dear self… i’m sorry.

whenever i feel like a failure, i hide in my hair.

Can I be a bit honest with you guys?

I’ve been a really sucky self-love warrior this week. Truly awful. I can’t seem to catch a break from my own negative self-image to save my life. And, to top it all off, I’ve been making some mad crazy life mistakes to further perpetuate the negativity.

I don’t like it one bit. BUT, as my husband pointed out to me, this is a battle. And when you’re in a battle, you’re bound to get shot a few times and that doesn’t mean you should give up and stop firing back.

And so…

Dear Self,

I’m so sorry. I really am. I’m sorry for all the mean and nasty things I’ve said about you this week. I’ve been so cruel to you that I hardly recognize myself. You didn’t do anything to deserve this treatment. Please forgive me.
Hair: I’m so sorry for flat ironing you all the time. Your natural waves are so beautiful. They are bouncy and fun, just like me. When I flat iron you, all of the life and body you have is smushed. It’s not fair to you and I’m sorry for being so obsessed with perfection that I don’t let you run wild like you were created to do.
Face: I’m sorry for yelling at you for breaking out. I understand it’s not your fault and that the cause of acne is way more than skin deep. It has to do with hormones and genes and stress and dirt, and all of those are very normal things. Sure, I’m 25 now and society suggests I should be old enough to not deal with acne anymore. But screw society. You’re allowed to break out. I’m sorry for being so sensitive about it. And I’m also sorry for putting make up on you. That doesn’t help, I know.
Eyes: I really love you. You’re such a gorgeous shade of blue. I’m sorry for neglecting you while I was on a face-hating rampage. You can’t physically ever break out and I love that about you. No matter how pimply my face is, you’ll always be shining brilliantly against my pink (and sometimes irritated) skin.
Smile: I’m sorry that I’ve hidden you for the past week. You really are one of the best things about me, and I don’t know why I’ve been keeping you under wraps. Come out and play a little bit.
Arms: Thanks for being so unbelievably strong that you can hoist me over five-foot walls and pull me up and over rope nets. Yes, you’re big and muscle-y and society says girls aren’t supposed to look like that. But I’m glad you do because it makes me look and feel like I could punch a big dude in the face and knock him on his arse.  Not many girls can say that about their arms.
Breasts: I think I’m sorry to you the most. I’ve been so mean to you. Your size has no bearing on my self-worth. I’m sorry for saying it’s your fault I can’t wear tank tops without looking “slutty.” Really, because of you, I shouldn’t wear tank tops because too many men (and possibly women?) will stare at you and lust after you because you’re gorgeous. You’re magnificent and natural, and I’ve known women to pay thousands of dollars to get implants that look like you. Thanks for being so undeniably enviable.
Stomach: You’ve always stuck out a little bit, and now that I’m older, you stick out a little more than you used to. You know what? That’s okay. I’m sorry for yelling at you and telling you to shrink. You’ve always been the way you are and no matter how much I yell at you, you’re not going to change. I promise to take better care of you by doing more crunches and rubbing bubbles over you in my baths.
Thighs: I’m so sorry for being so incredibly upset with you this week. I’ve never been so mad at you for being big and, after all, you’re only that big because I played soccer while I was growing up. You didn’t know any better. You knew that in order for me to play soccer, you had to be big, buff, and tough so that I could run all over the soccer field with ease. And, when I decided to change my focus and become a ballerina, you stayed big and strong because regardless of what dance culture says, you’ve got to be strong to hold me up on my toes for hours on end. You’re really incredible, you know that? Your size isn’t a bad thing. It’s a testament to how amazingly strong you are, and I bet that after I used my big arms to punch that big dude in the face I could use you to snap his neck in half.
Feet: I’m so sorry for being mad at you for being “different.” Again, it’s not your fault. I shoved you into ballet shoes for several years and made you the shape you are. You’re always a great conversation starter and I can’t deny that you’re uniquely mine.
Personality: I’m sorry for being so hard on you, especially. I really do love you. And lately I’ve been upset that you’re not like someone else. I’m sorry for wishing you were less silly and more serious. I really don’t want that. In my opinion, you’re the perfect amount of silly and serious. And best of all, you’re an incredible lover. You love all kinds of people, even people who don’t love you back. You’re unbelievably loyal, friendly, and joyful. Yes, you say inappropriate things sometimes. But you never mean any  harm, and you usually garner a few belly laughs in the process. I’m so sorry for being so hard on you and I promise to work with you on trying to accept love and grace from others.

I really do love you, even when I don’t act like it. I love you so much because you’re the only you there is. You were knit together in my mommy’s womb by a loving Creator and He broke the mold when He was done. That’s pretty rad.

xoxox,
Lindsay

I feel better already.

i love this girl.

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3 thoughts on “dear self… i’m sorry.

  1. Thanks for commenting on my blog:) I have been catching up on yours and loving it- it’s amazing how many positive sites are out there when you look for them! Natalie

  2. Pingback: tuesday tip — shift your focus. « fueled by diet coke

  3. Hi. I am not too sure if i am allowed (as a male) to read and comment in this post… But i honestly liked this…

    Wise wise wise and wise words!!

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