Self-love is the best love.
(@subliming.jpg for @girlboss / Instagram)
Heavy as a freight train and persistent as weeds in your garden, self-hate and insecurity feel timeless. Especially when they’ve followed you from half-past baby steps to a quarter til’ college. Your very own toxic childhood friends.
I was introduced to them before I even turned 7. My family obsessed over my weight and every day came with a constant barrage of useless comments and opinions.
“You’ve lost weight.”
“You’ve gained weight.”
“Look at your cousin. Why don’t you look like her?”
They fed me shady syrups and pills imported from God knows where, all under the guise that it would make me healthy. But ironically enough, not one doctor commented on my weight during a check-up. It was never about my health. It was about how I looked.
The self-hate only expanded as the years trudged on. My personality emerged as I grew up and became the dictionary definition of an introvert. My family did NOT like that, either. They thought something was wrong with me. Then, I thought something was wrong with me.
Blood is thicker than water, but bloodstains last forever and water will evaporate without a sound. Those scars might just last a lifetime. If I wanted less hatred in my life and more peace within myself, I had to reflect on how I started hating myself in the first place.
I was giving them lightning and lending them my thunder then I got surprised when they rained on my parade. I was trapped in a category five self-hate shitstorm, but I knew what I had to do to evacuate.
Once I started phasing some relatives out of my life, the rest of the family painted me as the bad guy. They just didn’t understand my point of view. I had spent my entire life swapping out my acrylic for the watercolor they wanted.
It took forever to convince myself that I’m not a waste of paint.
I found comfort within myself and sought validation from myself and myself only. I kept telling myself “I’m pretty and I keep getting prettier.” Yeah, it’s nice to receive a compliment from someone else, but it’s especially valuable coming from my biggest critic: me.
NGL it felt stupid at first. I felt like a miserable magician failing at executing a magic trick. But as I persisted, I realized that it might just work. I told myself I was worthless and ugly every day and I genuinely believed it. I began assuring myself that I’m full of beauty and worth and eventually, I genuinely believed it. I replaced self-hate with self-love.
Maybe magic is real.
I no longer pay attention to the judgments my family plagued me with. I lifted my own life sentence and snatched my identity right out of their hands. This courthouse crybaby has had enough of their cruel and unusual punishment.
So, no. I don’t suck as much as I thought I did. In fact, I think I think I’m pretty cool.
Christelle Pierre is an Online Writer at Rowdy Magazine. When not writing, one can find Christelle holding a YA novel in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. She can be reached on Instagram @x.hristelle