How I Learned to Love Myself (Even When It Felt Wrong)

There was a time in my life when the phrase self-love would have made me cringe.

Not because I didn’t need it—but because I didn’t understand it.

I associated it with arrogance. With selfishness. With people who only looked out for “number one.”

I can still hear the laughter—that sarcastic tone, the subtle mockery—like self-love was some fluffy nonsense for people who didn’t have real responsibilities.

And in the world I was raised in, it kind of was.

Self-love didn’t fit with submission.

It didn’t fit with shame.

It didn’t fit with the version of womanhood I was told to strive for.

So I rejected it.

But somewhere inside, I also knew:

I didn’t want to keep living like I was always wrong for being myself.

I didn’t want to keep bending and breaking just to earn love that never felt secure.

I didn’t want to keep shrinking.

The Quiet Crack That Opened Everything

It wasn’t a dramatic moment.

It was more like a slow ache that finally reached its edge.

I remember asking my pastor what else I had to do to be seen as “good” in my father’s eyes.

I was already taking college classes, working, serving in church, preparing for marriage.

And still—I was failing in their eyes.

The pastor looked at me and said:

“Independence is not a virtue for a woman.”

That sentence sat in my body like a toxin.

It didn’t fully wake me up right away—but it broke something.

It was the beginning of a long, slow, sacred unraveling.

Finding a New Frequency

Around that time, I started listening to The Lively Show—a podcast that, at first, felt innocent enough.

It was about creativity and business. But then, the host started talking about beliefs, inner voice, energy, alignment.

And even though I didn’t agree with everything, something in me said: Just keep listening.

Then came Educated by Tara Westover—the first book that truly mirrored my experience in a way I hadn’t seen before.

I remember reading it and thinking, Maybe I’m not crazy. Maybe what I went through really was real.

I also remember minimizing my own pain because it didn’t feel as “severe” as hers — something I now see as a classic trauma response.

Still… the seed was planted.

From there, it was poetry.

Yung Pueblo. Brianna Wiest.

Each voice offered me something I didn’t yet have words for—but deeply recognized.

They didn’t tell me to “fix” myself.

They told me to listen.

The Awkward, Daily Practice of Becoming

Learning to love myself didn’t look like dancing in front of a mirror.

(Okay, sometimes it did. But that took time.)

It looked like:

• Meditating in the mornings when I wanted to check out

• Journaling through the shame

• Smiling at myself in the mirror even when it felt fake

• Talking to my inner voice and asking, What do I need right now?

• Taking pictures of myself—not to post, just to witness

It looked like doing the weird, awkward, deeply intimate things that felt selfish at first—but eventually became sacred.

And it looked like letting myself create.

Letting myself try.

Letting things be “not quite there yet”—and loving myself through it anyway.

That part is still hard.

Putting things into the world when I know they’re going to keep getting better.

But I remind myself: Everything I share is part of my becoming. It’s not meant to be final.

What Shifted

Now, I live in the same house I lived in during my “old life”—

but it feels different.

It feels like I’ve brought magic in.

Like I’ve softened the walls with breath and joy and truth.

Like I’ve smuggled pieces of my Safe Place into my actual reality.

And most days now—

I like myself.

I love myself.

I don’t wait for someone else to confirm it.

Even when old voices try to creep in, I hear a louder one now.

Mine.

The one that says:

You’re doing great.

You’re exactly where you need to be.

You are not too much.

If You’re Still In the Beginning…

If this feels far away for you — if self-love still sounds like a joke or a luxury — I see you.

Here’s where I’d start:

• Pick up Clarity & Connection by Yung Pueblo. Read one poem a day.

• Try meditating, even for two minutes. Just long enough to say hello to yourself.

• Write a letter to your future self — the one who already likes who she is.

And maybe most importantly:

Surround yourself with people, words, and places that remind you of your truth —

until you become the reminder.

Because for me, there was a moment when these words found me:

“When she started letting go, her vision became clearer,

the present felt more manageable,

and the future began to look open and full of bright possibilities.

As she shed the tense energy of her past,

her power and creativity returned.

With a revitalized excitement,

she focused on building a new life

in which joy and freedom were abundant.”

— Yung Pueblo

I remember reading that and crying. Because I knew I wasn’t there yet —

but I could feel the possibility humming under my skin.

And now, on most days, that’s where I live.

In the hum. In the softness. In the truth that I get to start again anytime I choose.

Loving myself wasn’t a single breakthrough.

It was a choice I kept making.

And every time I chose to stay with myself — even when I didn’t feel lovable — something softened.

Something rooted.

Something opened.

And now?

I know I’m pretty fucking awesome.

And I don’t need anyone to agree with me for that to be true.