self love

I’ve been quietly grappling with the idea of self love for a long time. It’s easy to be an advocate for others to love themselves – to listen, relate and reassure someone that they deserve their own affection – but to do the same for myself seems impossible. That’s not to say that I dwell in self hate.. it’s more, self resignation. I’m not necessarily who/where/what I want to be yet, but I don’t have the time/energy/space/money to get myself there… so I sit stagnant in the middle ground, fending off my own negativity, waiting for some brilliant light to illuminate all of the answers that I’ve spent years searching for.
What do I want? Who do I want to be, hell, who am I now? What is my worth in all of this? Where do I fit, in the vastness of everything that surrounds me, and everything that surrounds that.
I hate that I have to ask these questions. I feel like, at this point in my life, I should have some semblance*¹ My own self doubt disgusts me – not my doubt in life and it’s worth, but my doubt in the validity of my own questioning. This is the impasse I’ve come to, I shame myself in to thinking my thoughts are irrational and that I should fit in to some society approved three dimensional character cast. Why can’t I appreciate the unapproved three dimensional character that I actually am? Why is it so difficult to see positives in my quirks and plausible futures past this emotional deadlock? When will my perceived happiness become self love and will that piece of the puzzle help me complete the rest?

I have a mental happy place I go to, it’s almost like a goal or something to look forward to. I’m sitting in a chair, by a large window, sun pouring in. My house smells of baked goods and sage, the walls are faced with books and plants. The fridge is full of fresh vegetables from my backyard garden. I’m sipping on a black coffee, indulging myself in a fantasy novel. In that moment, I’m happy, I’m secure.
My personal affection is harbored in that haven, biding it’s time to take hold in my reality… maybe it’s waiting until I’m ready to fully appreciate it’s presence, or maybe I’m just not prepared to find it yet. So until then, I’ll slog it out in no man’s land, wielding my sword of resignation and slaying the demons that try to breach and sully my sanctuary and hopes of, eventual, self love.

I’ll end this with the soundtrack to this post:

*¹ A teacher I looked up to in high school told me to never write in pencil, it gives you the option of erasing something you may have meant to write, but are too afraid to make permanent. Words are powerful, and can be used for beautiful or ugly purposes. I recognized an ugly narrative making it’s way out, but without acknowledging it I won’t be able to silence it, so I’ve left it in and crossed out.  

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