I Would Like to Remind You

Last night I was sitting on the couch, scribbling words in my journal as I raced to keep pace with my thoughts. When I finally glanced up from the page, I glimpsed my shadow on the wall–an oversized, fuzzy projection of my face and head, complete with high ponytail. I’ve sat in this position a hundred times, but this was the first encounter with my shadow. As my brain started to recognize what I was seeing, I beamed a smile at my silhouette. And then, as if talking with a dear friend, I heard myself say, “I love you.”

I was quite surprised by this automatic response. Really? I love you? Where did that come from? I would have predicted a critical comment about the shape of my nose in profile. For as much as I try to practice and nurture self-love, at times it can still feel elusive. Yet my natural reaction to seeing myself last night tells me that something important is finally taking root. I am starting to know that I am lovable.

In that moment I felt a strong desire to share what had just happened, because I think at times we all could use a little reminder of this simple truth: you are lovable just as you are. There is nothing that you need to do. There is nothing that you have to become. Right here, right now, you are lovable.

We always have been–each and every one of us–but this intrinsic knowing can get buried under the conclusions we draw as we begin to experience the world. As children we often develop stories about how we have to act or what parts of ourselves we have to give up in order to be loved. We may have felt that love was unavailable or withheld when we were angry, made mistakes, voiced our opinions, or asked for something we really, really wanted. This perception or actual experience of conditional love can cause our childhood selves to internalize a sense of unworthiness.

Later as we begin to explore relationships, we are filled with an overwhelming desire to belong. In these tender years, love may again seem to require some degree of effort or performance to attain. When we experience the pain of rejection, we may attribute it to something innately wrong with who we are. We may fear that we are not lovable, confirming our childhood assumptions.  

While our young selves processed their experiences as best they could, their conclusions are frequently misguided and incomplete. However, we can live our entire adult lives believing the stories they authored and unable to recognize the truth that’s deep within us, waiting to be discovered.

I hope that you will pause and remind yourself that you are lovable, even and especially when you don’t think you are. You are lovable when you’re not trying. You are lovable when you have nothing to give. You are lovable when you’re crying. You are lovable when you ask for what you need. You are lovable even when you’ve said something so terrible that you wish you could swallow the words out of the air. You are not perfect–you’re human. And you are lovable.

Love Is a Verb

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about love. Maybe it’s because I think this country needs it now more than ever. Maybe it stems from listening to John Mayer albums on repeat. Or perhaps my subconscious is just trying to remind me that I’m spending another Valentine’s Day alone. Regardless of the root of my obsession, I decided that the best approach to this enormous topic was to share the simple but impactful lessons my experiences have taught me about love.

When I got married at age twenty-five, I still had a hard time considering myself an adult but hearing my husband introduce me as his wife made my heart sing. I adored this man and loved him more than I had ever thought possible. I couldn’t believe that he wanted to spend his life with me, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. While I don’t think there is anything wrong with feeling this way, the problem was that my young self didn’t seem to have confidence in the opposite version of that statement–that my husband was so lucky that I had picked him.

Over time this imbalance in my thinking led to unhealthy relationship patterns. I started to think that being a good wife meant making my husband my number one priority and pushing my own needs aside. I thought that loving him meant that I had to give up some of the things that made me “me” in order to fit inside the “we” that we were creating. I thought I was being a generous wife by always considering my husband and what would make him happy, but I was actually becoming a very needy wife. With my focus on making him feel loved and appreciated, I lost touch with myself. I constantly sought his attention and approval, because I needed reassurance that I mattered. Meanwhile, I started to resent that my own needs weren’t being met.

There is more to the story, but fast forward nine years to when I found myself devastated and on my own. I started going to therapy regularly and reading books on mindfulness, relationships, and codependency in order to process what had happened. I forced myself to take a long, hard look at how I had contributed to the break down of my marriage.

In the midst of this messy and uncomfortable work, I discovered that I didn’t fully love and accept myself. This was a surprise to me, because if anyone had ever randomly stopped me on the street and asked me if I liked myself, I would have said yes. But as it turns out, I thought I had to prove myself because I didn’t believe in my own worth. I accepted people’s disrespect because I didn’t respect myself. My needs weren’t being met because I couldn’t identify them or ask for what I wanted.

I have often heard people say that before you can fully love others, you must learn to love yourself. As I started to understand my past and find healing, I recognized truth in this common adage. The key is that loving yourself is not a flippant “of course I love myself” kind of love but is a “creeping down the stairs to the darkest corner of the basement and making friends with what you bump into” kind of love. While easier said than done, making friends with myself and learning to love all my parts has changed how I relate to others.

When I accept myself without judgment–as is–I believe that I am wonderful exactly as I am. I feel less pressure to meet the expectations of others. I am able to be myself more authentically, which fosters deeper and more meaningful relationships.

When I respect myself, I prioritize relationships that are built on mutual respect and put less energy into those that aren’t. I make decisions based on what I want, not what someone else wants for me. I am better able to establish boundaries.

When I understand that I am responsible for meeting my needs, I feel comfortable spending time alone, pursuing my own passions, or practicing self-care without feeling guilty. By taking care of myself, I have the energy and enthusiasm to support others.

When I love myself unconditionally, I’m not constantly looking to others to meet this fundamental need. I no longer have to wildly chase or cling to someone else in order to feel loved. Yes, I want to connect with others and develop intimate relationships, but now I can approach these relationships from a place of wholeness and not from a place of lacking.  Instead of feeling resentful, I can truly give to the relationship with generosity.

This kind of love is work. It is hard work, my friends. I think it's supposed to be. As John Mayer so beautifully suggests, “Love ain’t a thing, love is a verb.”