The Armor of Self-Love

Sharing my past can be difficult. It holds echoes of pain and voices that still linger, like unwelcome guests in my mind.

While vulnerability can be daunting, it's like cracking open a geode. Though rough on the outside, it holds the potential for dazzling beauty within. Sharing my journey exposes the raw fragments of my past and echoes I'd rather forget, but the act itself becomes a powerful force for healing, liberation, and empowerment.

It has taken me years to admit that I am my own hero. Nobody came to save me, I had to save myself. I had to learn how to love myself after being made to feel like nobody else ever did, or ever would because I was unworthy.

The person who held my heart closest inflicted a deep wound, leaving me feeling vulnerable and questioning my value. My own mother. The very foundation on which I built my trust and love crumbled beneath me, leaving me feeling adrift and questioning everything and everyone around me.

In my childhood innocence, I mistook it for reality, a truth woven into the fabric of my world. But over time, this harsh reality slowly chipped away at my spirit, leaving me fragmented and broken.

My mother's relentless chorus whispering "you're bad" became the soundtrack of my self-perception. I internalized her words, branding myself as flawed and unworthy, damaged beyond repair.

The mirror used to be a battlefield. Staring back was a stranger, someone I criticized and compared to impossible standards. Self-love felt like a foreign language, forgiveness an unattainable dream, and inner peace a distant mirage shimmering in the desert of self-doubt. It took years to realize this war within wasn't serving me. Nobody was coming to slay the dragons of my insecurities; I had to be my own knight.

The journey began with a whisper, a seed of acceptance I hesitantly planted. I started acknowledging my flaws, not with judgment, but with a gentle understanding that they were part of my story. Each imperfection, like a wrinkle on an old map, held a tale of resilience and survival. Slowly, the harsh critic in my head softened, replaced by a voice that offered encouragement and support.

Forgiveness was the next hurdle, a mountain I had to climb one agonizing step at a time. I began by forgiving myself for past mistakes, acknowledging them, learning from them, and letting go of the heavy burden of self-blame. It wasn't easy. The past clung like a shadow, whispering doubts and accusations. But with each act of self-forgiveness, the shadow grew dimmer, its power waning.

Inner peace, once a distant mirage, became a guiding star. I started nurturing my body with healthy choices, treating it as a temple, not a punishment. I nourished my mind with knowledge and experiences that sparked joy and growth. I nurtured my spirit with activities that brought me a sense of purpose and connection. Slowly, the fragmented pieces began to mend, forming a mosaic of self-acceptance and tranquility.

The path wasn't always smooth. There were stumbles and setbacks, moments when the old doubts threatened to resurface. But the seed of self-love had taken root, and now it bloomed with fierce determination. When the critic reappeared, I countered its negativity with affirmations of my worth. When the weight of the past threatened to pull me down, I used the strength of forgiveness to rise above.

This journey is far from over. It's a lifelong quest, a continuous evolution towards becoming the best version of myself. But one thing is certain: I am no longer the damsel in distress, waiting for a savior. I am the hero of my own story, armed with self-love, forgiveness, and the unwavering pursuit of inner peace. And in that newfound strength, I find the courage to write the next chapter, one filled with purpose, acceptance, and the unwavering belief that I am worthy of love, happiness, and all the beauty life has to offer.

Somewhere in the depths of my heart I even found forgiveness for those who had hurt me the most. Forgiveness wasn't a sudden burst of light, but a slow, simmering ember gradually turning into a warm flame. It started with recognizing their own human flaws, their own struggles they may have never shared. I began to understand that their actions, however hurtful, weren't solely directed at me, but were often reflections of their own internal battles.

The process wasn't linear. There were days when the embers seemed to flicker and die, replaced by a cold, familiar anger. But I, the seasoned warrior of self-love, wouldn't let the fire die. I nurtured the embers with compassion and understanding, reminding myself that forgiveness wasn't about condoning the hurt, but about releasing myself from its shackles.

Sometimes tears still fall from my eyes, a mixture of sadness for the past, a childhood lost in confusion, and a sense of closure. I realize that true forgiveness isn't a gift I bestowed upon them, but a gift I gave to myself. It liberated me from the prison of resentment and allowed me to move forward with a lighter heart.

While the echoes of the past, the sting of hurt, and the memory of wrongs may linger, I've come to understand an unwavering truth: I am deserving of all that life has to offer. Love, joy, and happiness are not privileges to be snatched away; they are inherent in my existence. This knowledge burns bright within me, a constant reminder that no external force can ever diminish my inherent worth.

My path to self-preservation required creating distance from my mother, a decision that, while crucial, was steeped in sorrow and burdened by a heavy weight of guilt.

Despite the excruciating guilt and emotional toll, distancing myself from my mother ultimately proved to be my lifeline. It was a catalyst for personal growth, awakening me to the true treasures in life and empowering me to become the best version of myself.

My journey towards self-acceptance has blossomed into the most precious gift I could ever give myself. Discovering the wellspring of love within myself has become the most valuable possession I could ever hold.