There is something I have always found slightly uncomfortable about the phrase self-love, as if it were a candle sold in a boutique, wrapped in pastel paper, promising serenity in three easy steps, while inside me there is still this stubborn voice that whispers: loving yourself is selfish, it is indulgent, it is something you do when you have too much time and too little responsibility.

Because giving love - that I understand. To give love to your parents, even when they did not always know how to love you in the way you needed. To give love to your siblings, to your friends, to your partner, to your child. To cook, to host, to listen, to support, to hold space - this feels natural, almost sacred.

But to receive love, to receive kindness, to receive a compliment and not immediately return it like a polite reflex - this feels almost illegal. 

And so I ask myself, quietly, what is this thing we call self-love, and why does it feel heavier than it sounds?

The Suspicion That We Are Too Much - Or Not Enough

Sometimes I wonder if being afraid to love is not about love at all, but about exposure, because to love someone means to be seen, and to be seen means to risk that someone will discover that behind the curated surface there is softness, confusion, imperfection, even shame.

When we say, “I am scared to love,” maybe what we really mean is, “I am scared that if someone sees me fully, they will leave.” 

And then there is the other fear, the quieter one: what if they stay, and I will have to accept that I am lovable after all?

Receiving love requires a kind of surrender that many of us were not trained for, especially if we grew up believing that worth is something you earn through effort, achievement, or sacrifice, rather than something you simply are born with.

I know in my bones how easy it is to give, and how complicated it is to stand still and allow someone to give back.

The Paradox That Annoys Me

There is this sentence people love to repeat: You cannot truly love another if you do not love yourself.

For a long time I rejected it, because I thought, of course I can love others, look at me, I love deeply, fiercely, loyally. But what I slowly began to understand is that loving others while abandoning yourself is not the same as loving them from wholeness.

If you constantly shrink to keep someone, if you silence your needs so the relationship feels smooth, if you over-give so that you feel secure, then love becomes negotiation, not connection. Self-love, I am starting to see, is not thinking you are extraordinary or flawless, it is simply not leaving yourself in the process of loving someone else.

It is allegiance. It is saying, even when it is uncomfortable, I will stay with myself.

When You Are In a Relationship

In a relationship, self-love is not dramatic, it is not declarations in the mirror, it is much more ordinary and therefore much more difficult.

It is going to bed when you are tired instead of staying awake to prove you are easygoing. It is saying, “This hurts me,” instead of pretending you are unbothered. It is wearing what feels like you - not what makes you smaller, cuter, more acceptable.

Sometimes I think about linen when I think about this, because linen does not cling, it does not sculpt you into something you are not, it moves, it breathes, it softens with time, and it asks only that you inhabit your body as it is, not as it could be improved.

There is something deeply healing in putting on a dress that does not demand that you change for it, but instead changes with you. And maybe self-love is like that too.

When You Are Not in a Relationship

Being single in this world can feel like standing outside a warm house in winter, watching silhouettes through the window, wondering if everyone else has found something you somehow missed.

And yet the statistics tell a different story - millions of people live alone, millions are unmarried, millions are navigating life without a romantic partner, and still the narrative insists that partnership is the ultimate destination.

But what if being single is not a waiting room? What if it is a season? What if self-love in this season is learning to build a life that feels full even when there is no one sitting across the table from you at dinner?

To cook something beautiful for yourself. To travel somewhere alone and not apologise for it. To invest in friendships, in work, in rituals, in mornings that belong entirely to you. To not treat your life as a placeholder.

The Fear of Being Seen

I sometimes think that when we are afraid to love, we are not afraid of another person, we are afraid of being mirrored. Because love reflects you back to yourself. It shows you where you are generous and where you are guarded, where you are confident and where you are still carrying old stories about not being enough.

And if, deep inside, there is still a belief that you are not worthy, then love feels dangerous, because it threatens to contradict that belief. It asks you to accept something you are not sure you deserve.

So What Is Self-Love, Really?

For me, self-love is becoming less of a concept and more of a daily negotiation.

Physically, it is feeding my body real food, resting when I can, choosing fabrics and rhythms that feel kind instead of punishing.

Emotionally, it is noticing when I am harsh with myself and softening the tone, even if only a little.

Spiritually, it is trusting that my existence does not need constant justification.

It is not glamorous. It is sometimes boring. It is sometimes confronting. But it is steady.

In This Slightly Crazy World

We live in a time where insecurity is profitable, where comparison is constant, where we are subtly encouraged to improve, optimize, refine, and edit ourselves endlessly.

To choose self-love in this environment is almost rebellious. It is saying, I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to receive kindness. I am allowed to be loved without performing for it.

It is standing in winter light, wrapped in something simple and honest, and not rushing away from yourself.

Perhaps self-love is not about thinking highly of yourself. Perhaps it is about thinking of yourself with honesty and staying anyway.

And maybe, just maybe, when someone says something kind to you next time, you can resist the urge to deflect it, and instead let it land, even if it feels unfamiliar, even if it feels slightly undeserved.

Because maybe the most radical thing we can do is to believe, little by little, that we are worth loving — not because of what we give, but because we are here.