Am I the worst person in the world?

How my twenties taught me that being lost isn’t the same as being wrong.

I finally watched The Worst Person in the World (three years too late, I know). As a twenty-something who’s constantly realizing I don’t have life figured out—and maybe never will—I can’t think of another film that has resonated with me as deeply. The protagonist, Julie, drifts through life, disillusioned at every stage, always fixated on the next version of herself she hopes to become. About halfway through the film, it became painfully clear to me that Julie wasn’t written to be universally relatable.

Julie’s choices, when viewed in totality, are often selfish, even repulsive. But for those of us who live our lives as a series of mistakes and lessons, she is the perfect protagonist. She embodies the bittersweet satisfaction of constantly chasing reinvention, even if that means severing ties with the past.

I spent much of my twenties convinced I was the worst person in the world. I felt guilt for the choices I made—letting go of friendships that no longer served me, ending relationships that no longer aligned with who I was becoming. These aren’t necessarily admirable actions, but they’re deeply human. We’ve all been there in some way.

Many people spend their lives trying to move past the damage their own ‘worst person’ caused, overlooking the lessons buried in those painful experiences. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t feel anger or resentment toward those who’ve hurt us, but it’s about what we do with that energy. Near the end of the film, Julie tells someone to “hold on to that emotion and use it later”—something she wishes she had done instead of running when things got hard. How long we hold onto those emotions is up to us, but living through the narrow lens of a single relationship or trauma rather than embracing the full, messy spectrum of life is, in my opinion, a profound disservice to ourselves.

When we talk about our own ‘worst person in the world,’ it’s easy to throw around pop-psychology buzzwords like ‘avoidant’ or ‘narcissist’—as if pain and betrayal aren’t inherent parts of life.

I’ve been hurt. You’ve been hurt. We’ve all been hurt.

But trying to pathologize our experiences or diagnose every person who’s wronged us ignores a fundamental truth: people are just broken. It’s how we move forward from the ones who hurt us that makes life worth living.

Watching this film as I near the end of my twenties hit especially hard. It forced me to reflect on how my own decade was equal parts disaster and renaissance. I’ve had more failures in love, career, and friendship than I care to admit. I started my twenties with more certainty than I have now—but what a fucking cool thing that I’m here to write about it all.

The Worst Person in the World ends in a way that acknowledges how our actions may leave lasting imprints, but they don’t have to define us. As long as we choose evolution over resentment, we remain unfinished. And what a beautiful thing it is to be unfinished.