There are those moments when you are overwhelmed by the thought of "I am not enough" for A or B or C. For better or worse, the thought eventually passes and the unfounded sense of semi-adequacy returns.

Periods of self-loathing normally cause us to look at ourselves and then decide it's better not to look. Sometimes I think of this poem by Jess Babcock. I love it.

I hate my thighs
I hate my thighs and the way they jiggle
I hate my nose and my corny giggle
I hate that I'm turning into my mother, and
I hate that I hate this because
I love her.
I love the color of my hair and my eyes, but
I hate that I love them -- such vain foolish pride.
I love the dreams that run through my head, but
I hate that I kill them and cower instead.
I hate this about me,
I hate that about you, but mostly
I hate what my hatred can do.