I Would Like to Remind You

Last night I was sitting on the couch, scribbling words in my journal as I raced to keep pace with my thoughts. When I finally glanced up from the page, I glimpsed my shadow on the wall–an oversized, fuzzy projection of my face and head, complete with high ponytail. I’ve sat in this position a hundred times, but this was the first encounter with my shadow. As my brain started to recognize what I was seeing, I beamed a smile at my silhouette. And then, as if talking with a dear friend, I heard myself say, “I love you.”

I was quite surprised by this automatic response. Really? I love you? Where did that come from? I would have predicted a critical comment about the shape of my nose in profile. For as much as I try to practice and nurture self-love, at times it can still feel elusive. Yet my natural reaction to seeing myself last night tells me that something important is finally taking root. I am starting to know that I am lovable.

In that moment I felt a strong desire to share what had just happened, because I think at times we all could use a little reminder of this simple truth: you are lovable just as you are. There is nothing that you need to do. There is nothing that you have to become. Right here, right now, you are lovable.

We always have been–each and every one of us–but this intrinsic knowing can get buried under the conclusions we draw as we begin to experience the world. As children we often develop stories about how we have to act or what parts of ourselves we have to give up in order to be loved. We may have felt that love was unavailable or withheld when we were angry, made mistakes, voiced our opinions, or asked for something we really, really wanted. This perception or actual experience of conditional love can cause our childhood selves to internalize a sense of unworthiness.

Later as we begin to explore relationships, we are filled with an overwhelming desire to belong. In these tender years, love may again seem to require some degree of effort or performance to attain. When we experience the pain of rejection, we may attribute it to something innately wrong with who we are. We may fear that we are not lovable, confirming our childhood assumptions.  

While our young selves processed their experiences as best they could, their conclusions are frequently misguided and incomplete. However, we can live our entire adult lives believing the stories they authored and unable to recognize the truth that’s deep within us, waiting to be discovered.

I hope that you will pause and remind yourself that you are lovable, even and especially when you don’t think you are. You are lovable when you’re not trying. You are lovable when you have nothing to give. You are lovable when you’re crying. You are lovable when you ask for what you need. You are lovable even when you’ve said something so terrible that you wish you could swallow the words out of the air. You are not perfect–you’re human. And you are lovable.

Love Is a Verb

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about love. Maybe it’s because I think this country needs it now more than ever. Maybe it stems from listening to John Mayer albums on repeat. Or perhaps my subconscious is just trying to remind me that I’m spending another Valentine’s Day alone. Regardless of the root of my obsession, I decided that the best approach to this enormous topic was to share the simple but impactful lessons my experiences have taught me about love.

When I got married at age twenty-five, I still had a hard time considering myself an adult but hearing my husband introduce me as his wife made my heart sing. I adored this man and loved him more than I had ever thought possible. I couldn’t believe that he wanted to spend his life with me, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. While I don’t think there is anything wrong with feeling this way, the problem was that my young self didn’t seem to have confidence in the opposite version of that statement–that my husband was so lucky that I had picked him.

Over time this imbalance in my thinking led to unhealthy relationship patterns. I started to think that being a good wife meant making my husband my number one priority and pushing my own needs aside. I thought that loving him meant that I had to give up some of the things that made me “me” in order to fit inside the “we” that we were creating. I thought I was being a generous wife by always considering my husband and what would make him happy, but I was actually becoming a very needy wife. With my focus on making him feel loved and appreciated, I lost touch with myself. I constantly sought his attention and approval, because I needed reassurance that I mattered. Meanwhile, I started to resent that my own needs weren’t being met.

There is more to the story, but fast forward nine years to when I found myself devastated and on my own. I started going to therapy regularly and reading books on mindfulness, relationships, and codependency in order to process what had happened. I forced myself to take a long, hard look at how I had contributed to the break down of my marriage.

In the midst of this messy and uncomfortable work, I discovered that I didn’t fully love and accept myself. This was a surprise to me, because if anyone had ever randomly stopped me on the street and asked me if I liked myself, I would have said yes. But as it turns out, I thought I had to prove myself because I didn’t believe in my own worth. I accepted people’s disrespect because I didn’t respect myself. My needs weren’t being met because I couldn’t identify them or ask for what I wanted.

I have often heard people say that before you can fully love others, you must learn to love yourself. As I started to understand my past and find healing, I recognized truth in this common adage. The key is that loving yourself is not a flippant “of course I love myself” kind of love but is a “creeping down the stairs to the darkest corner of the basement and making friends with what you bump into” kind of love. While easier said than done, making friends with myself and learning to love all my parts has changed how I relate to others.

When I accept myself without judgment–as is–I believe that I am wonderful exactly as I am. I feel less pressure to meet the expectations of others. I am able to be myself more authentically, which fosters deeper and more meaningful relationships.

