I enjoy watching vlogs. They help me unwind. They also remind me that there is so much more to life than these four walls. There is so much more to to life than all I know. I enjoy watching women being women. Home making. Raising their children. Loving on their female friends. Trying out new restaurants. Getting excited over a dress that hugs their figure. Trying out matcha for the first time. Debriefing after a first date. Staring at the fresh flowers on the kitchen counter. Playing the perfect playlist before starting to cook. Getting a new lip gloss. Ugh. I enjoy watching women build lives they genuinely enjoy living.
Kay Yarms darling got me thinking yesterday. Less than a minute into watching her latest vlog she says
Here’s your reminder to treat yourself like someone you love.
Man. I just sat there and thought about how I treat and show up for the people close to my heart vs how I treat myself in the same situations. And?!
Do I hate myself?
I don’t think I hate myself. I think. Maybe I have just become very good at loving other people in ways I have never thought to love myself. That on it’s own breaks my heart.
I know how to be gentle with the people I love. I know how to make excuses for them. I know how to sit with their bad moods and tell myself maybe they’re tired. Maybe something happened. Maybe they didn’t mean it like that. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe I am just asking for too much. Maybe they need space. I know how to forgive people for being imperfect. I know how to give people another chance. I know how to remember the hundred ways someone has loved me when I am struggling with the one way they didn’t.
And when they disappoint me I search for explanations before I search for blame. Maybe I said the wrong thing. Maybe I should have known better. Maybe I wasn’t good enough. Educated enough. Accomplished enough. Maybe I was too needy. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe I cared too much. Maybe I should have noticed sooner.
I just sat there and thought about the extents I go to for people I love. The thought I put into a gift. Remembering the thing they were nervous about and asking how it went. Making sure they feel included. Making room for them. Sitting through the same story because I know they need to tell it again. I notice when their voice changes. I notice when they are quieter than usual. I notice when they are pretending to be okay.
Funny how quickly I can extend grace to someone else but when it comes to me? When did I become someone I expect so much from and give so little tenderness to? Why is it so difficult to offer myself the same kindness? Why do I make room for everyone else’s humanity but struggle to make room for my own? Why do I understand that other people are works in progress but expect myself to have figured everything out already? Why do I forgive people for hurting me but punish myself for being hurt? When did I start believing that being hard on myself was the same thing as holding myself accountable? Why do I confuse self-criticism with self-improvement?
I pray that in my thirties I treat myself like someone I love.
Oh Thomah. I get to love you. I will love you well mama.