i love me, i love me not.

“He could’ve done better.”

Words from the sisters of my significant other that rung like church bells in my ears.

“He could’ve done better.”

And just like that, I went from a confident self-assured 21 year old woman back to a self-loathing teenager who didn’t know what it meant to love herself.

I’ve been dealing with these negative feelings for a few days now, unsure of how to mentally grow up and out of such a funk.

Until today.

It wasn’t that he said that I was beautiful, it was that he said I was beautiful long before he or anyone said I was.

It was in that moment that I realized how my confidence and self-worth often piggy-backed on the words of other people. So long as my twitter fans loved me, I was beautiful. As long as I racked in Instagram likes, I could go on feeling myself. So long as my opinion of myself depended on the validation of other people, I would never be happy.

I’ve spent years saying that I loved myself; how I looked, how I spoke, how I carried myself and now it seems as if I was convincing myself of something I didn’t really believe.

My whole idea of what it means to love myself is shattered, but for the better.

I realize that I will never be able to accept the love I deserve if I don’t 1. love myself first and 2. remind myself that I am worth loving.

Here’s to the man who loves me even when I don’t know how to love myself.

Here’s to me learning to love myself.

May the journey continue for me and for you.

 

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection”
 – Buddha

 

BTW: Today’s featured picture was done by me and the model is a good friend of mine 🙂

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Self Harm

I’m realizing that old wounds will always hurt if I keep picking at them.

In a biology/chemistry seminar I attended, the speaker said something that really struck home with me. “You can’t break old habits. You can only make new ones to override the old ones.”

That being said, I’m still trying to figure out how to override this habit of reminding myself of the things I’m better off forgetting. I guess you never really forget. You just learn to cope and move on and then somewhere along the way, it doesn’t hurt to remember anymore.

So is it that we can’t help but remember the things that hurt us or is it that we don’t really WANT to forget?

Is it a defense mechanism or a means of self harm?…of self destruction? Am I coping or am I a masochist; constantly reopening wounds the minute they start to heal.

I guess we all kind of like to hurt ourselves, in that sense.

We know the stove is hot but just to be sure it’s as hot as we remember, we touch it again…and again…and again..and again. The stove is always as hot as we remember it. The wound is always as deep as we remember it.

How many times will we, will I, pick at the same thing before it leaves a scar?

Someone close to me said, “I pick my scabs because I don’t want to see them.”

Do we do that? Obviously not just physically. Do we remove the very things keeping the infections and  pain away because we don’t want to see the reminder of what’s happened?

How conducive is it really to the healing process? Isn’t it now much slower, more painful than if we had just let it heal and let it be?

I suppose we, human and flawed, can never just let things be. It’s the pain that tells us we’re alive..that it was real. It’s the scars that remind us why we’ll never do something again, go somewhere again, love someone again.

They say time heals all wounds but no one tells us how to deal with the scars.