On Love Quietly- A February Series
Loving ourselves is one phrase that is simple when you say it until you’re actually trying to do it.
It’s often said, with incredible confidence– just love yourself, as if you snap your fingers and you’ve magically decided you should. But in practicality, it’s rarely that clear cut. Loving ourselves doesn’t always look like confidence or certainty.
Sometimes its form comes in patience. Sometimes it comes in restraint. Or sometimes it looks like learning to stop being unkind when nobody else is around.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about that particular kind of love recently–the quiet, unglamorous version not talked enough about.
The type that shows up on boring days.
The type that doesn’t announce itself.
Self-love, at least the way I’m learning it, isn’t always feeling good about who I am. It’s a combination of how I treat myself when I’m not my favorite person.
It’s about noticing how I speak to myself when I mess up, when I stumble, when I’m just barely out of reach.
It’s easy to be gentle with ourselves when you have the foreknowledge. Harder in the moments when you’re blindsided.
“Loving yourself isn’t about liking yourself all the time, but about staying with yourself during tough times.”
Honestly there are days when being gentle feels almost careless–like if I’m not pushing myself harder, correcting myself, or holding myself to some impossible standard, then somehow that’s translated as falling behind.
I’ve learned how to motivate myself through criticism, how to keep going by being sharp and unrelenting instead of a stern softness.
Honestly, that kind of “love?” It’s impossibly exhausting.
Real gentleness is asking for something different. It’s asking for those pauses. For the boundaries. For the willingness to take a rest without feeling like you have to earn it first.
It asks us to behave in a way we don’t have to improve before being worthy of care. That’s an uncomfortable concept. Especially in this world that rewards productivity and polish.
And yet, some of the moments I’ve seen and felt the most had nothing to do with pushing harder.
It was the moments where I stopped setting myself up to fail. Where I allowed things to take time. Where I chose patience over punishment.
“Gentleness doesn’t mean stagnation. It means growth without cruelty.”
This kind of love doesn’t make headlines. Nor does it look impressive to outsiders. But that change it quietly makes on the inside is more incredible and impactful.
It reshapes the way we move and interact through the world. From the way we show up for ourselves and others to the way we recover when we fall apart.
If you’re struggling to love yourself right now, I don’t think that counts as failing. I think it simply means you’re human. And most importantly, you’re learning.
Learning takes time.
For now, maybe love can look smaller than we expect. Maybe it can look like speaking more kindly. Resting without guilt and choosing not to pile on when you’re already overwhelmed.
That’s enough for today.
I’m grateful you’re a part of my Clawlings family!
More Soon,
Quill
