should)
Rarely does anyone say:
“I’d change my inability to rest.”
“I’d change my need for constant validation.”
“I’d change my tendency to abandon myself to please others.”
“I’d change my belief that I’m only valuable if I’m productive.”
“I’d change my addiction to being right, to winning arguments, to proving I’m better.”
“I’d change my inability to receive love even when it’s offered.”
“I’d change my fear of being ordinary.”
Why don’t people name these? Because they’re harder to admit. They require acknowledging patterns rather than isolated flaws. They require examining not just “what’s wrong with me” but “what have I learned to do that’s now harming me?”
The Age Variable
Young people (teens, twenties) often want to change:
- Physical appearance (intensely)
- Social status
- Confidence
- Their entire personality (“I hate who I am”)
They’re in the identity formation stage—still figuring out who they are, comparing themselves to everyone, desperate to fit in while also wanting to stand out. The desire to change is often total: I want to be different. Completely. Someone else.
Middle-aged people (thirties, forties, fifties) often want to change:
- Habits that have accumulated (weight, drinking, smoking)
- Career trajectory
- Relationship patterns
- “Wasted time” / decisions they regret
They’re in the assessment stage—looking back at paths taken, paths not taken, wondering if it’s too late to become who they thought they’d be. The desire to change is often nostalgic: I want to reclaim the person I was, or become the person I should have been.
Older people (sixties and beyond) often want to change:
- Physical limitations (health, mobility, energy)
- Relationships they didn’t maintain
- Things they never said
- Their level of acceptance / peace
They’re in the reconciliation stage—making peace with who they became versus who they imagined. The desire to change often softens into: I want to accept what I cannot change. I want to forgive myself. I want peace.
Though of course, some older people are still fighting their bodies, still striving, still believing transformation will finally make them acceptable. And some young people have already found peace. Age doesn’t determine wisdom, but it often determines what changes feel urgent.
The Gender Pattern
Men more often want to change:
- Physical power (strength, height, muscularity)
- Financial status / career success
- Confidence / dominance
- Emotional control (“be less emotional”)
- Discipline / willpower
These reflect masculine socialization: men measure worth by achievement, power, control, stoicism. The ideal man is strong, successful, unemotional, disciplined.
So men want to change the ways they fail these standards.
Women more often want to change:
- Physical appearance (weight, beauty, aging)
- Likability / agreeableness
- Emotional regulation (“be less sensitive, less needy”)
- Confidence without seeming “too much”
- Productivity without sacrificing care for others
These reflect feminine socialization: women measure worth by appearance, by being liked, by caring for others, by not being “too much” (too loud, too ambitious, too emotional, too sexual, too anything).
So women want to change the ways they fail these standards.
Both are trapped in gendered expectations that punish them for being human. Men aren’t allowed to feel. Women aren’t allowed to age. Men must achieve. Women must please. The specific things they want to change reflect which impossible standard they’ve internalized.
The Tragedy
Here’s what’s heartbreaking: Most of what people want to change about themselves isn’t actually a flaw.
Sensitivity? That’s capacity for deep connection. Overthinking? That’s intelligence and conscientiousness. Anxiety? That’s a nervous system that kept you safe when safety wasn’t guaranteed. “Too much” emotionality? That’s being alive, being human, refusing to be numb.
The things people hate about themselves are often their greatest strengths, reframed as weaknesses by a culture that can’t handle complexity.
And the things they desperately want—confidence, discipline, productivity—are often just adaptation to systems that don’t serve them. They want to change themselves to fit a broken world rather than questioning whether the world should change.
What People Actually Need (vs. What They Think They Need)
| What they say they want | What they actually need |
|---|---|
| To lose weight | To stop hating their body |
| To be more confident | To stop abandoning themselves |
| To be less anxious | To feel actually safe |
| To be more disciplined | Permission to rest without guilt |
| To be less sensitive | To be surrounded by people who can handle depth |
| To change their past | To forgive their younger self |
| To be more successful | To measure worth by something other than achievement |
| To be different | To be accepted as they are |
The change people want is almost never the change they need.
The Philosophical Problem
Wanting to change yourself contains a paradox:
You cannot become different by hating who you are.
Self-improvement motivated by self-loathing doesn’t lead to transformation—it leads to more self-loathing in a slightly different form.
You lose the weight while hating your body—now you’re thin and still hate your body, just for different reasons.
You develop confidence while believing you’re fundamentally inadequate—now you’re confident and still feel like a fraud.
You become successful while measuring worth by achievement—now you’re successful and still feel empty because the goalposts moved.
Real change only comes from self-acceptance.
Not the kind of acceptance that means “I’m perfect, I need to change nothing.”
But the kind that means: “I see myself clearly—flaws and strengths, wounds and gifts—and I’m worthy as I am. From that place of worthiness, I can grow.”
When you change from a place of acceptance rather than self-hatred, the change is organic, sustainable, and actually satisfying. You’re not trying to become acceptable—you already are. You’re just becoming more fully yourself.
The Answer They Should Give (But Rarely Do)
The wisest answer to “what would you change about yourself?” might be:
“I’d change my relationship to change itself. I’d stop believing I need to be different to be worthy. I’d stop comparing myself to impossible standards. I’d forgive myself for being human—which means sometimes weak, sometimes scared, sometimes failing, sometimes just okay rather than exceptional.”
“I’d change my belief that I’m a problem to be solved rather than a person to be lived.”
“I’d change the way I speak to myself—with more kindness, more patience, more recognition that I’m doing my best with what I was given.”
“I’d change nothing, because the belief that I need to change is what’s actually hurting me. I’d accept myself as I am—not as resignation, but as the foundation from which real growth becomes possible.”
What would you change about yourself? And if you’re honest—are you trying to fix a flaw, or are you trying to become someone you think you should be? And who decided what you should be anyway?
Bhyllabus l'énigme 
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