A Self Love Story
Written by Harper Brokaw-Falbo | Photographs by Ashley Keleman
Febraury 1, 2021
We often describe love as a passive state: you fall into love; you are swept away by love; you are overcome with love. But as bell hooks writes, “love is an act of will, both an intention and an action.” You must practice love, especially the love for yourself. How you do it is entirely up to you.
It’s easy to be passive actors in how we love ourselves. Consider that I used to believe I loved my eyes because someone told me they were beautiful. I remind myself that I love my eyes because they let in so much beauty. I used to love my laugh because someone told me it’s joyful. I remind myself that I love it because it means I’m experiencing joy.
Practicing self-love works in a counter-balance to what we’ve been told is wrong about us. I used to think my voice was too shrill because someone said it was so, now I revel in how it stands out against deeper tones. I used to think my thighs were too big because they didn’t measure up to what I saw in advertisements, now I relish their strength. After all, they have carried me so far.
Self-love is not self-obsession. You need self-love to give love. Self-obsession usually prohibits it. Self-obsession is callused; it seeks perfection. It is critical. Self-love knows perfection is a mirage. Self-love is gentle and forgiving. Self-love knows that our best parts are in the delicate flaws that landscape our personhood.
“Self-love is not self-obsession. You need self-love to give love.”
Self-love cannot be measured or defined. There is no good, better, or best way you should love yourself, although I’m sure some self-help authors would disagree. It is a love that is uniquely yours with you. It changes with you. It grows, and it recedes. Like everything else in nature, it has its cycle. There are times when we love ourselves less, and that’s okay. Any type of love practice takes strength, and sometimes, we must give ourselves the space to rest.
This morning, the sky was bluish grey, and frost covered the neighboring rooftops. In the dark of winter, during a dark time in the world, I often retreat to my bed. Right now, my self-love is enshrouding myself in a down comforter and giving myself over to wearing leggings all day; it is letting text messages go unanswered and not feeling guilty about it; it is leaving Netflix on autoplay and not forcing myself outside. I know that this is the best way I can love myself right now.
With each day, the light enters my window a little earlier. Tiny blossoms dot the ends of my leafless magnolia tree, a sign of growth to come. I feel less drawn to my bed. I can feel the inner-part of me stirring that wakes up ready to start each day. I begin to imagine picnics outdoors with friends. But I won’t force it. I will let that part of me rise slowly, at its own pace, just like my magnolia tree, which knows from somewhere deep within itself, when it’s ready to reawaken to spring.
