It Started With a Slice of Pizza and a Full-Blown Identity Crisis

A few years ago, I was sitting at my favorite Brooklyn pizza spot, staring at a single slice of margherita that couldn’t stare back, yet somehow still felt judgmental. My friends referred to this place as a “slice of heaven,” and normally, that description rang true. But that day, the cheese tasted like existential dread, and the crust was somehow heavier than my emotional baggage. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time, but I was in the throes of something bigger than just a bad mood. This wasn’t about dating woes, career stress, or even my local laundromat losing yet another one of my socks. No, this was one of those dreaded Internal Reckonings™: a self-love deficit that no amount of carbs could fix.

The pizza stayed uneaten. I didn’t.

Fast-forward to now, and I can honestly say I’ve learned how to love myself—and not in the cheesy, “light a candle and tell yourself you’re amazing” way (though, hey, if that’s your thing, you do you). For me, self-love was less about the whole “wearing a motivational T-shirt and vibing in front of a mirror” aesthetic and more about getting real, doing the work, and—yes—getting uncomfortable. Let’s talk about it.

Step 1: Breaking Up With My Inner Critic (We Had to Talk)

You’ve met the Inner Critic. You know, that dry, sarcastic voice that loves to pop up just as you’re about to hit “post” on a fire selfie or muster the courage to ask someone out for the first time. The Critic is quick to remind you of your flaws but slooooow to appreciate your greatness. Mine had been my near-constant plus-one since middle school, when I got braces, glasses, and a bad haircut all within a 72-hour window. Thanks for that, Mom.

One day, I decided it was time for a breakup. Like any toxic relationship, it involved boundaries. When the Critic would try to undermine me (“Julian, do those new jeans really work on you?”), I started clapping back:

“Actually, they do. Thanks for your concern, Rebecca.”

(Pro tip: Giving your Inner Critic a name—preferably something annoying—takes the sting out of their words.)

This simple practice didn’t just shift the narrative; it redefined how I saw myself. Are affirmations awkward at first? Absolutely. But eventually, even sarcastic quips aimed at your inner saboteur can plant the seeds of self-compassion.

Step 2: The “Main Character Energy” Experiment

It’s easy to compare ourselves to others when we forget we’re playing the lead role in our own story. At some point during my quarter-life crisis, I realized I had the narrative all backward: I was an extra in everyone else’s movie, dutifully showing up in the background of other people’s milestones while dimming my own charismatic glow. So, I decided to reclaim what the kids today call “main character energy.”

The trick? Romanticize the mundane.

  • Went for a walk in Prospect Park? Boom—now it’s my indie coming-of-age arc.
  • Cooked dinner for one in my apartment? Cue the soft jazz playlist; I’m living like a Brooklyn-based rom-com star.
  • Got a rejection email for something I really wanted? Eh, just another spicy plot twist in my entrepreneurial origin story.

Main character energy isn’t about pretending to be untouchable. It’s about remembering that your life—flaws, wins, and awkward moments included—is uniquely worth celebrating. Does it sound a little corny? Sure. Am I entirely certain that’s a bad thing? Nope.

Step 3: Decluttering My Emotional Closet (Yes, Marie Kondo Was Right)

I didn’t quite realize how much emotional baggage I was lugging around until I decided to unpack it—literally. One Saturday, I dedicated the entire day to cleaning out my closet (the actual kind, not the metaphorical one… not yet, anyway). I sorted everything into piles: the clothes I wore on repeat, the college-era relics I hadn’t touched in years, and the random impulse buys glaring at me from hangers like neglected tinder matches I ghosted.

But something wild happened midway through. As I tossed those outdated skinny jeans and finally let go of a blazer my mom insisted I’d “need someday,” I started to feel… lighter. It hit me: We cling to emotional clutter the same way we cling to old concert T-shirts and expired pantry staples. I’d been holding onto hurt from years past, unresolved insecurities, even limiting beliefs that no longer served me.

That day became a metaphor, and I made decluttering my emotions a priority. Therapy helped (shoutout to my therapist, the GOAT), as did journaling. I even started asking myself occasionally: “Does this thought spark joy?” Spoiler alert: Many didn’t. They got the metaphorical boot.

Step 4: Redefining Success, on My Terms

Here’s the thing about growing up in Brooklyn with entrepreneur parents: Hustle culture was essentially the family’s third child. Achieving was celebrated, resting? Not so much. So for most of my life, I equated self-worth with productivity in all areas: career, relationships, fitness, you name it. “If you’re not crushing it, are you even living?” was basically my mantra. Spoiler: That is a terrible mantra.

Learning to love myself meant unlearning all of that. I had to consciously stop comparing my journey to everyone else’s. (It’s wild how being surrounded by ambitious Ivy League peers can really mess with your calibration of “success.”)

These days, I measure wins differently:

  • Did I take a meaningful step toward something I care about today? W.
  • Did I let myself rest without guilt? Massive W.
  • Did I learn from this week’s failures (and laugh about at least one of them)? Triple W.

Defining success on my own terms felt like giving my soul a much-needed exhale.

Step 5: The Art of Treating Myself (Without Guilt)

Can we all agree that treating yourself shouldn’t feel illicit? And yet, there I was, feeling guilty for buying concert tickets or splurging on indulgent dinners with friends. Why? Because that Critic voice (hi, Rebecca) liked to suggest I hadn’t “earned it.”

How absurdly capitalist of me.

When I flipped the script, I started thinking of these moments not as indulgences but as investments: in joy, in energy, in connectedness. Those nights out with friends became as essential as my morning coffee, and those new sneakers? A purchase made so future Julian could live his best life strolling through Brooklyn in swagged-out style. That first guilt-free, $14 oat-milk-latte moment? Delicious.

Conclusion: Oh, and About That Pizza

I never did finish that margherita slice from my existential Brooklyn pizza journey. But now, I get to take all those lessons—the quips with Rebecca, the main-character energy, the emotional decluttering—and live a life where pizza tastes like pizza again. The truth is, self-love isn’t a final destination, and I’m convinced anyone who acts like they’ve mastered it is at least half-lying. But I’m okay with that.

Learning to love yourself is less about arriving somewhere perfect and more about staying curious, trying new things, and pulling yourself back when the Inner Critic (or a bad dating experience) tries to take over.

So go on. Romanticize your next solo walk. Buy that iced coffee. Laugh at your flaws. And when all else fails? Brooklyn pizza is never a bad place to start.