Self-love didn’t come from fixing myself

I’ve been cultivating self-love for a long time.

Almost 20 years, at this point.

And for most of that time, I thought it was something you achieve.

You heal enough.
You fix enough things.
You become someone you’re finally okay with.

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So I did all of that.

Therapy.
Healing.
Trying to understand myself.

And I kept running into the same wall.

I didn’t actually feel self-love.

What I did feel was:

Self-love as a check list of items to cross out.

And underneath all of it —
still not enough.

And then it shifted recently.

Not because I healed “everything”.

To the contrary - at times I felt like “I’ll never heal enough”. No matter how much I healed, there was always something else to heal still. The deeper I went the more I discovered what needed healing.

But because I did something new.

Not temporarily.

Not as a step toward becoming better.

But fully.

I allowed myself to be:

ordinary
unimpressive
unsuccessful

All the things I had been trying to outrun.

And when I did,
I thought the “world would end” or something. That I would feel worse. That I’d crumble.

But what actually happened was the opposite.

When I accepted being a failure, I - with a degree of shock - saw that I still breathed, the ground still held me, and the most shocking: I still liked myself.

And I saw that in fact, my feelings towards myself were not determined by where I was on the genius/accomplishment spectrum. I liked myself regardless.

And that was new. Revolutionary, without exaggeration.

Because for the first time,
I was my own ally.

My best friend.

Not because I had something to celebrate.

But because I was there.

And around the same time, something else shifted.

Or more accurately —
I stopped assuming I knew better.

Because if I’m honest,
my life planning hasn’t been particularly successful.

It mostly created pressure, resistance, and disappointment.

So I tried something different.

I let go.

Not in a dramatic way.

More like:

What if there is something in me —
or beyond me —
that actually knows what it’s doing?

And if that’s true…

then this life I’m living might not be random.

It might be designed.

And if it’s designed…

then by who?

If I take that seriously,
then the answer becomes uncomfortable and simple:

me.

Not me as I am right now.

But something bigger.

And if that’s the case…

why have I been resisting it for so long?

Why have I been trying to override it,
fix it,
redirect it?

So I set an intention.

What if I trust it?

What if I stop fighting the experience I’m already in?

What if I let it play out?

And something unexpected happened.

The pressure dropped.

And with it,
the constant evaluation of myself.

And without that evaluation…

It was just… there.

Not perfect.

Not blissful.

But steady.

Even now —
seven days after surgery, questioning my decisions,
still very human, still second-guessing

I’m okay with myself.

And that, for me, is new.

Self-love isn’t about becoming someone worthy of love.

It’s about stopping the resistance
to who you already are.

And to the life that is already unfolding.