I’m here to learn self-love.
I’m here to teach self-love. To myself first.
I cried this morning as I wrote these words, as they came out of me.
I have a lot to learn. I have lived in self-judgement for a long time. Embroiled in the fake narratives of my mind.
Most people tell me that I am very confident. At times I wondered if that was a façade I’d built to hide my inner critic. But now I know that it’s my nature. It’s who I really am—beyond the limited and limiting stories my mind has been spider-webbing for years.
The heart knows the truth. Always.
It’s the mind that tends to illusions.
The mind—the home of the ego.
The ego—the conduit of fear and limitation.
The ego comes from fear, always. Because it’s fictitious. It’s a story. An abstraction of reality, not reality itself—much like the word “sky” is not what we see when we look up, but a representation of it.
Signifié et significant, Saussure called them.
Signified and signifier.
The ego is the signifier, pointing to the stories we have about ourselves, not to who we really are.
I know the truth of who I am not when I search my mind, but when I silence it.
When I hear with the heart and speak with the eyes.
When I love the unlovable, and know that it, too, is lovable.
When I can be with myself, my inner critic, the fear of failure, and all the narratives of not-enoughness.
When I know that self-judgement is at times the best way I know how to love myself.