Walking the Path to Self Love

At the end of January and beginning of February, I completed 10 days of silence. It was an experience that I will never forget, and a place, not physical, but a place internally, in my heart and mind, that I still return to.

I would like to share a journal entry about one of my experiences and learnings while I was there. I hope you enjoy it.

Walking the Path to Self Love

When a profound revelation, such as discovering a deep rooted wound and belief system that has guided almost all decisions in this lifetime, arises, one can’t help but ponder, process, and realize how monstrous and consuming that belief system has been. It was strange. The sun was out, and it was lunch break, so it was time to walk the long gravel path to the dining hall. The path was surrounded by trees, animals, and nature. I wanted to enjoy that. I wanted to feel the sun on my face.

Yes, I wanted to process, but I also wanted to be present with the raw beauty and love Mother Earth was offering, her medicine of quietly being held while walking upon her and through all the life she supports.

I felt her and all her life through the wind, the trees, the squirrels, birds, insects, vines, and even the creek I passed. So much life.

I chose, in that moment, to be gentle with myself.

“Not everything has to be processed in a day. You are allowed to enjoy this walk.”

I gave myself permission to be present. In doing this, I gifted myself freedom from chains. I didn’t realize the weight of the shackles I wore. As the chains unlocked and I stepped out of their grip, I felt a force, not strong, big, or loud. It was a magnetic pulling in my upper chest, a radiating glow that expanded slowly and gently. It could be missed if I didn’t have my awareness on it. That is how faint and gentle the sensation was, but it still felt strong and deep, sacred even. So gentle that its greatest physical manifestation was simply a smile that graced my face as the warmth of the sun touched my skin.

With that, I enjoyed passing the fairy houses built and constructed by the other female meditators. I added my portion by placing flowers and a moss covered stick to stylize the entry. It brought me so much joy. All of the women added to the houses anonymously. I spent a moment admiring them and the camaraderie it must have taken to create them together.

As I began walking again, I felt something I had not experienced in a very long time, the feeling I used to get during recess in elementary school. I was playing.

Has it really been that long?

I didn’t judge myself. However, I did acknowledge that I hadn’t played in a very long time. We were creating simply to create, no agenda, just passing time and enjoying one another. I was enjoying myself and getting wrapped up in the moment. I felt excited, part of something. I found my way back to the path, jumped over ant sticks, and continued toward the dining hall. Lunch time.

Usually, I was the first in line for lunch. I made sure of it. I don’t like crowds, and everyone would storm toward the food. I preferred getting there before all of that.

Not today. With all the fairy house decorating and intense immersion in presence, I would be the last to arrive. Everyone had already served themselves and were eating silently. I walked over to the serving station, served myself, found my way to my seat, and as I looked at all the food on my plate, a mental argument took over my brain space.

“Ugh… I don’t want to eat.”

“You have to eat. This is going to be your last full meal of the day.”

Then, what felt like a split second later, I heard a thought flash through my mind.

“You don’t deserve to eat.”

My eyes widened.

Did I just think that to myself?

Another thought flashed through my mind.

“I don’t even want to be here anymore.”

I had experienced unconscious thoughts surfacing during meditation, but never in a fully conscious state. I was perplexed, stunned. Was that really inside of me? Is that how I truly feel deep down? I couldn’t believe the cruelty I had unknowingly subjected myself to.

I felt disgust. My stomach turned. I felt shame. I felt sad. I felt hot and empathetic. I felt weak and hollow. I felt the whole room become non-existent.

My eyes began to fill with tears. A single large warm tear rolled from each eye.

How long?

How long have I been this mean to myself?

It felt as though the background software running my mind had suddenly moved to the front. I could hear it clearly now. My intellectual mind couldn’t fathom saying something so cruel to myself, yet my subconscious belief was loud and undeniable: I am undeserving of nourishment.

Understanding that I held this belief, I grabbed my apple and began to eat. I ate until I was satisfied. I washed my plate and, in silence of course, left the dining hall.

I felt deep compassion for my body, deep sorrow, deep love for the parts of me that felt unloved. I must have been living with this idea and self talk for a very long time. This belief felt heavy, dark, and ugly.

I didn’t criticize what I observed. I simply observed it with no label, no punishment, or opinions.

I felt naked and raw, as though I was exposing myself to myself. In that moment, I learned the power of being an observer, not an observer with judgment, but with objectivity.

It became so important for me to see myself safely, honestly, and compassionately. Not as who I wanted myself to be. Not as who I hoped others perceived me to be. But as I truly was.

In allowing myself to be fully seen by myself, I was rewarded with something I had unknowingly craved for a very long time: trust.

For what felt like the first time, I trusted myself to listen, be heard, and be seen. I felt like it was okay to see myself and that I wasn’t going to harm myself with my own criticism and judgment. I was allowed to be, and just be held for where I was. I was loved and held in all the ugliness. It felt vulnerable, like no one had ever been there before. It was like an untouched cave that had been protecting itself, and finally someone caring, loving, and kind enough to hold space for what was in that cave was allowed in.

Unbeknownst to me, I had deeply wanted to be held and seen. For a long time, I placed that responsibility onto others, clients, friends, lovers, family. I didn’t realize I wasn’t seeing or holding myself.

The irony is that I had spent years preaching the importance of self love to myself and others, truly believing I had attained a level of self love greater than the average person. Looking back, perhaps that was true to some extent, but it was not the highest form of self love.

For a while, I even believed it made me superior.

And strangely enough, that realization gave me even more reason to love myself instead of loving my ego.

“At least I have more self love than that person.”

I can see now that even this was separation. Judgment is not love. Neither toward myself nor toward others. In judgment, I was no longer allowing love to move freely through me. Instead, I was filtering life through labels, opinions, projections, and egoic identity.

That is not freedom, and it certainly is not love.

It is still something I occasionally find myself slipping into. But these days, I am much gentler with myself when I do.

I can choose to judge myself, punish myself, shame myself.

Or…

I can observe the behavior, acknowledge it honestly, accept it without denial, forgive it, and love myself regardless of how my ego tries to label it.

I can choose to be kinder, gentler, more loving.

I accept myself for where I am in this process.

When I came to this realization, I no longer desired to be anywhere else, become anyone else, or force myself to feel differently. I accepted myself. I wanted to give myself the biggest hug.

Somehow, I did.

By breathing, staying, and simply sitting with my newfound awareness.

Somewhere between the gravel path, the fairy houses, the warm tear on my cheek, and the apple in my hands, I stopped abandoning myself. The parts of me I had spent so long trying to fix were simply asking to be loved.