❤️ There’s a quiet urgency simmering beneath the surface of many lives, a craving to be seen, felt, adored. Love, or rather the absence of it, often stands behind the anger we carry, the misunderstandings we stir in, and the endless auditioning we do for others’ approval. But what if the question isn’t who will love us, but how do we love ourselves?
In Psychology, We Ask: “Do You Love Yourself?”
And when someone nods “yes,” the deeper inquiry follows: How do you love yourself?
- Is it through stress and sacrifice, trying to win the affection of people whose time and energy you’re constantly chasing?
- Is it through internal punishment, hyper-fixating on how others express themselves, or don’t express themselves, to you?
If these are your expressions of love, then perhaps the love you give yourself is conditional, fragmented, and designed to survive, not thrive.
Radical Self-Love Is Not Romantic. It’s Revolutionary.
Loving ourselves deeply means tending to every inch of our being: physical, emotional, spiritual, and energetic. It means setting the bar so high for how we deserve to be loved that half-hearted gestures no longer entice us. But here lies the paradox: When our internal garden is neglected, we unknowingly seek someone else to water it.
We desire the “some-one,” that elusive figure who will bring warmth, understanding, and wholeness. Yet if our own heart is in disrepair, beating with suppressed grief, unmet needs, and distorted self-concepts, how can we expect someone else to fix what we’ve abandoned?
❤️ To Love Is to Take Responsibility—for Yourself.
To love yourself isn’t indulgence. It’s integration.
It’s accepting your shadow and your softness. It’s refusing to shrink for validation. It’s saying “no” with dignity and “yes” with conviction. It’s tending to your body with grace, your mind with kindness, and your spirit with ritual.
And from this rooted place, when love arrives, it doesn’t complete you—it complements you.
🌸 Melissa Forgot She Was Love – A dedication to a beautiful soul from Wellness Within Therapy
Melissa chased echoes through crowded rooms,
Wore roses in her hair and perfume like proof.
She whispered “Do you see me?” to unready hearts,
And stitched herself to fleeting sparks.
Her hands held out offerings made of flame,
Her body—temple turned to shrine of pain.
She bent her spine for borrowed light,
Prayed in silence for someone’s might.
The search became ritual, the ache her prayer,
Each glance a verdict, each absence a tear.
She danced with ghosts of what could be,
Till her soul wore thin, barely free.
Her breath became brittle, her laughter strained,
The mirror showed shadows, her essence drained.
She searched across oceans, through sleepless nights—
For love to mend, for love to fight.
But love had always curled in her bones,
Sang in her skin, hummed in her alone.
She was the sunrise she kept chasing past,
The softness, the sacred, the light that lasts.
Melissa forgot she was love that wild, blooming kind,
Not the version others defined.
Until one day, she stopped the run,
And heard herself, “I am the one.”
By: Naazi Morad
