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I Love Me, And I Feel It.

February 14, 2018

Ok, I don't always feel it. Do you?


Time to pull out an oldie, but goodie. Today's "holiday" can put tummies in a twist, and bring up irritation. It can also calm and nourish us, if we let it, even if we don't have a loving to buy us roses or give us a back rub. Easier said than done? I hear you!


I Loved Me for the First Time


When I was studying to be an Ayurvedic Health Counselor at the Kripalu School of Ayurveda in 2014, I had a very strange and memorable experience. We were in a Thai Massage Self-Care workshop with a former student who I adored. Motown was bringing grins and lyrics to lips and voices around me. I felt my anger rising. When I am angry I usually know why, or at least I thought I did. The heat kept building within me and I wanted to leave the room. I couldn't justify it, so I stayed. By the time we were near the end of class and lying on our backs resting in shavasana, hands on chest, I was sobbing as silently as I could.


Between gasps of breath I heard,


"I love you, I love you, I love you,"


in my mind. I knew I was speaking to myself words I never had before and meant them. The tears flooded again and another student came to comfort me. I suddenly had the urge to write. A poem on a wing and if I didn't catch it, it'd be gone. I sat up in my bunk late and the following spilled from heart to keys. I reread it to remind myself of the possibility. Perhaps I was angry, because I wasn't loving me. I still get angry. And sometimes it is because I know it's up to me to show me love, to receive love, to believe love. That's my job alone.


Others could love me in all the perfect ways, but if I don't believe it, if I don't agree that I am undeniably lovable, and love myself, it will never sustain beyond the moment of expression. I hope my story taps your own desire to love you today.  


- - - - - - - - - -




It may have been the first time.

Getting beyond the shock of that, I can believe …

I told myself tonight, "I love me."


I want “I Love You”

Tattooed on my wrist.


Left arm so I can

See it

Forearm so I can’t

Hide it, even from myself

Three times I heard a voice in my head, so deliberately

“I love you, I love you, I love you”

I realized it was me.


It wasn’t a desire or the imagination of someone else’s voice

Or even me forcing those words toward myself like leftovers I must eat

For fear of being guilty otherwise—

The only way I think I have said it before—

It was me