The #LoveMe Challenge | Day 4 | A Person Who Loves Me

header-image-for-lovemeThis February, I’m doing #LoveMe, a challenge designed to help you learn to love yourself! One of my New Year’s resolutions was to be kinder and more gentle to myself, so I’m trying to be as positive as I can possibly be in 2017 and hope that doing this challenge will be good for my mental health and overall well-being. Check out my previous #LoveMe posts here!

Today’s prompt is:

A person who loves you.

This was by far one of the hardest #LoveMe posts to write! As I mentioned earlier, all of these posts were prescheduled, which means I didn’t write them in the same order that you’re reading them. I skipped around, flitting to all the posts I could answer quite easily first, and avoided some of the tough prompts SUCH AS THIS ONE for as long as I could.

Because how do you even know where to start in describing who loves you? What if I wrote effusively about someone who actually doesn’t love me as much as I think they do? What if I wrote about someone who loves me way more than I think they do and they feel upset after reading this post because they think that I’ve downplayed their contributions to my life?

I CAN’T HELP THESE THOUGHTS. I’M A VERY ANXIOUS PERSON.

Also? I didn’t know how I was supposed to narrow it down to just one person. At the same time, I felt it might be a little ridiculous to list dozens and dozens of people who love me.

And then I was like, “Hey, #LoveMe is about self love,” and I knew I had my post topic.

Me at age five (six? seven?)

Me at age five (six? seven?)

The person who loves me – or rather, the person who loved me – is my younger self. I hope that doesn’t sound as cheesy as I think it does? (Why am I ending so many sentences with question marks? Is it anxiety?) Because it’s true.

I can’t point to a specific age when I stopped completely loving myself because A) my memory is not that great and B) I’m pretty sure such an effort would just be pathetic. But I do know that when I was little, I loved myself. I liked how I looked. I was proud of what I was able to do both with my body and my brain. I was happy more or less all the time.

By contrast, I now don’t like how most of my body looks. I spend most days bemoaning the fact that I wasn’t able to accomplish as much as I set out to do. (No joke, most nights I fall asleep enumerating all the things I told myself that morning that I would do.) I feel apathy towards most of my old hobbies and interests, which makes me feel like shit when my schedule seems to clear and I finally have free time because I then don’t actually do much of anything with that time.

Here is one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever seen regarding self care and mental health:

And I think maybe if I try to make that more of a priority in my life, I’ll feel a bit better about myself. Because it kind of sucks to talk about someone who loved me, emphasis on the past tense, rather than someone loves me. Loves, currently.

Like, there’s no way my life can be exactly as simple as it was when I was five or eight or ten years old. It’s just not possible. I have many more responsibilities and I’m no longer blissfully unaware of the rest of the world, but if I can try to make things generally as uncomplicated as possible, maybe that will help. I mean, if I didn’t say mean things to myself when I was little and I do now, is it really a surprise that I feel bad?

Who loves you?

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About nevillegirl

Elizabeth. University of Iowa class of 2019. Triple majoring in English & Creative Writing, Journalism, and Gender, Women's, & Sexuality Studies. Twenty-one-year-old daydreamer, introvert, voracious reader, aspiring writer, and lesbian. Passionate about feminism, mental health, comic books, and cats.
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