i’m probably the last person who should be giving advice about self-love considering i tend to fluctuate between thinking i’m hot shit and thinking i need a lobotomy and maybe some plastic surgery. maybe self-love isn’t a default condition or a linear path but something that bounces between a spectrum. after all, insecurity is engrained in our generation, in a world where your highlight reel on instagram matters more than what your life is truly like – it is all an illusion. i think i post on insta the most at my lowest life moments (overcompensating maybe?).
i’m still learning — i’ll always be learning with whatever shit life flings at me next. maybe we can learn about how to give more of a rat’s ass about ourselves. self-care and whatever the fuck, the things ive put off because truthfully i dont know how to care for myself other than the occasional eyebrow threading and mani pedi sessions, listening to the new youngboy nba album on repeat. having shiny, flawless nails and perfect eyebrows cant answer everything, as it seems (but sincerely, kentrell has definitely been a lifesaver).
its easier just to numb myself most of the times. and im guilty of that. i feel too much, im too sensitive, and little things tend to peeve the shit out of me.
i grew up extremely insecure, and even that is an understatement. the reflection in the mirror would always badger me about how my nose is too flat, my ears stick out too much, my legs are too chunky to ever pull off that mini skirt. id pinch my nose up, imagining having a taller nose bridge and narrower nostrils, pull back the skin and fat on my thighs to experience the much-desired thigh gap.
im far from loving myself completely. body image wise, better. but hiding in a closet at 26 to cry isnt exactly considered self-care but at least its a safe space. its MY safe space.
i still have those days (in fact i had a closet episode two days ago) but i’ve learned to accept some better days too.
once in while, i’d pat myself on the back for how my eyeliner wings are perfectly symmetrical or check myself out in the mirror because i don’t look disgusting in shorts. some days, my inner-voice, that inner critic, just feels less loud.
and once in a while, i feel genuinely proud when my boss compliments my work (thanks prescription adderall). ive tried not to take things people say too personally. ive learned that not all friendships have an abrupt end and if it really matters, the friendship can be repaired. the love/hate type of relationships of my past, sprouting from pent up anger on my end and the recipient being unable to read the room until i one day explode and cut them off forever, it doesnt always have to be (unless i was uncertain about you at the beginning and you were only meant to be my temporary best friend out of my inability to be alone).
i’ve learned to appreciate those days where my mind isnt clouded with self-doubt and anxiety. for starters, im trying to write more again.
im trying to express more appreciation towards my boyfriend, who has put up with my up-and-downs, shitshow and all. and ive accepted returning to the office (and it has truly been a struggle to say the least) so when im genuinely happy talking to someone in the office without the forced pleasanteeism, im learning not to take the small things for granted.
small footsteps, and im learning (and i also hope this isnt cliche as FUCK).