This article is part of the series:
Advice from a Sister from Another Mother
A collection of honest reflections and practical lessons from a 30-something to her 20-something sisters—about love, self-worth, career, money, and navigating this wild thing called life. Written from the other side of the storm—because I might know a thing or two.
Because sometimes what we call self-love is just a defense mechanism dressed up pretty.
The Self-Love Buzzword
We hear the word self-love everywhere.
It’s on Instagram captions, Pinterest boards, podcast titles, and personal affirmations. The phrase has been repackaged into morning routines, aesthetic Sundays, and girlboss energy.
We’re told to love ourselves—loudly, fiercely, unapologetically.
But when a word is repeated too often and too casually, it risks becoming hollow, the words doesn't really carry its weights and its depth. We say “self-love” like it’s a universal truth we’ve all internalized. But when you strip away the quotes and the colors, when you sit alone with the idea—do you really understand it?
Because I didn’t. Not really.
I thought I did. I was independent. High functioning. Unbothered. I had goals, boundaries, ambition.
People told me I looked strong, and I believed them.
But looking strong is not the same as loving yourself.
Sometimes, it’s just how survival looks on the outside.
What Self-Love Actually Means
Self-love isn’t a mood or a moment. It’s not something you do only when you’re falling apart. It’s not the reward for finally achieving something, and it’s certainly not a free pass to ignore growth.
Self-love is a relationship. One that you build slowly, honestly, and sometimes painfully—with yourself. It’s not always soft or gentle. Often, it’s the discipline of choosing what’s hard now, for what’s better later.
To love yourself is to care about your well-being—your emotional safety, your mental clarity, your physical health—not just in the moment, but also in the long run.
Self-love can look like:
- Choosing sleep instead of another hour of numbing through your screen.
- Saying no to things that look exciting but leave you feeling hollow.
- Setting boundaries not to push people away, but to protect your peace.
- Letting yourself rest without guilt.
- Calling yourself out gently when you’re about to make the same mistake again.
- Ending a relationship that doesn’t honor your softness or your power.
It also means discipline. Not punishment. Not harshness. But the kind of consistent care that says, “I’m not abandoning myself anymore. Not just when things get hard. Not even when I feel like I don’t deserve love.”
But What If You Don’t Really Love Yourself (Yet)?
That’s okay. In fact, that’s where most of us start. Not in wholeness—but in confusion. Not with clarity—but with a deep, aching question: Why is it so hard to be on my own side?
There are so many ways we think we’re loving ourselves, when we’re really just trying to avoid pain:
You might be calling it “self-respect,” but it’s actually fear of intimacy. You might be labeling it “boundaries,” but really you’re just afraid to be vulnerable. You might say “I know my worth,” but still chase people who don’t value you—hoping they’ll change, just this once.
Here are some signs you might still be learning:
- You forgive others quickly, but criticize yourself relentlessly.
- You’re uncomfortable being alone—even when you know the room is safer without them.
- You stay busy constantly, because slowing down means hearing your own thoughts.
- You claim to love yourself, but only when you’re achieving something.
- You stay in places that hurt, because walking away feels like failure.
- You say you’re fine, because saying otherwise feels like weakness.
And maybe the hardest one of all: You think being “strong” means never needing anyone—and that needing love, care, softness, or rest makes you less worthy.
It doesn’t.
Loving yourself isn’t about being impressive. It’s about being honest. And sometimes honesty means admitting that you still don’t know how to love yourself well—but you want to try.
That wanting? That’s a start. That’s a seed. And that matters.
From the Other Side
There was a time I believed I had self-love all figured out.
I was productive, ambitious, self-sufficient. I didn’t ask for help. I didn’t “need” anyone, even in my relationship. I took pride in how independent I was, in how I could carry everything on my own.
But in hindsight, I wasn’t loving myself. I was just avoiding the parts of me that felt too needy, too fragile, too chaotic. The parts that still hurt. That still grieved. That still wondered if I was enough.
So I buried those parts under achievements, deadlines, and to-do lists. And when I looked “fine” on the outside, I called that self-respect. But deep down, I wasn’t being kind—I was just being efficient.
It took years of unlearning to realize: Loving myself means showing up even when I feel messy. Even when I disappoint myself. Even when I’m tired, sad, uncertain, or undone.
Now, self-love for me looks quieter. More subtle. Less impressive to the outside world.
It’s letting people in, even when I’m scared. It’s asking for help, even when I wish I didn’t need to. It’s saying no—without overexplaining. It’s showing up for myself like I would for someone I love.
A Living Practice
We’re human. We’re not fixed, final, or finished. We are not set in a stone. We’re dynamic, ever-changing, ever-evolving, always moving through motion. Who we are at 21 is not who we are at 26, or 30, 37, or 50.
So self-love, too, will shift. It comes in different forms depending on the season of life you’re in.
Sometimes, it looks like fire—bold, loud, unapologetic.
Sometimes, it’s water—quiet, slow, reshaping what it touches.
Other times, it’s earth—grounding, still, rooted in tiny routines that no one sees.
And the point is not to master it once and for all. The point is to keep learning, building self-awareness, and getting to know the version of yourself that is here—right now, in this stage, even if she only moves an inch at a time.
That inch matters.
That effort matters.
You don’t have to leap.
You just have to look—and begin again.
So Maybe...
Maybe self-love isn’t about being powerful every day.
Maybe it’s not about finally arriving somewhere whole, healed, and untouchable.
Maybe it’s not about fixing every flaw or silencing every fear.
Maybe it’s about pausing long enough to ask:
“What do I need right now, if I were being honest?”
“Am I protecting myself, or punishing myself?”
“If I really loved myself—what choice would I make today?”
And maybe the answers won’t come right away.
Maybe they’ll change over time. Maybe they won’t ever feel complete.
But maybe the point isn’t to know the answers.
Maybe the point is to keep asking—without abandoning yourself in the process.
Wouldn’t that be enough, for now?
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