Life is busy at the moment. Not a lot of encounters with strangers going on, but some days I encounter myself and I don’t always encounter the best of me. This is something I wrote to a friend a couple of days back, but I could be writing it to every single one of you.
Ultimately it isn’t about what you think about me, but about what I think about me. Some moments of some days that isn’t much; today is one of those days.
What makes today different from yesterday? I don’t even know. …
I do know that those are the days I look to other people to tell me what’s lovable about me.
Today I looked at you. When met with silence the answer must be “nothing”. Not that I actually had the courage to ask.
The silence is overtaken by the little girl that lives in my heart. The little girl that cries out “But I didn’t do anything wrong, why can’t you just love me?”
The real question being: Why can’t I just love me? Just being the operative word.
Why don’t I love me, or not enough? And how can I change that?
Self-compassion: Being kind to me in the same way I would be kind to you.
I am kind to you, right? And you don’t have to do anything special for me to be kind to you, right? I just am, right?
My friend read the text back to me and while I hadn’t finished writing it he answered the questions the way I would have answered them: