As part of today’s exercise, I’ve been tasked with writing a love letter to myself. On a whim —and maybe with a nudge from fate—I joined an online women’s group participating in a month-long self-love challenge. Why? I could easily shrug and say “I don’t know,” but that wouldn’t be true. Deep down, I do know.
Fate, God, the Universe—call it what you will—has been poking me. Lately, it seems little hints and nudges have been trailing me wherever I go. Like the sandy labyrinth I stumbled across one quiet Sunday morning during my walk on the beach. Or those persistent Facebook posts practically shouting, “Live a joyful life!”
Really? I scoffed at first, remembering how I used to think that way… before life got in the way. But still, there’s that stubborn part of me that knows joy isn’t just a cliche; it’s something worth reclaiming. So, with that thought lingering, I figured, “What the hell,” and joined the group.
And now, here I am, staring down this challenge: write a love note to myself. It’s just one of the items on the list. Other options included treating myself to a little gift or pampering myself with something like a pedicure. Easy enough, right? I thought so too.
But when it came to writing that love letter, I froze.
When Writing Won’t Come
At first, I told myself it would be quick and painless. Surely, I could just dash off a few sentences. But then I sat down, and the words refused to come. Every attempt ended in a few stunted lines before I’d close the app and walk away. Writing, which once flowed effortlessly for me, has become a trickle—and sometimes, not even that.
What used to bring me joy now feels distant. It is tangled in threads of grief and sadness that won’t seem to let go. My heart hurts. I’d like to soldier on, pretending everything is fine. But it’s impossible to ignore the weight of my stories. These are the ones I rarely share. They circle around my legs like a mischievous puppy and trip me when I least expect it.
How do I write a love note to myself when the biggest thing my heart longs for is to hold my daughter again? Even this small confession brings tears to my eyes. So, I push it away. I bury it. Because that’s what I’ve learned to do.
A Small Victory
But in the spirit of this self-love challenge, I didn’t give up entirely. Instead of writing the letter, I created something smaller: a simple graphic with an affirmation. It wasn’t the love letter I might have written a few years ago. But it felt meaningful in its own way.
And that’s where I’ll begin. It’s not grand or perfect, but it’s a step—a tentative, hopeful step. Because self-love isn’t about big leaps; it’s about small, deliberate choices to try. To begin again. To find joy even in the cracks of a hurting heart.
The Path Forward
The sandy labyrinth I found that Sunday morning keeps coming to mind. Winding, uncertain, but still purposeful. Maybe this journey is like that labyrinth—one step at a time, one turn after another, even when you can’t see the center.
So here I am, taking another step.
And for now, that’s enough.