The other day, I was scrolling through Instagram, and saw a post that asked, “Who do you love?” I can’t remember a single thing about that post except my automatic answer. It wasn’t my husband, my sons, my parents, my brother, or my cats. The first person that came to mind was me.
This is revelatory. I am a woman. We are not supposed to love ourselves. We are supposed to pick ourselves apart. We are supposed to fixate on our flaws. We are supposed to always be striving to be perfect and always be falling short. But, for the first time in my life, I love myself — full stop. I feel such tenderness and care for the person that I am and that I’m becoming. I am trying so hard every day to live in accord with my values. I try, I assess, and I recalibrate, and I love this earnestness. I love me.