Once upon a time—not in some distant, fairy tale land, but rather in the bustling chaos of Lagos traffic—I looked in the rearview mirror of a keke and whispered to myself, “I love you.”
The moment felt…awkward. Was anyone watching? Did the okada riders flanking me notice? (Spoiler: they didn’t.) But in that fleeting, slightly dramatic instance, I realized how foreign and revolutionary those words felt directed at myself. Not at a romantic partner, not at a family member, but me. Just me. And while Hollywood makes self-love look like bubble baths and affirmations scribbled on a foggy mirror, trust me—it’s messier than that. So, here’s my journey from doubtful to delightful (with a side of jollof and Burna Boy, of course).
The Wake-Up Call: When My Inner Critic Became My Flatmate
For the longest time, I had an uninvited roommate living rent-free in my mind: my inner critic. You know the type—sarcastic, petty, always reminding you of that one exam you failed in SS2 or how you mispronounced “Worcestershire” in front of your crush last week. My critic didn’t even have the decency to whisper; she shouted.
This voice always seemed louder when relationships faltered. I remember ending things with someone I’d been dating in Abuja—an elegant man with the charisma of a Nollywood hero but the emotional depth of a teaspoon. When it was over, my critic stepped up, pointing out every flaw in my reflection, every mistake I made in the relationship.
“Harriet, why didn’t you notice the red flags earlier? Maybe if you were taller, quieter, wittier, better at making amala…” The list was exhausting and impossible.
It hit me: I was reserving all my kindness and compassion for others, but when it came to myself, I was stingy, rationing whatever scraps were left over.
Fighting My Inner Frenemy (With Small Wins)
I knew something had to change, but where to start? The grand declarations of “just love yourself!” often felt like asking a toddler to write a dissertation—overwhelming and unattainable. So, I began small.
-
The Compliment Audit:
One weekend in Lagos, in a moment of rare courage, I wore khaki trousers to a lunch with my friends even though I’d always avoided “tricky” colors that might expose my insecurities over my body shape. That day, I got compliments. “Harriet, you’re glowing today!” Normally, I’d deflect, mumbling something about the weather, but instead, I just said “thank you,” letting their kind words land like gentle rain on dry soil. Accepting praise, instead of batting it away like a goalkeeper, became Step 1. -
Separating the Critic from Reality:
Remember the inner critic? Mine had this habit of exaggerating. Did the conference room really go silent because I answered the client’s question “wrong”? Or was it just silence, full stop? Over time, I started fact-checking my critic, and what I discovered was freeing: most of her commentary held the weight of a badly baked akara—crumbly and full of air. -
Building a Playlist for My Confidence:
Few things heal the soul faster than the right song. My go-to tracks were (and still are) Tiwa Savage’s “Dangerous Love” and Burna Boy’s “Anybody.” I’d sing, dance, and sometimes even freestyle-rap in the mirror (badly). Was it cheesy? Oh, absolutely. Did it work? Without a doubt. Music gave me permission to shake off self-doubt, even if just for three minutes.
The Turning Point: When I Stopped Waiting for Permission
One day, while living in London during my master’s program, I went to a café alone—on purpose. I ordered tea (the British kind, not our Nigerian “stronger-than-your-feelings” version). As I sat there reading, sipping, and people-watching, I felt…content. Not amazing or euphoric. Just content.
It dawned on me: I wasn’t waiting for someone to text me, like my photo, or validate my outfit choice. I was giving myself permission to enjoy my own company. That moment was small but seismic.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want love from others. I wasn’t swearing off dating or pretending I didn’t care. But I stopped treating my self-worth like a relay baton, passing it to whoever happened to be in my life at the time.
Lessons Along the Way: How to Make Self-Love a Habit
If you’re reading this and thinking, “Harriet, that’s great for you, but I’m not you,” I totally get it. Self-love doesn’t come in one-size-fits-all packaging. But here’s what worked for me, and maybe it’ll help you too:
-
Start with Curiosity, Not Judgment:
Instead of criticizing your “flaws,” get curious about them. Why does that scar on your knee from falling off a bicycle bother you so much? Is it really the scar—or the story behind it? Reframing these “imperfections” can really shift your perspective. -
Say No Without Apology:
Growing up in Nigeria, I was taught to say “yes” to most things—it’s polite, considerate. But as I’ve grown, I’ve realized saying “no” is its own kind of love. Whether it’s declining an event because you need rest or leaving a conversation that drains your energy, a well-placed “no” is an act of self-preservation. -
Create Rituals That Feel like You:
For me, it’s Sunday evenings—skincare masks, a novel by Chimamanda Adichie, and turning my room into an Afrobeat sanctuary. For you, it could be cooking, journaling, or taking long walks. The point is, make something sacred, carve out time for yourself, and honor it. -
Talk to Your Reflection (Yes, Seriously):
I didn’t grow up in a home that normalized mushy affirmations, so this felt incredibly awkward. But over time, looking at myself in the mirror and telling myself one kind thing a day became a practice I treasured. Today? I’ll even wink at myself when I’m feeling cheeky (please don’t judge me…or do, I can take it).
Becoming My Own Safe Space
Loving myself hasn’t erased insecurity, doubt, or bad days. They still come—like power outages in Lagos or surprise rain during Harmattan. But self-love has made me more resilient, more forgiving of myself. It’s about becoming your own home.
And the funny thing is, once I stopped searching for someone else to “complete” me, relationships became fuller, richer. My friendships deepened. Dating felt less like a performance and more like an authentic expression of who I am.
So, if you’re still on this journey of self-love, be patient with yourself. Treat yourself as you would a budding plant—nurture, water, and celebrate every little sprout of growth. And remember, the next time you look in the mirror, try that awkward, whispery “I love you.” Your inner critic might roll her eyes at first. But trust me, she’ll get over it.
