I spent most of my life in what felt like a pit of shame and self hate. People would tell these stories about what the surface looked like, or an oasis of self love they could see off in the distance, but from the bottom of my pit, all I could see was blinding sun. Stories of self love just sounded like a con.
I’m a huge fan of drag, but every time I’d hear RuPaul say “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else,” and I would feel a shiver of shame. I knew I didn’t love myself, so it made all the love I offered feel invalid.
If you have known life experiences where the people who you trusted to love and care for you failed you, it is unfathomably difficult to believe that you are worth love and care. It seems like you have proof of your worthlessness by the very fact that someone deemed you unworthy of love. Often you carry the weight of that neglect like fact and it bleeds into every other relationship, self belief, or opportunity you have.
From that place of intense shame and worthlessness, how are we supposed to believe talk of self love? It felt foolhardy to me to keep trying. Like I refused to learn my lesson. Like a boxer who just needs to mercifully stay down on the mat instead of continue to be beaten.
I changed my mind about this through grueling medical treatment and recovery. For years and years I was stuck in bed, healing from one abdominal surgery after another. You use your abs for literally everything, so I spent years staring at my bedroom ceiling, unable to do anything but go to the bathroom. Trapped there in the covers with nothing to do but face myself.
Eventually the view of my ceiling fan bored me into a realization: I never would have chosen this road, but nevertheless I found myself with the luxury of quiet and time. Two things which are so rare in this world that I shouldn’t let them pass me by. As my body recovered, so did my spirit. I used that time to deal with the pain I had been stuck in. I found trauma therapy, I wrote a big personal narrative project, I assigned myself an intense course of study. And I wrote everything down because I knew I would need to leave a trail of breadcrumbs on the path of healing I was finding. For my community that doesn’t get the luxuries I did. For everybody else stuck at the bottom of the shame pit.
Quiet was the first rung on that ladder out. That time stuck in bed with no way to run away from myself, with no sufficient distractions, I had no choice but to face the reality I didn’t want to see. I had to learn to listen to my body and reacquaint myself with sensations, and in the quiet of my recovery bed, that’s what I did.
The next rung out was in changing how I talked to myself. My time in the quiet showed me some things about me I did not like and the biggest was the toxic inner monologue that was undermining every hopeful effort I ever made.
After developing a more positive self talk practice, I stopped condemning myself so much. The next step was acceptance. I had to learn to accept the reality of my body needs, as they actually are and not how I wished they were. I need more rest then other people and no amount of shaming myself seems to change that. I can’t exercise the same way other people can and pushing myself only leads to injury. I had to develop personal preferences after a lifetime of trying to make myself small. I had to figure out what my needs actually were in order to begin meeting them.
Then, it was time to start meeting them. Self care, but not the kind that wellness capitalism sells us. The deep kind where you meet your body’s needs in the way your body needs it. Nourishing myself with the food that works for me instead of feeling shame and failure over every bite. Learning a way to move my body that actually felt good and rewarding instead of punishing. Creating joy and pleasure for myself because I needed it and because I can.
Eventually I got well enough to leave that bed and then it was time for the last rung on the ladder out of my shame pit. I needed connection. I needed to offer connection and I needed to accept it. I needed love and friendship and a community to care for and belong to. Through the care that I give and receive, I get new proof to address those past heartbreaks that taught me I was unworthy of love. By caring for other people who care for me, I learn better how to take care of myself.
Outside of my shame pit, a lot of old therapists’ advice made a different kind of sense. Self love didn’t sound like the con it used to, it just looked far off in the distance. It didn’t seem daunting anymore. After a climb, I could handle a walk.
The rungs of my ladder metaphor became the Marrow of Body Loyalty. I think when our habits are anchored in these concepts – Quiet, Self Talk, Self Acceptance, Self Care, Community Care – we can see if there’s any purpose to them. This is the lifeblood of healing, so if a behavior doesn’t get you closer to peace and care, it is a waste of your time, your money, your faith, and will probably end with more shame.
This was the order that it unfolded for me, but I suspect that wouldn’t be universal. I come from individualistic systems, so Community Care came last. I bet someone from a collectivist culture wouldn’t get to it so late. Someone who has a different relationship to their body might start with Self Care and a movement practice that leads to quiet time on a track or a pool. It’s like we’re all using the same highways, but going different places at different speeds.
And, of course, none of this is a To-do list I’ve checked off. These are the purposes behind the practices. I will be caring for myself with these goals in mind for the rest of my life.