When I respect myself, I prioritize relationships that are built on mutual respect and put less energy into those that aren’t. I make decisions based on what I want, not what someone else wants for me. I am better able to establish boundaries.

When I understand that I am responsible for meeting my needs, I feel comfortable spending time alone, pursuing my own passions, or practicing self-care without feeling guilty. By taking care of myself, I have the energy and enthusiasm to support others.

When I love myself unconditionally, I’m not constantly looking to others to meet this fundamental need. I no longer have to wildly chase or cling to someone else in order to feel loved. Yes, I want to connect with others and develop intimate relationships, but now I can approach these relationships from a place of wholeness and not from a place of lacking.  Instead of feeling resentful, I can truly give to the relationship with generosity.

This kind of love is work. It is hard work, my friends. I think it's supposed to be. As John Mayer so beautifully suggests, “Love ain’t a thing, love is a verb.”

V Is For Vulnerability

A few months ago a friend mentioned a TED talk that she thought I should watch. It was titled The Power of Vulnerability. Considering how vulnerable I was feeling in my life at that time, I was extremely interested in learning how I might use that yucky feeling to my advantage. Clearly I wasn't the only person who had this reaction, because the Brené Brown talk has almost twenty million views on TED's website (only about six of which can be attributed to me!). If you haven't seen it, I recommend finding twenty minutes to sit down and listen.

Vulnerability was a word I was using long before I was introduced to the video, because I couldn't seem to escape that feeling. It had become my shadow, glued to me at all times except for those occasional moments when something lit me up like the sun standing directly overhead. After my husband left, I felt like there was something wrong with me. No matter what he might have said, it felt like I wasn't enough. I was ashamed and embarrassed, and I don't have to tell you how awful that feels.

It's not that I had never been in a situation where I didn't feel worthy before, I just had never felt it so deeply–deep enough to be completely overwhelmed and incapable of hiding my feelings. That's what was different this time. I couldn't silence the uneasy feelings of vulnerability by convincing myself of my worth, putting someone else down to make me feel better, or even pretending to be okay with enough gusto that anyone (including myself!) believed it. So there I was feeling raw and naked, parading my mess–my faults, my mistakes, my fears–in front of everyone I knew.

I could write post after post about my experiences with vulnerability over the past several months (and if you come back you'll probably hear about this again!) but what I want to say about it today is that I started to notice positive things unfolding in my relationships during this period. They were happening even though I was exposed, with both my shiny and ugly parts on display. I felt like a magnet that had been flipped over, suddenly pulling people closer. Strangers engaged with me at an unprecedented rate. People that I knew peripherally asked to spend more time with me and opened up to me. I felt strong enough to share things about myself that I hadn't talked about before, so that friends I had only known for a short time understood me as though they'd known me forever. I felt more of a connection to others, even the people that were just passing through my life.  

Until I watched Brené Brown's video, I didn't realize that the source of this new connectedness was vulnerability. When we share our true selves without filtering out the messy parts, we encourage others to do the same. And this is what builds intimacy–taking the risk to be authentic in our relationships and discovering that we are more the same than different.    

Learning to embrace vulnerability has been one of the most important lessons of my life. I can't claim to practice it without fail, because sometimes the risk of getting hurt seems too great and it's tempting to build walls instead of break them down. But even in these situations, I am trying to have the courage to be fully myself and to know that no matter what is in there, it's enough. 

New Year's Resolutions

January started out with sunshine and blue skies, and I feel like that’s a great sign for the year ahead. It would be easy for me to call 2014 the worst year of my life or to give it all kinds of other negative adjectives, but that would be ignoring all of the good that has and will come out of the rubble. Nevertheless, I am excited to enter a new year as it creates at least the illusion of a new beginning. I’m ready for that.

I’ve certainly grown a lot over the past year. Some of that progress may have just been rediscovering parts of myself that I had forgotten, but the rest is fresh green at the tips of my branches. I also learned valuable lessons about what it takes to make a relationship work and how I can be a more mindful partner in my next one.

Perhaps my biggest realization was that I am worthy of love just the way I am. I don't have to do anything to earn love. Accepting this simple statement empowers me to be myself without pleasing people or feeling obligated to meet their needs. If I think that I need love from others in order to be whole, it takes away my voice. I end up running in circles trying to make other people happy at the cost of being true to my own needs. Believing that I am worthy of love makes it easier for me to voice my opinions, be kind to myself, and be an equal partner in relationships.

All things considered, it's harder to feel like the sky is falling. I may not be in the place that I envisioned, but I am right where I need to be. My goal for the coming year is to nurture myself and see where that takes me. I want to strengthen the friendships I have with people who are positive, respectful, and trustworthy. I want to take care of my body and stay active, feeling the grass under my bare feet as much as possible. And of course yoga school will be my primary catalyst as I develop habits and practices that will serve me for the rest of my life.