Introduction: The Cabin in My Mind
I don’t remember the exact moment I stopped loving myself, but I do remember where I was: sprawled on the faded plaid couch in my tiny Lake Tahoe cabin, eating day-old chicken nuggets straight out of the fridge. It had been one of those “snow globe” storms—huge, beautiful flakes falling outside while inside my head, a full-blown blizzard of self-doubt was swirling. I was scrolling endlessly through social media, playing the kind of greatest-hits reel that’s dangerous for your self-esteem: failed relationships, career detours, and some truly tragic middle school bangs. All told, it looked like everyone else had it figured out while I—chicken nugget in hand—did not.
But here’s the thing about growing up in the mountains: nature always brings you back to yourself whether you’re ready or not. Over time, I learned to mend the cracks in my self-image the same way my dad repaired leaky rowboats at our lodge—slowly, one small fix at a time. So if you’re scrolling through this article in your own version of that nugget moment, here’s my story and a few tools I picked up along the way.
Section 1: The Avalanche of Expectations
Self-doubt can sneak up on you like a surprise snowstorm on a sunny morning hike. One minute you’re cruising along, and the next you’re buried under an avalanche of societal expectations. Date this way. Look that way. Hustle harder. Post cooler vacation photos—preferably with #wanderlust in the caption.
For me, the lowest point came after a breakup—a messy one that left me questioning what I brought to the table (besides truly excellent campfire-banana recipes, which, let me tell you, were undervalued). Breakups can be brutal for self-esteem because they shine a spotlight on your perceived flaws. But here’s what I realized: I was holding myself to a standard of perfection that not even my childhood hero, Smokey Bear, could’ve met.
So, step one in loving yourself? Shed the expectations that aren’t serving you. This isn’t “Frozen,” but seriously—let it go. Not everyone needs to be a globe-trotter, supermodel, or human Pinterest board. You just need to define your own version of success—and get comfortable living in that definition.
Section 2: Mirror, Mirror, on the Cabin Wall
At some point, staring into the metaphorical mirror became just as awkward as trying to clean an actual mirror with a sweaty ski glove—messy and unproductive. But confronting your reflection, flaws and all, is worth it. I started small, focusing on physical self-care—not in a performative "hot yoga on Instagram" way, but in a "hey, maybe wear clean socks today" way.
More importantly, I also called out my inner critic. You know, the voice that sounds like a mean camp counselor from an ‘80s movie? Picture writing down all the worst things you think about yourself and then reading them out loud by a campfire. Spoiler: they sound ridiculous. One of my most common ones was, “You’re boring.” I cracked that one open like a geode and found the truth: I wasn’t boring, I just wasn’t spending time with people who valued what I brought to the table (the campfire bananas remain legendary, though).
Section 3: A Solo Retreat
Sometimes when you’re lost, the best thing you can do is trade your ski pass for a compass and head out on a trail—not to find your selfie-spot but to find yourself, period. Spending time in nature has this cosmic ability to wipe away the noise in your head and help you reconnect with the person you’ve always been underneath it all.
I started taking myself on little "mini-retreats." Nothing fancy—just hitting a trail alone once a week or sipping coffee on the docks at the lodge before dawn. At first, it felt weird, like arriving at a dinner party way too early. But what I slowly started to appreciate was the stillness of it all. I wasn’t performing for anyone. I discovered I actually enjoyed my own company—and that’s something you have to learn if you’re ever going to truly love yourself.
If you can, carve out little solo rituals for yourself, wherever you are: a morning run, a sunset walk, or even just sitting in your car with the radio off for five minutes. Being alone doesn’t have to mean feeling lonely.
Section 4: Be Your Own Hiking Buddy
One of my dad’s favorite sayings is, “You don’t wait for perfect weather to hike.” I used to roll my eyes, but it turns out there’s wisdom in it. Loving yourself doesn’t just happen when you’re already on top of the world—it’s something you slog through when the trail is muddy, when you’re out of breath, and when your boots are rubbing blisters into your heels.
So I stopped waiting. I started treating myself the way I would a good friend on a tough hike: with patience, encouragement, and snacks (don’t underestimate the power of snacks). Did I feel silly complimenting myself out loud sometimes? Absolutely. But let me tell you, after surviving one particularly heinous winter day with “Good job! Keep going!” echoing in my head like a full-on pep squad, I realized how powerful being in your own corner can be.
Try it: Pick one thing you can celebrate about yourself every day. It could be tiny, like, “I sent that awkward email I was avoiding.” It’s like collecting trail markers to remind yourself how far you’ve come.
Conclusion: Building the Cabin
Self-love isn’t a peak you reach. It’s something you build, piece by imperfect piece, over time. For me, finding that love again wasn’t about becoming someone new—it was about coming home to the parts of myself I had ignored, overlooked, or written off, like rebuilding an old cabin slat by slat until it feels solid again.
Here’s what I know now: Loving yourself isn’t a one-time achievement. It’s something you practice every day, like chopping firewood or tying a fishing line (shoddily, in my case). You’re going to mess up—forget to compliment yourself, fall back into old patterns, avoid mirrors after especially rough haircuts. That’s okay. The beauty is in the rebuilding and all the stories you gather along the way.
So if you’re in the thick of figuring it out like I was—and still am—know this: You’re worth loving, right now, exactly as you are. Even if you're eating chicken nuggets on a plaid couch.
