Self-Love

I just read a short book entitled Love Yourself as if Your Life Depends on It. It is just what the title implies--a book giving yourself permission to love yourself.

I was struck by one passage in which someone told the author he was wrong; that we must love others first and then ourselves. The author pointed out that was backwards, but it made me realize that statement was just another example of how we misuse Scripture to meet our own biases. (It's not money that is the root of all evil, but the love of money.  Big difference.)

We are told that we must love our neighbor as ourself.  It doesn't say to love ourself as we love our neighbor.  The love of self has to come first, sort of like putting on the oxygen mask before assisting others.  If we don't love ourselves, we really can't love others.

 Now I'm well aware of this intellectually, but emotionally it's another story.  I've been so inculcated to focus on sacrifice and suffering (a theme I explore in my latest book, Facing Adversity with Grace, which is now available both as a paperback and Kindle!), it's hard for me to really understand what loving myself looks and feels like.


I know what it means to put others first, to sacrifice for them, because I've been taught well how to do that.  But me? I don't really know how to go about doing it.  I do things for myself, but is that really the same as loving myself?

So I'm starting by asking the question: Is this really the most loving thing I can do for myself right now?

• Is eating that delicious and tempting cherry twizler the most loving thing or would an apple be more loving?
• Is letting the dishes go another day because I'm worn out the most loving thing or would having a clean kitchen in the morning be more loving?
• Is taking time to play the most loving thing for me right now or is doing the laundry?
• Is visiting a friend the most loving thing or should I be praying and meditating?

The answers are usually quite clear, but they are beginning to surprise me, since I tend to assume the hardest, most difficult thing I don't want to do is always the right response. I'm starting, slowly, to have a bit more compassion for myself.  Which may be the beginning of learning what true self-love looks like.

Sunday Gratitude

It was a complicated week, as evidenced by the fact I didn't blog as much as I wanted. So here's to a new week with joy throughout.

1. For a new book that is out, even if it isn't available on Amazon yet like it's supposed to be. (Boo. Hiss.)

2.  A hair cut that is flattering...and some new blonde streaks that "miraculously" appeared to give it all a summery feel.

3. A dear friend who prayed with me and encouraged me on a hard day.

4. For some indication that a deeply damaged relationship might experience healing on some levels.

5. For Elijah, who fell in love with a pink piggie banks on his 6th birthday and reminded me that pink piggie banks are pretty darn wonderful.

Adversity with Grace

Click here to read some samples from my new book, Facing Adversity with Grace.

Being Patient with Grief

From the chapter on Grief in my upcoming book, Facing Adversity with Grace.

The poet Dylan Thomas wrote, “After the first death, there is no other.” [1] Some have interpreted that line to be a poetic way of saying “we only die once,” but like all good poetry, it is subject to a variety of interpretations. For me, it has always meant that once you truly experience the profound suffering that comes from losing someone you love, you’ll never experience grief the same way again. But that “first death” isn’t necessarily the first time you experience death; rather it’s the first time you experience it in a way that wrenches your heart and soul.

As I write this, I am mourning the loss of my mother, who died at age 92 after a lengthy period of decline. While my heart aches, hers was not my “first death.” I experienced that some years ago when, of all things, a beloved cat died. It was then that I was utterly struck by the pain and loss that death brings and the soul-wrenching loss of grief.  Of course, the grief from the loss of a pet, no matter how beloved, differs from that of the loss of a human, as it rightly should. But the one thing that I learned from that “first death” was how I process the stages of grief made famous by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance).

The fact is that we all process grief in our own unique ways.  Some are stoic, keeping a steely countenance and dealing with the emotions internally.  Others are wild-haired and vocal in their suffering, keening and wailing both literally and figuratively.  The comfort that comes after once having experienced real grief is that from then on you know your own reaction, the way you will cope and process it.  And, in addition, you know that you will get through it.  Along with recognizing the stages of pain, you can begin to see the stages of healing as well.

For me, I know that I pass through the stages of denial, bargaining and anger relatively quickly, but become ensnared by depression and deep sadness before I finally come to acceptance.  For me, some time after a grievous loss, even the most sunny of days is tinged with grey clouds in my soul.  But I know, too, that when I first begin to sense a quickening of hope and a calm, no matter how momentary, that the healing is beginning. It may take a long time, especially when the loss is as profound as that of my mother, but having lived through grief before, I also know that healing will come, in its own time and own way.

I just have to be patient with it...and with me.

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[1] http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/3357.html