Yes, Christmas is 8 days away and I have a massive to-do list. Maybe, like me, you’ve managed to cut back on a lot of the holiday prep and even dodged some expectations, but you still feel weighed down with whatever it is that comes with this page of the calendar.
It’s getting dark at 4:30 where I am, and by 7:30 I’m ready to go to bed. I check my list and move the things I didn’t get done to tomorrow, but tomorrow’s list is already jammed. There isn’t any room to add anything left from today, let alone something unexpected, and now I’m feeling like I want to go to bed by 7:00. While I tell myself that it always gets done, and it’s never not gotten done, I keep feeling like there’s something I’ve forgotten to add to the list.
It was when I was thinking about writing this post that it came to me, as it often does when I’m about to sit down to write.
I have one job.
Love myself.
That’s my one job.
I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes when I typed, “Love myself.” (Insert puking emoji.) That statement is so sappy. It’s so cliche. I don’t know what you think of when you read it, but just typing that makes me want to close my laptop and find a juicy podcast and go for a walk to avoid thinking about me or myself or (gag) loving myself. I watched a sweet Hallmark Christmas movie last night (is it me or is every currently popular movie full of graphic violence and sex) and even that wasn’t as sappy as typing, “Love myself.”
Why is it a knee-jerk reaction to be disgusted whenever I even conceive of the notion of loving myself? My therapist says it’s because I have an ingrained aversion to narcissism, and she suggests that even being kind to myself makes me feel like I’m moving further along the narcissism spectrum – in the wrong direction.
What comes up when you consider the possibility of loving yourself or being kinder to yourself, or even attempting to not say disparaging things about yourself to yourself? You know how it goes. You come home from a gathering and lecture yourself about all the “dumb” things you think you said, even though, if you polled the folks at the party, they can’t remember you saying anything dumb, mostly because they are fixated on all the dumb things they think they said. Or you get home from a meeting and chastise yourself for wearing a skirt, instead of the “safer” choice – a black pair of slacks.
We all have a continuously looping playlist of our perceived failures. When everyone else shares their Spotify* Wrapped, you don’t because topping your list is a self-made pod listing all your failings, in chronological order, going as far back as 1977. I can’t remember the name of the guy that sat next to me in 8th grade science, but I can perfectly describe the stupid outfit I was wearing the day he finally struck up a conversation with me.
Call it negativity bias or a toxic case of self-doubt, but why is it we instinctively think the worst of ourselves? Why don’t I love myself the way I love my kids? Why don’t I look at myself the way I look at Will and marvel at his sense of humor or his dedication to his friends or the way he can see through crap to get at what is really going on. Why can’t I appreciate myself the way I am so impressed by how Jen tackles her studies, or navigates her social life or never loses sight of her goals or continuously, but gently, challenges herself.
I do know how we learn what love is. And I’m not naive about how our attitude about self is developed. I know about the lizard brain and attachment theory and generational trauma. I don’t need another counseling session to be reminded of the importance of practicing mindful self-compassion. Heck, Jen has been telling me, since she was 8, to be nicer to myself. At this point, I need to start doing it!
If I can stick with Duolingo for 327 days in a row, why can’t loving myself become another daily practice like walking, drinking water, lifting my little 2-pound weights to hopefully prevent the onset of osteoporosis, even though I sure haven’t avoided “turkey wobble” arms. (See! I did it again. Even when writing about loving myself, I can’t avoid being critical of myself.) It’s societal. Whatever damage wasn’t finished in the familial setting, society makes damn sure to finish off by constantly showing us how we are coming up short.
So, I changed my personal podcast to sound something like:
“Wow, look how strong you are. You walk 3 miles every day. (Well, most days. I walk on the treadmill when there have been mountain lion sightings on my street – I live in town! – and I can’t do 3 miles on my treadmill without dying of boredom.) You always get everything (that matters) done. You love your kids and your garden and your friends. You love your messy life – most days. You are doing great! It’s okay to disappoint and fail to please others. It’s okay to change and grow and leave some behind, but DO NOT leave yourself behind.”
Some days I even look in the mirror and say, “So what about your arms. They held two beautiful babies, they painted the whole house, they shovel every inch of snow and they lift cast iron pans almost every day. Give them a break! They have done their best and they continue to do their best, just as you do.”
And today, if the pod runs out when I have 6 blocks to go, I’ll remind myself that I have one job. Even if it feels icky to write it. (Insert that little green emoji that looks like it’s about to barf.) I do have one job. My job is to love myself. At the end of this life, I’m all I’ve got. I could spend all that energy pleasing and loving others, but what will I have when they are gone and I’ve forgotten to love myself?
You have one job, too. Not trying to add another thing to your to-do list here, but I’m learning that this is the most important thing. Everything else will get done a little easier if you start with this one thing. Love yourself.
And while I’m being sappy (said to myself in a sweet way, not a critical way), what would happen to this world if we all loved ourselves first? Not like the Musks or Rogans of the world (I suspect their behaviors are coming from scary deep wells of self-doubt), but like healthy people. You know that toxic self-doubt has to leak out at some point. You know you’ve been the recipient of another’s unintended pressure-release of self-doubt. Is it possible to reach a point where extreme healthy self-love prevents us from hurting others? Imagine the healing in this world if that could happen.
Love yourself, please. See you next year.
*I got rid of Spotify because of Joe Rogan. (Insert another puking emoji here.)