Learning to Love Myself First

For a long time, I believed love had to come from someone else first.

I thought that if I was good enough—if I could give enough, be sweet enough, soft enough, beautiful enough—then maybe, just maybe, someone would see me. Really see me. Not just for the things I did, but for who I was when the doors closed and the makeup came off. I wanted to be chosen in a way that felt final. Safe. Reverent. And I thought the only way to get that was to earn it.

So I poured myself into relationships. Gave and gave and gave, hoping it would fill the hollow place inside—the one shaped like love. I handed over pieces of myself like offerings, hoping someone would hold them tenderly and say, “This is enough.” But the truth I had to learn the hard way was that no matter how much I gave, it was never going to be enough until I saw my own worth.

Something shifted recently. I can’t even tell you the exact moment. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no great revelation, no heartbreak explosion. Just a quiet stillness that settled in after all the noise. Maybe I got tired of waiting. Tired of chasing the feeling of being wanted while leaving myself behind in the process.

And in that stillness, I started to notice something strange — I was showing up for myself. In small ways at first. I said “no” to a plan I didn’t want to be part of. I walked away from conversations that felt off. I started noticing how I talked to myself when no one else was around. How I softened. How I listened. How I stayed.

There was this quiet realization: I could be the one I’d been waiting for.

I used to think that loving myself meant I was giving up on other people. That if I focused inward, I’d lose my chance at being loved outwardly. I worried I’d become too self-sufficient. Too alone. But what I see now is the opposite. The more I love myself, the more I attract people who reflect that love back to me — not as a transaction, but as resonance.

Self-love isn’t selfish. It’s foundational. It’s the sturdy ground that everything else is built on. When I anchor in my own value, I’m no longer waiting for someone to hand it to me. I carry it with me.

That changes everything.

When I look at relationships now, I don’t see rescue fantasies or missing puzzle pieces. I see shared moments. I see choice. I see the beauty of connection without the need for fusion. I don’t need someone to complete me. I don’t need someone to fix me. I want to be loved not because I’m broken, but because I’m whole — and still choosing to open.

I’m learning that boundaries aren’t walls. They’re not rejections. They’re reverence. They’re how I stay intact while sharing space with another person. They’re the way I say: “I love you, and I love me, too.” There’s no need to collapse into someone to prove that I care. I can stay upright. I can stay soft. I can stay me.

I’m not perfect. I still catch myself reaching sometimes — hoping to be chosen first. I still feel that old ache rise up now and then, whispering that love needs to come from outside to count. But now I have the tools to sit with that ache. To hold it. To let it pass through without letting it run the show.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Not because I’ve figured it all out, but because I’ve stopped abandoning myself in the process of figuring it out. I know that no matter what happens — whether love shows up today, or in ten years, or never in the way I imagined — I’ll be okay. Because I have me now. And I’m not letting go again.

I’m open. To love. To connection. To surprise. To softness. But I’m not looking for someone to save me anymore. I’m grounded in myself first.

I’ll love with my whole chest when it’s time. But I’ll never go missing inside someone else’s story again.

Love will find me.

Because I’ve finally found me.