I wrote an IG post the other day declaring my love – for myself.
As a creative person, hell as a person person, self love is a challenging thing. But at this particular moment in time I just felt it – I loved myself. I was thankful for who I was. I felt truly and uniquely me. It was fleeting and was followed by critical thought, beating myself up for one thing or another. Maybe it was for eating something naughty, being messy, being clumsy, not hitting my writing goal, beating myself up for beating myself up. Whatever, what is important is that for a moment I felt love for Amie.
Amie loved Amie.
So I wrote about it. And for some reason, I had to spend the rest of the day monitoring my post, deleting just under a dozen of mean, trolly comments. Whaaaaaa?
I don’t get a lot of ‘hate’ on my profile. My followers have always felt like family, authors, poets, creative souls, you are all so supportive and incredibly kind and I love you. I truly do.
The only other mean comments I’ve gotten in my time ‘online’ was a post of me lying on the floor in my pjs, on my computer. This photo according to some, showed too much of my arse. Seriously, that shit gets me riled up. But this post did not have my wonderful booty in it – this post was about self love and it dragged out some anger. It completely intrigues me.
The upset, angered, individuals were intent on telling me that I didn’t make sense. That I should stop talking, because I am not wise. That I was not entitled to share these thoughts. They insisted that my thoughts were not just invalid, but that they were so wrong they actually did not make sense. “Oh honey just stop.” “You don’t make any sense”.
I reread my post. I read it again. It makes sense. It’s a little bit stream of conscious, but so is a lot of my writing. I feel that I am clearly articulating that I love myself. I love myself for lots of reasons. But one of the reasons I love myself is because I write. This makes sense right? Am I insane? I mean, I am a little, but only in the good ways.
Why is loving ourselves such a controversial thing? Why does it bring out this reaction?
I admit that when I posted my Pyjama photo that it crossed my mind. My butt is big and you can see it in the photo. I thought, I wonder if people are going to kick a fuss up about this. But for this post, it didn’t cross my mind that people would take issue.
As unpublished writer’s we have to keep ourselves in check all – the -time. Being a writer can be extremely hard on the self esteem. I am so hard on my writing. I am hard on myself when I don’t write well, I am hard on myself when I don’t write enough. I know you know what I am talking about, because you experience this too. It’s exhausting.
Perhaps the self loathing epidemic is so rife in our creative community that even the notion of someone having a second of self love is painful. Maybe it seems insane. Maybe self love as a creative person literarily doesn’t make sense. We all got to be like Hemingway to write right?
I really disagree.
Writing should bring us closer to ourselves, allow us to connect to our magical, divine souls, our true selves. Story telling lets us explore who we are, and it should bring us closer to self love. Not further away. I’m not saying it is easy. It isn’t. But I hope that your writing practise gives you a sense of pride, satisfaction and self love. You are doing something that not lot of people can do. You are giving stories to the world and at the same time you are exploring who you are. You should love yourself for that. I love you for that.