Growing up on a ranch in Montana, surrounded by endless skies and wide-open fields, you’d think I’d have had plenty of room to grow into myself. But lassoing self-love? That turned out to be harder than corralling a runaway colt at dusk. For years, the idea of truly loving myself felt about as plausible as finding cell service in the middle of Glacier National Park. (Trust me, it’s not happening.)

Self-acceptance didn’t come easy. But eventually—through moments of clarity, the patience of wise friendships, and a hefty dose of humor—I got there. If there’s one thing I can tell you about this journey, it’s that it's not about perfecting yourself but accepting the parts of you that make you, well, you. Here’s my story—and a few lessons I picked up along the way.

The Mirror Lies (Sometimes)

When I was in my twenties, I assumed loving myself meant looking in the mirror and feeling like Sarah Jessica Parker in a "Sex and the City" montage. The reality? Most mornings, I resembled a confused raccoon who’d been thrown off a horse. Between Montana winters and a full-time job wrangling spreadsheets for the fish and wildlife department, I hardly felt glamorous—or lovable.

One day, though, my old friend Kayla (one of those people who glows like the human version of a sunrise) caught me mid-rant about my less-than-stellar appearance. “Willow,” she said, tossing a slice of huckleberry pie onto my plate, “you’re staring so hard at the freckles on your nose that you’re forgetting the whole face. Cut yourself some slack.”

It clicked. I was zeroing in on every perceived flaw—the laugh lines starting to emerge, the cowlick that refused to be tamed—but I wasn’t looking at the whole picture. Sure, I’ll never be a Vogue cover model, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worth loving exactly as I am.

The Myth of Perfection

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you in your high school life skills class: perfection is about as real as the cowboy hats tourists buy at the airport gift shop. It looks good in theory, but up close? It’s mostly fluff.

For the longest time, I bought into that myth. I told myself I’d be happy when I finally became someone else: someone more outgoing, someone better at small talk, someone who didn’t cry every time George Strait’s “I Cross My Heart” played at weddings. I thought the “perfect” version of me was just one self-help book away.

It wasn’t until I attended a writing residency in Missoula—a place full of wildly talented, equally insecure artists—that I realized everyone’s struggling to love who they are. One evening, sitting in a circle of women reading heartfelt stories about their lives, someone said, “It’s our quirks, our messy bits, that make us interesting.”

And suddenly, I got it. Loving myself didn’t mean fixing all the things I thought were wrong about me. It meant learning to embrace the slightly awkward, perpetually nostalgic, can’t-pass-up-a-garage-sale person I already was.

Small, Quiet Ways to Start Loving Yourself

Spoiler alert: Self-love doesn’t happen overnight. For me, it came in small, quiet revolutions. Like the time I stopped apologizing for canceling plans to stay home and read, or when I let myself wear the same flannel for five days without caring if anyone noticed. Here are a few baby steps that worked for me:

  • Strike up a conversation with your inner critic. Next time you catch yourself spiraling into that “ugh, why would anyone like me?” abyss, pause. Ask: Would you talk to your best friend like that? (Hint: If the answer is no, you probably need to choose kinder words for yourself.)

  • Challenge yourself to do something you’re “bad” at. For years, I told myself I couldn’t draw to save my life. Then one Sunday, I bought a cheap sketchbook and started doodling horses like the ones from my childhood. Are my drawings atrocious? Sure are. But they make me laugh—and that’s pretty great.

  • Pause for the wins, no matter how tiny. Loved your outfit today? Nailed your grandma’s rhubarb cobbler recipe? Finished a crossword without googling answers? Celebrate! Those moments matter.

  • Let your hobbies be yours. I used to think everything I did needed an audience—or worse, social media validation. But it’s all the more rewarding when you rediscover the joy of doing something just for you, whether it’s playing guitar or kayaking down lazy streams.

The Role of Relationships in Self-Love

People like to say you can’t love someone else until you love yourself. I kind of think that’s hogwash. The truth is, we learn self-love in context—through the people who show us kindness, love, and forgiveness even when we’re struggling to show it to ourselves.

I think about the people in my life who’ve helped me along this journey. Like my mom, who told me my worth wasn’t tied to how much I accomplished in a day. Or my writing mentor, who didn’t let me give up on my poetry when I thought I’d said all I had to say.

That’s not to say your happiness should live in someone else’s hands—it’s still your job to do the heavy lifting. But letting others remind you of your inherent worth is part of the equation. It’s a dance between gathering that love around you and learning how to reflect it inward.

Permission to Be Messy

If there’s one thing life on a ranch teaches you, it’s that messy isn’t always bad. Rainstorms turn dirt roads to slop, but they also make the alfalfa grow. Life isn’t a perfectly mended quilt; it’s more like that one blanket your grandma stitched with scrap fabric. It’s mismatched and a little frayed, but it keeps you warm, year after year.

Loving myself has been less about mastering a skill and more about giving myself permission to be that frayed, colorful quilt. Some days, I still doubt myself. But other days, like when I take my dog out to the field for an early morning walk or hear my favorite Alison Krauss song drifting through a quiet room, I feel like someone worth rooting for.

Your Turn

If you’re in the middle of your own self-love odyssey, here’s my advice: Take it slow. You don’t need to run through a list of affirmations every morning or chase a picture-perfect version of yourself. Start where you are—with all your quirks and blemishes—and say, “Okay. This is enough.”

Because it is. You are. So keep being messy, brave, and unapologetically you. After all, the world doesn’t need another perfect person. It needs more of you.