If you’ve been keeping up with me, then you know that last year was not my best year. It was actually pretty terrible. Like, a heaping pile of cooked carrots.
So, I’m going into 2018 with only one resolution: Like myself.
I know it sounds super cheesy and vague, but it’s not as easy as it sounds, okay?
See? I ‘m already trying to defend my own resolution because I think it’s dumb. I’ve got some work to do. Even this blog had gone dormant in the last few months because I’ve hated every post I’ve tried to write. My drafts folder is filled with finished pieces that I just can’t get myself to publish.
Anyway, I’ve been trying to figure out how to start off my resolution. I started with vowing to stop calling myself names (chubby, gross, dumb, awkward, pushover, etc.) and while it’s nice to stop saying those things out loud, it doesn’t change the way I feel.
Then, the other day I was flipping through my journal when I came across the block of pages filled with letters I wrote to the people I love. They were all so kind and filled with more love than I could ever express out loud. My heart instantly felt happy just from re-reading them. I thought about how my friends and family are so important to me and I wish I told them every day how incredible they are.
The more that I thought about, I wondered why I don’t extend that same love to myself? How many times have I woken up in morning and said, “Kierstyn, you’re the best. I’m so lucky to be you and I can’t wait to tackle this day.”
Exactly zero times. That’s how many.
That might be because having a third person conversation with myself is super creepy and might make my husband start sleeping on the couch, or it might be because it’s really hard to remind myself that I’m awesome. It’s not in my nature as a Kierstyn or as a person to allow myself to see how special I am. As a culture, we don’t allow it.
To sum up this ramble, I decided to show myself a little of the love I try to show the most important people in my life, because shouldn’t I be one of the most important people in my life? I wrote myself a letter similar to the ones I wrote all of them. I told myself I could only say good things, so don’t think that I think I’m super perfect and amazing. I could write novels about my flaws, but that’s not what we’re here for.
We’re here for self-love, so let me self-love, dammit.
Try it for yourself. It’s awkward and seems little wrong, but it feels so wonderful to hear kind words from your biggest critic.
You are so beautiful. I don’t mean your shiny hair or your big eyes, though those are nice too.
I mean your soul. That shimmer in your core that radiates out of you like a heat wave and hits the people standing around you. It’s the shimmer that makes people smile when you make a pun accompanied by a pair of finger guns or tease someone in a way that makes them laugh instead of hurt.
It’s the shimmer that makes you cry when you feel like you’ve hurt someone’s feelings or because you miss your friends so much that it feels like a chunk of you is gone.
The shimmer that makes you unafraid to speak in a crowded room even if what you’re about to say is bold or embarrassing, because being part of something makes you feel so full, even if it means everyone is laughing at you.
Your light doesn’t just sit, rooted in your belly. It travels all the way up your spine and fills that beautiful mind. You are so smart and imaginative that if someone cut open your skull, a shine so bright would spill out that it would fill the night sky like a beacon. A beacon reaching out fingers of light from its edge, groping for ideas you haven’t thought of yet, but are right on the verge of finding.
Because you are an explorer. An explorer of ideas. An explorer of stories not yet told or ones told a million times, but with a little bit of you put into them.
You are made up of the good stuff. You are cashmere, lace, and silk. For the bits and pieces of you that are still a little rough, you carry sandpaper around in your pocket. You can see where you have room to grow and want to do so.
Don’t let your ability to see your flaws make you forget the most important thing, though. More important than any of the other things here. You are worth it. So, so worth it. I know you don’t always see that, but read it over and over again until you do. Tattoo it on your skin. Write it on the walls. Put it on a post-it and carry it around in your pocket. Hang a banner from the top of the highest building in the city. Remember it every second of every day.
I love you more than you think I do.