Here's What Speaking About Self Love Taught Me

I'm not a speaker. I'm a writer.

You could maybe, probably, definitely say that I write precisely because I'm straight-up terrible at verbal communication.

My brain fires on all cylinders but my mouth never gets the memo. (My inner monologue is eloquent as fuck but, regrettably, you'll never meet her. She's a total hoot. God, I wish you could meet her!)

All things considered, I was, naturally, pretty fucking terrified when WAH Nails asked me to be part of a panel talk, chatting all things mental health and self love.

The douchey part of my brain - the part that has me in a bundle on the bathroom floor, crying my eyes out, lamenting how shit I am at everything - told me I couldn't do it. I shouldn't do it. WHY WOULD YOU DO IT?! YOU CAN'T DO IT! YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING FURRY FUCK!

Which is precisely why I did it.

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I spoke about self love - about living with/dealing with/loving myself in spite of anxiety and depression - in front of a roomful of people.

Ha. TAKE THAT BRAIN!

And * plot twist * it was incredible. Moving. Empowering.

It did exactly what I hoped it would do: it built me up. It built other people up! (Surely the best reward ever, right?) It pushed me out of my comfort zone. It made me grow. It made the other voice inside me - the one that says, quietly, contemplatively, "well, maybe you can" - louder and, in doing so, made the douchey voice that little bit smaller.

It emboldened me; inspiring me to make that encouraging voice louder still. Real bloody loud. Then, in moments of need, when I find myself in a ball on the bathroom floor for what feels like the thousandth time, that voice will be the loudest.

It will drown out any other voices. It will make like Katy Perry and roar. It'll roar so loud that I'll wonder how the fuck I got on the bathroom floor. Why the fuck my face is stained with red blotches. How I ever thought myself worthless enough to drown in a puddle of my own tears on linoleum tiles. Linoleum tiles! Of all the things! Don't you know there's a perfectly good sofa to perch on, old girl! Go make yourself a gorgeous cup of tea. Dive headfirst into a book. Call a friend. Hug someone. Hug your damn self! Remind yourself of how kind you are. How much love you have to give.

Direct that love towards yourself. Be your own best friend. Look in the mirror and marvel at how magical you are. There's only one of you, you know. Don't waste anymore of your precious you-ness berating yourself on the bathroom floor.

Go get 'em, girl.

Photo via Mallory Weston

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Forever elbow deep in a share bag of Minstrels and neck deep in the fluffiest threads you've ever seen.
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