An encounter with myself

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.

DSCF1575AUltimately 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:



One thought on “An encounter with myself

  1. Pingback: The gardener | Angels in Paris

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