The Most Underrated Love Story Is the One You Have with Yourself

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Years auditioning for the lead in other people’s stories. Daughter. Friend. Partner. Employee. I tried to fill myself by putting my energy into parts and loving as big as my heart would allow, pretending that the love I gave was running in a circle back around me to plug up the hole of emptiness. It never quite did. Not sustainably. The applause faded. The curtain fell. Then I was back there alone, except for me. And I would bully the person that I was being, the hardest.

My inner monologue? Brutal. Constant critique and The Greatest Boss Feedback Line yet to have been written. “Why did you say that? Stupid.” “Your thighs touch. Unacceptable.” “They didn’t text back. Obviously, you’re too much.” The way I talked to myself, well, I would have never spoken to my worst enemy that way. They say its true power comes in the basement, I still thought it needed to happen though. Motivation. Keeping myself in line. Hah.

The breaking point wasn’t dramatic. Not as much big heartbreak (although there was some). It was a Tuesday. I stared at the sink, brushing my teeth with a blind eye on myself. The usual script began: Ugh, look tired. Skin’s a mess. “Was meant to hit the gym…” I was suddenly overwhelmed by total exhaustion. Not physical. Soul-deep. Why?

How was I capable of treating so cruelly the only person who would definitely always be there? The person who kept my heart, my lungs, this incredibly complicated and perfect brain? The absurdity crashed over me. Tears mixed with toothpaste. That quiet, devastating truth — I was starving the most sacred relationship.

This punishing inner critic is what psychologists call internalized self-criticism. It’s been a long-held belief, birthed in the earliest experiences of life — the messages we both were given and simply absorbed that suggested worthiness had preexisting conditions.

According to Dr. Kristin Neff, a leading researcher on self-compassion: “Self-compassion involves treating yourself with the same kindness, concern, and support you’d show to a good friend.” Boy, did that knock some wind from my sails. Would I ever tell my friend she is worth nothing because she put on five pounds? Or unlovable because she was a bit awkward at a party? Never. So why was I fair game?

I never began my journey to self-love with affirmations in the mirror. It felt absurd to look myself in my own eyes and say, ‘I love you’. Fake. It started much smaller. With noticing the cruelty. Just noticing. “Oh, there I go again. Calling myself lazy.” Occasionally, the noticing alone was enough to stop the running commentary in its tracks. Sometimes I would throw in a little resistance, “Oh no, not lazy. Maybe just… tired. Human.”

It meant choices for me, not against me. Saying no to the party when I was exhausted, even though FOMO yelled. Opting for the comfy shoes instead of those torturous-but-cute pair. Enjoying the healthy meal and a piece of cake without feeling guilty. It meant setting boundaries. That was really scary the first time I said, “no”. Like I was risking rejection. But a strange thing happened. The world didn’t end. And what did “no” clear away? It felt like self-respect. A declaration: My needs matter.

Science backs this up. Being consistently critical of ourselves is associated with greater levels of anxiety and depression as well as physical health issues. In contrast, self-compassion has been linked to higher levels of resilience, emotional well-being and health. It’s not selfishness. It’s sanity. It is understanding that you cannot fill another if your cup is empty.

I still stumble. Often. Old habits die hard. That harsh voice is still present; however, it has lost much of its control over me. Some days, it whispers. Some days, it shouts. The difference now? I don’t automatically believe it. I have tools. I pause. I breathe. What would I tell my best friend right now? Then I try to say that gentle thing to myself.

It’s not narcissism. It’s not thinking I’m perfect. Far from it. It’s realizing that yes, I am flawed — impatient and anxious in my weird quirky ways — and deciding to accept the whole messy package regardless. It is just as it seems, showing up in those days for myself with the same gentleness with which I would show up for a sad child. It’s small victories, just me.

This love story is reality, not a fairy tale. There are no soaring, string-heavy orchestrals (just my marginally less grating shower singing). No guaranteed happily-ever-after moment. It’s a daily practice. Sometimes gritty. Often quiet. Choosing kindness over cruelty. Presence over punishment. Acceptance over constant, exhausting striving.

The most poignant love I ever have is not mirrored into anyone else. It appears in whispers when I meet my own reflection and do not turn away. Holding my own hand through fear. Forgiving myself for being human. My relationship, with the person I sleep next to and eat breakfast with, have nightmares and battles with and hopefully lose my mind around, is at the center of everything else.

The Most Underrated Love Story. Because without it, how can we really love another? How can we receive love? Most things suck, so how do we survive in this wild, beautiful world?

It starts here. With me. With you. Learning to be our own hero. Our own safe place. Our own longest-lasting, greatest love. It’s the story worth telling. The story worth living. One gentle choice at a time.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.