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Self Love




I sort of cringe even reading the words “self love”. I feel like it’s every where. (a sign perhaps?) It just sounds so cheesy and often I think to myself, I don’t need to read about that. I practice self love.

And I do love myself. I really do! I love being me.

But lately, (is it turning 40?) a rude renter is taking up space in my brain preventing me from being good to myself. I’m not used to this voice and frankly, have been too tired to fight her. I purposely choose a female pronoun. This bitch is a Heather. She tells me I’m weak and lazy because I’m sick, that I’m not smart, attractive, talented, strong or worthy.

I’m cringing even reading that.

It’s not me.

I’m all those things. And a hell of a lot more.

But when the tape in your head plays negative nelly on a never ending loop, you just start to nod and say yeah, you’re right. I’ve been brainwashed.

I knew shit had to change when I would say something and Peter would look at me like we’d never met before.

“This isn’t you” he finally said.

It’s not.

Onward and upward, MFs.


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