The mirror in the bathroom of my tiny Manhattan apartment has seen me through a lot—questionable bangs, eyeliner escapades, and one very unfortunate period where I thought contouring could fix my feelings. It’s also witnessed something far more important: the slow, often bumpy journey to self-love. Learning to love myself wasn’t a poetic montage set to Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good” (though I tried that once—it didn’t work). It was a mix of awkward personal revelations, fits of laughter, and moments where I seriously considered moving to a cabin in the woods to avoid all human interaction. If you’ve been there, trust me, you’re not alone.

Let’s talk about how I got here—and how you can take your first steps toward loving yourself, too. Spoiler: no eyeliner required.

You Are Not a Museum Exhibit (I Should Know)

Growing up as the resident overachiever in a family of art-world intellectuals, I often felt like an amateur among masterpieces. My parents spoke of Monet’s water lilies with reverence while I sat there wondering why my reflection felt more like that overly abstract Picasso that people generously call "open to interpretation." For years, I treated myself like I was curating for an external audience, sculpting my choices based on what others expected, applauded, or accepted. I played “exquisite object”—always on display, always trying to charm the critics.

Here’s the thing I finally learned: You’re not an object, and your life isn’t a gallery opening. You’re a whole person, full of contradictions, quirks, flaws, and endless depth. And the people who truly love you? They’ll prefer the untamed, unpolished version over any carefully edited façade you put together.

Not Every Day Is a Degas (And That’s Okay)

Accepting ourselves often feels like staring too long at the unfinished sketches of an artist we admire. I once spent hours examining Degas’ prep work for his iconic ballerina paintings—studies riddled with smudges, stray pencil marks, and revisions. They reminded me that even genius is messy sometimes.

We’re all works-in-progress, and treating your “bad days” like failures instead of features only holds you back. On some days, I feel like the version of myself who wrote an entire thesis on Georgia O’Keeffe. On others, I’m the woman who dropped an entire burrito in the subway station during rush hour (never to be spoken of again—except now, I guess). But here’s the kicker: both of those versions are equally valuable.

Stop Romanticizing Perfection—It’s Exhausting

If I had a dollar for every time I bought a life-changing planner, journal, or self-help book, I could probably buy myself a meaningful relationship with my therapist (we’re working on it). But here’s the revelation: self-love doesn’t come gift-wrapped in ideal morning routines, flawless fitness regimens, or aesthetic-worthy hobbies. I tried yoga; I fell down. I tried matcha; I hated it.

Attempting to embody an idealized version of who you think you’re supposed to be often distracts you from the magical person you already are. Maybe you hate kale but make excellent lasagna. Maybe your plants are perpetually “on the brink,” but you throw the best dinner parties in your circle. Celebrate the messy, specific, wildly imperfect things that make you, you.

Renée Zellweger Was Onto Something

Remember when Bridget Jones sang “All By Myself” into a pint of ice cream? Did she look unhinged? Absolutely. But let’s not miss the bigger lesson here: you have to enjoy your own company.

For too long, I thought self-love was something to be verified externally—through relationships, friendships, or Instagram-worthy milestones. But some of my biggest breakthroughs came alone: the afternoon I wandered through MoMA without a plan, sat on the floor of my kitchen eating a croissant for dinner, or stayed in on a Friday night just to try (and fail) painting watercolors. Loving yourself means getting comfortable with yourself. Yep, even the cringy, karaoke-singing, croissant-eating parts.

Turn Down the Noise, Turn Up Your Playlist

Growing up in a family that placed high value on status and achievement, self-acceptance often felt like the quiet afterthought of my life. That changed when I embraced the simple realization that the only person whose approval truly matters is my own.

So how do you drown out the noise of societal expectations, judgmental whispers, and your own self-doubt? You pick your soundtrack and dance like nobody’s watching—which is not a metaphor. I literally started doing this around my apartment to Ella Fitzgerald. Awkward 8-counts and spontaneous jazz hands are better for the soul than you’d think.

The Art of Loving Yourself (Literally)

One of the most pivotal moments for me came during an exhibit at the Tate Modern in London. I encountered this piece—a mirror installation by Yayoi Kusama—where tiny, twinkling lights reflected into infinity. I stood there, staring at this endless version of myself, and realized that self-love isn’t about achieving some picturesque end result. It’s about learning to see yourself—truly see yourself—through all the layers, repetitions, and tiny moments that make up your being.

If your reflection feels complicated, let it. If some days the lights aren’t twinkling, who cares? You’re the artist, not the critic.

Takeaways (For When You Don’t Know Where to Start)

  • Spend time with yourself. Real, intentional time. Go to a museum solo, grab coffee at your favorite café, or watch a movie you love for the hundredth time. Learn what makes your heart light up.
  • Laugh at your flaws. Not in a self-deprecating way, but in an “I’m a lovable mess” kind of way. Embrace your inner chaos.
  • Limit the audience. Stop treating life like it’s a stage play or a social media post. Ditch the narrative of perfection and lean into all the unfiltered moments.
  • Rewrite the script. Shut out the voices (internal or external) telling you you’re not enough. Play Ella Fitzgerald on full blast and remind yourself otherwise.

Learning to love yourself isn’t about arriving at some blissful destination of flawless confidence. It’s about showing up for yourself every day, even when your reflection doesn’t feel masterpiece-ready. It’s about burritos in subway stations, awkward watercolor attempts, and finding the courage to rewrite your narrative.

End of the day, you’re a Yayoi Kusama mirror: infinite, complicated, and more captivating than you realize. So go on—light up your own little universe.