We all have that one mirror we avoid—a specific angle under a certain fluorescent light, the one that seems to whisper, “Hey, remember two margaritas ago when you promised yourself you’d go to yoga this week?” For most of my 20s, I avoided that metaphorical mirror in every sense. The literal one, the internal one, even the spiritual one. Stepping into self-love wasn't something I planned. It snuck up on me, like the realization that Austin’s traffic is never going to get better no matter how many overpasses they build. Accepting myself—flaws, quirks, and all—wasn't linear, but it was transformative.

Let me walk you through how I learned to love myself, one step at a time. Spoiler alert: there was no fairy godmother, and no expensive face creams were harmed in the making of this journey.

Step 1: Breaking Up With Perfection

Somewhere between high school debate team and chasing my master’s degree, I picked up this gnarly little habit of trying to be everything to everyone, all at once. At work, I was the go-to problem solver. In my social life, I was the friend who could always “meet for a quick coffee” that, honestly, no one needed. Internally, I was exhausted.

One night after canceling on yet another event I’d guilted myself into attending, I realized: striving for perfection meant I couldn’t actually show up as me. It hit me like realizing I’d left tacos on the roof of my car (don’t ask)—embarrassing, humbling, and costly in more ways than one. I made the decision that night to let perfection go. Not like Marie Kondo “thanking it for its service” and tidying it neatly away—more like ghosting it by aggressively prioritizing joy over productivity.

How do you break up with perfection? Start noticing the small ways you’re overextending yourself. Assignments you say yes to because you’re scared people won't like you if you don’t. Expectations you impose on yourself because you assume everyone else has their life together. Spoiler: They don’t. Trust me—I work in nonprofit grants.

Step 2: Romanticizing (Yes, Really) Being Alone

I used to treat dining alone in public like it was punishment for a crime I didn’t commit. The thought of saying “table for one” felt like announcing, “Hey everyone! Look at me, a social outcast who can’t find a brunch buddy!” But eventually, I started reframing solitude as, well, time to date myself.

It started small—grabbing coffee alone on lazy Saturday mornings. Slowly, I graduated to dinner dates, hikes, and even seeing a movie solo (pro tip: no one there cares if you're flying solo; they’re too busy sneaking bites of that $13 popcorn). And then the craziest thing happened. I started liking my alone time.

Here’s what romanticizing your alone time can look like:
- Make it intentional. Whether it’s a long walk with a carefully curated playlist or a candle-lit bath where you finally read that novel you bought three summers ago, create rituals that feel indulgent.
- Treat yourself. Splurge on a piece of jewelry, a new scented candle, or that decadent dessert you’d normally share with friends. Do this not because you earned it, but because you’re already worthy of it.
- Flip the narrative. Treat your solitary outings as opportunities to appreciate you, rather than avoiding awkward stares from strangers. (Spoiler: they’re probably wishing they were as brave as you right now.)

Think of it this way: being alone doesn’t mean you’re lonely. It means you’re giving yourself space to exist without the exhausting pressure of performing for someone else.

Step 3: Learning to Speak to Yourself Like a Friend

You know that voice in your head? The one that gets louder when you mess up and whispers things like, “Why did you say that? You sounded so dumb.” Yeah, I let that little goblin run the show for years.

One day, my best friend was venting about a stupid work mistake she’d made, and I responded immediately with, “It’s not that big of a deal; you’re human, and everyone loves you. You’ll bounce back.” And just like that, it hit me: Why couldn’t I talk to myself that way? If I could forgive her for mixing up meeting times or accidentally hitting “Reply All,” why was I so mean to me for way smaller infractions?

This realization started my internal rebrand. I gave that self-critical voice the boot and let my “hype woman” voice take over instead. Here’s how you can do the same:
- Notice your inner dialogue. The next time you feel the urge to criticize yourself, pause and ask: “Would I say this to my best friend?” If not, rephrase it.
- Celebrate small wins. Got through a tough meeting? Celebrate. Didn’t cry when your car stalled on I-35 in rush-hour traffic? Miracle. Make it a practice to acknowledge your resilience.
- Use affirmations...but make them fun. Instead of robotic “I am worthy” repetitions, try something you’d actually write in a drunk group text. My personal fave: “You’re a freaking legend handling the chaos of life like a Beyoncé in spin class.”

Step 4: Letting Others See the Cracks

I was raised believing vulnerability was strength, but let me tell you—believing and doing are two entirely different beasts. As someone who prided herself on having everything “together,” the idea of saying, “Hey, I’m actually feeling pretty insecure today,” felt borderline scandalous.

But one time, in a room full of close friends, I cracked. My job was overwhelming, my relationship felt like a chore, and I hadn’t grocery-shopped in three weeks. Instead of judging me, my friends quickly rallied behind me with offers to help. One quietly confessed she’d been in the same boat last month and had felt too ashamed to talk about it. And that’s when I realized—letting other people see our cracks often makes them feel like they’re allowed to have cracks too.

Being open about my struggles didn’t immediately solve them, but it reminded me that self-love isn’t the absence of pain. It’s the courage to say, “I’m doing my best, even when my best feels messy.” And the reward? Community, connection, and so many post-crack hugs that my tear-streaked cheeks ached.

Conclusion: The Love You’re Looking For Might Already Be There

Loving myself wasn’t some grand crescendo where one day I looked in the mirror and heard Lizzo playing faintly in the background. It’s a daily practice—a messy, imperfect choreography of balancing grace with growth.

Some days, I nail it. Other days, I eat cheese puffs for dinner and forget to hydrate. But here’s what I now know for sure: self-love isn’t about becoming a shiny, polished version of yourself. It’s about learning to love the half-formed (sometimes chaotic) human staring back at you.

Wherever you are on this journey, know this—it’s okay not to be there yet. Keep showing up imperfectly. Keep celebrating the wins, no matter how tiny. And remember that loving yourself isn’t about finding perfection. It’s about realizing you’ve been lovable all along, flaws and all.