The one person we’re afraid to love.

What’s the point of love if we can’t love ourselves? What’s the use of even saying the word if we persist in sending love to others and withholding from ourselves? You’ll never truly experience love unless you can find it in yourself to admit that you deserve love.


We chase love from others; acknowledgement and compassion. But when that doesn’t arrive or materialize, we sink into despair, professing that no one will love us or can. And the longer this goes, the more likely it is that we’re truly fall for the delusion that we are unlovable. What happens is we either become sullen and miserable or we spend all of our energy constantly trying to find love from others, even when doing so compromises any opportunity to be happy or fulfilled.

The fact is: we will never love anyone or show genuine compassion if we do not first love ourselves. And loving ourselves doesn’t mean that we should believe we’re superior or somehow perfect or pristine. We can love things that are fraught with imperfection. We can love a mess; the chaotic embodiment of that soul we inhabit and that inhabits us.

We can fall deeply and madly in love with our own humanity. But only if we allow ourselves to. If we give ourselves permission to be loved by that spirit closest to the spirit within us: our own.


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