You look healthy.
And by that I don’t mean you look fat.
I mean your face isn’t grey any more, the circles under your eyes aren’t so dark. Your lips aren’t cracked and dry and your hair isn’t thinning and brittle. I mean you seem more focused when I talk to you, You actually look at me and listen rather than being so unable to stay still or think about anything other than your illness that your eyes dart around the room and you nod manically the whole time I’m speaking. You seem calmer, stiller, quieter. You’re easier to have a joke with and you take things on board much more than you used to.
I mean you laugh now, you’re less serious. There’s life about you, it’s in your eyes and your smile, it’s in the way you speak and even in the way you go about your daily tasks.
You look healthy. You look happy. It really, really suits you.
I guess I came to the realisation that if I didn’t love myself, no one was going to do it for me.
I could go through life disgusted by the way I look, thinking that I am not good enough in any way, and constantly criticising myself, but that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make me happier either.
Choosing to focus on the negative aspects of myself doesn’t make them go away, it just makes them seem like more of an issue than they are. I could blow every single flaw of mine out of proportion and sit and cry about it, or I could realise that it the grand scheme of things, it really isn’t an issue.
I’ve stopped associating my looks with happiness. I no longer see my self worth as something which depends on my looks or what other people think of me. I’ve realised I have a lot to offer the world and I try to go through life and live each day to the fullest potential.
I wouldn’t say I “love” myself, but I accept myself. Sure, if I could change things I would, but being the way I am doesn’t bother me. I don’t spend each day miserable about who I am, I just accept it.