It was a Tuesday afternoon when it hit me. I was standing in front of a bathroom mirror, squinting at the angle of my jawline like someone auditioning for a cologne commercial. "Is this what self-love looks like?" I whispered, half-hopeful, half-panicked. The universe didn’t answer. But Beyoncé’s “Love Drought” was playing softly in the other room, and for a flicker of a moment, I thought, "Maybe." Spoiler alert: It wasn’t—at least, not entirely. Because learning to love yourself goes way beyond good lighting and songs in the key of Queen Bey. It’s a messy, unfiltered, long-haul journey. But oh, baby, is it worth it.

Let me take you back to the start.

The Love I Was Taught vs. The Love I Deserved

Growing up in Beaumont, Texas, love was something we gave to others in abundance—but rarely turned inward. My mama would spend 12-hour shifts caring for patients at the hospital, only to come home and fuss over my siblings and me like a short-order chef, therapist, and drill sergeant rolled into one. My dad worked grueling hours too, hauling himself to every Friday night football game if just to sit in the bleachers and clap a little too loudly when I squeaked out a solo in the marching band.

Our house was full of love—sacrificial, sweat-soaked love—but self-love? That concept was more elusive than finding a parking spot in Houston on a Sunday morning. What mattered most was showing up for others, even when you had nothing left for yourself. And listen, that works… until it doesn’t.

For me, the crash came quietly, like dusk slipping into night. I was fresh out of undergrad, trying to “find myself” (read: hanging around Houston’s Third Ward cafés, pretending to write poetry). A few failed dates and a soul-crushing situationship later, I realized I was blaming every rejection on not being “enough.” Not handsome enough, not accomplished enough, not anything enough. Somewhere between dodging texts from emotionally unavailable men and eating far too many Honey Butter Chicken Biscuits from Whataburger (no regrets), I hit rock bottom. And honey, let me tell you something: Rock bottom is as hard and unkind as the bleachers at my high school football field.

Mirror Check: Turning Critique into Compassion

Fast-forward to therapy session #3, where my therapist—shoutout to Patrice—posed a question that stomped all over my fragile ego: “Marc, would you ever talk to a friend the way you talk to yourself?” Listen. The silence in that room could’ve powered Beyoncé’s wind machines.

I’d spent years scrutinizing myself like an unpaid Yelp reviewer. Too this, too that. “Too Black and flamboyant,” one ex had muttered, and that line? It clung to me like cigarette smoke. But Patrice sat there, calm as a summer breeze, and reminded me: We don’t owe anyone a watered-down version of ourselves.

Her advice? Start small. Real small.

  • Replace every “I’m so __” with “I’m learning to ____.”
    ("I’m so bad at relationships!” became “I’m learning to set boundaries.”)
  • Write down one thing I liked about myself every day—no matter how superficial.
    (Yes, I once wrote down “my cheekbones could cut glass.” Confidence begins somewhere, okay?)

These tweaks sound cheesy, but they worked. It’s not about flipping a switch. It’s about adjusting the dimmer, little by little.

Embracing the Cringe: Dating Myself (Literally)

For some extra credit in this self-love syllabus, I committed to something bold: dating myself. Yep, you read that right. I told my friends (and by "friends," I mean my cousin Dana, who laughed so hard her Coke came out her nose), "No, I’m not lonely—I’m building a relationship with me."

The first "date" was awkward. Picture me, sitting solo at a rooftop bar in Houston, sipping an overpriced cocktail while I checked my phone every 4.2 seconds. But by the third “date,” I was thriving. Museums? Check. Movie marathons? Double check. I even tried making jambalaya from scratch—though the smoke detector and I are no longer on good terms.

Here’s what I learned: When you’re truly alone—without the performative buffer of social media or the crutch of another person—you confront yourself in ways that scare you. And then, slowly, you start to like yourself. You notice your quirks—the way you hum Luther Vandross while folding laundry—and think, "Huh, this dude's not so bad." Loving yourself is like learning a dance routine: clumsy at first, but ridiculously rewarding when you get the hang of it.

Quick Self-Love Hacks for When Life Gets Messy

Because let’s be honest, some days Beyoncé’s lyrics hit, and some days you’re crying into a half-eaten pint of Häagen-Dazs. Here are a few go-to tricks that kept me grounded:

  1. The Playlist Power Move:
    Start your day with a playlist that makes you feel like you’re starring in your own movie montage. Mine includes Lizzo, Billie Holiday, and, naturally, a little Destiny’s Child.

  2. Phone a Hype Friend:
    Everyone needs that one person who’ll gas you up like a hype man at a rap battle. (Shoutout to Dana, who will legit yell, “Marc is THAT GIRL!” when I need it.)

  3. Create a “Love Yourself” Jar:
    Every time you accomplish something, no matter how small, write it down and toss it in a jar. On rough days, pull one out. “Remember when you parallel parked like a boss?” Yes. Yes, I do.

  4. Block. Delete. Repeat:
    If someone in your life dimmed your shine—whether that’s an old flame, toxic friend, or your gym trainer who insists you “don’t try hard enough”—block them. Virtually and emotionally.

The Takeaway: Own Your Magic

Here’s the thing: Loving yourself doesn’t mean liking yourself every single second of every single day. That’s not realistic. (And honestly, that sounds exhausting.) It means choosing to be on your own team even when you screw up—or when someone walks away, or when your jambalaya burns and your smoke detector won’t stop screaming.

Learning to love myself didn’t make my life perfect. It didn’t erase the haters or guarantee I'd never cry to Mariah Carey at 1 a.m. But it gave me something better: the peace of knowing I’m enough, just as I am. No edits, no filters.

So when you’re wobbling on your own self-love journey, remember—you’ve survived 100% of your worst days so far. That’s proof you’re stronger than you think, brighter than you believe, and yes, baby, you’re magic. Now go light up the world. Oh, and maybe play a little Luther Vandross while you’re at it. You deserve a soundtrack.