The Perks of Self-Acceptance.
I need change.
I might get a haircut. Or should I just go for a complete makeover and cut it all off? Britney style?
What am I talking about? I’d look like an idiot!
And what about my friends?
They’d think I’d lost my mind.
What then…what then…
Maybe I should pursue a career that doesn’t involve much writing?
Because writing apparently doesn’t count as a job. Otherwise, why would everyone keep asking me what my real job is, you know, apart from writing?
What what what? Maybe I should become a teacher. Then I’d use a red pen to correct my students’ essays. Would that count as not much writing?
Change of scenery? Yes! That sounds like a plan! Travel somewhere, or just find another place where Philip, Sofia and I could move into? Then maybe I’d be fulfilled! A bigger brighter place where the inspiration would have enough space to do its ballerina dance. Then all of a sudden I’d stop procrastinating and spending hours on the phone! And you know – get s…things done.
Should I just go for the hair cut? Nothing too extreme – just something that would make me smile back at the reflection in the mirror.
5 months after giving birth I can hardly recognise myself, with my headphones on, listening at full blast – dancing like there’s no tomorrow. And Sofia giggling at the sight of my sporadic moves.
Imagine if she was already a teenager? She’d probably say ‘Gosh, you’re so cringe, mom!’ rather than giggle.
Only that Sofia doesn’t know what’s embarrassing yet.
She has no clue that the sight of your mom dancing like crazy and jumping on the bed is weird.
She falls asleep when I keep singing even if completely unable to carry a tune.
She often pulls her head back while latching on to my breast to stare at me and brush her miniature hand across my face.
When I look at the mirror – a ghost.
When I look into her eyes – her whole world.
I sleep less, yet the dark circles under my eyes have turned somewhat luminous.
My hair seems fuller again and I can’t care less what people think a real job should be.
If that perfect creature still untouched by the harshness of the world can give me her full acceptance – then how dare I not do the same?
It’s a process…a process of me high-fiving my flaws, sipping coffee with my quirky traits and embracing the fact that I’m not as structured and organised as I should probably be.
Self-acceptance is more difficult than self-hatred.
But spreading love starts with giving unconditional love to yourself.
A colleague from my past used to tell me to never put anyone before myself.
‘What about when you love someone? Obviously, they come first?’ I wondered.
‘No. You always come first, because if you don’t love yourself enough, you’d eventually end up hurting everyone around and ultimately withdrawing your love.’
I was too young to get it.
Now I do.
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