Liosuelo

Sometimes, it feels like there isn’t enough love at the end of the day to give back to myself. By the time I love my family and friends, not much is left in my heart to nourish my hopes, dreams, and desires. 

Giving love feels good, and receiving it from others can be even better. However, you know that saying, “There is nothing like a home-cooked meal.” Let’s mirror that phrase to self-love. There is nothing like receiving affection solely sourced from within. 

A few days ago, I was on high from finalizing the content plan for my writer’s Instagram page. After weeks, I landed on my values, my vision, and my purpose for sharing my writing projects. Then, it felt even more serendipitous that a friend offered me to stay in her cute apartment on an island in Spain for two months. The idea of it felt perfect.

Envisiong myself in a newly updated Spanish apartment that spans a whole floor next to a thousand-year-old church. The rooftop would be the perfect backdrop to take self-portraits. Weekly runs to the fresh market would be part of my routine. Writing my newest book on the terrace of a cute cafe overlooking a bustling square would be inspiring. 

But the timing felt wrong, and I knew it was not where my next journey would take me. I had to dig deep to decline an offer. I fought against the self-talk that I was ungrateful and too scared to take a leap. I was ready to leap into the unknown, but not in that direction. After I told my friend I would not be coming, I was proud of myself for closing a door. Not all doors that open are ones to walk through, a quote I carry from my grandmother’s endless sayings.

There, I was equipped with my thoroughly thought-through content and writing plan for the next month and renewed confidence that I was on the right path. But then I got up the morning after not booking my ticket to Spain and felt regret. I was sitting in the same bed I had been waking up in for the past few months in South Africa. I was tired of hearing the screaming hadeda birds outside the window, fed up with the constant looming fear of danger. There are no prospects for my next steps outside of a plan based on the fantasy of being a best-selling author. 

Trying to be an author who sells their books for a living is bold. My boldness must be sustained by radical self-belief and by keeping my emotions and energy close to my chest. In a closed container of life, this is possible. However, being the super empathic, sensitive person I am, I can be easily thrown off. My spiritual and wellness practices need to be tight to maintain my mental health. And the only thing that can penetrate the emotional cocoon I put myself in is my love for my close ones. 

I become vulnerable. I am unable to compartmentalize. Instead, I give love to solve their problems rather than reserve my energy for myself. It is easier to extend than to retract. There are countless projects and endeavors I had just started that were sabotaged by love. 

Maybe it is an excuse?

Anyway, I woke up that morning with regret and insecurity about my mission of being an author. I remedied it by meditating, journaling, saying some affirmations, and grounding myself. 

It worked overall. I mustered enough courage to begin working on editing my novel. Still feeling wobbly about my new career path but inspired by the words in my draft. 

Then, like clockwork, as soon as I closed my manuscript, having read the allotted portion for the day, my boyfriend came and kissed me. His energy was calm, but I knew he had something on his chest.  He checked in on me, but I wanted to know what was wrong with him. I had no time to reveal in my high note. 

After our conversation, I felt so drained by listening. I am always listening. I am always understating. It is what we do for each other. It is what relationships entail. But I felt tired. I was tired of carrying my burdens, his, and our relationship. 

My boyfriend has been dealing with a recurring issue for years, and the pain I know he is in can be consuming. So, I loved him instead of loving myself. I should have said, “I support you, babe, and do what you need to do to heal.” Then, I went about my day and continued editing my manuscript. Instead, I gave him empathy, love, and care from my nearly empty cup.

That took me out. I had to go for a workout alone and finally gather my thoughts. 

Then I got home and was about to execute some of my content and received a text from my mother. The contents of the text devastated me; again, they were the same issues that have been present within the family for decades. My heart was gripped with the pain of not being offered a solution. I wrote back a loving text and took her problem as if it were mine. I should have turned my phone on silent and committed an act of self-love. I closed my computer and tucked away my dream that night.

Then, all night, I worried about my boyfriend and mother and wished I booked a flight to Spain to escape my reality. I felt guilty for not being able to help but instead worrying about getting drafted into the association of successful writers. 

This is the cycle I notice. These endeavors of betting on yourself take up so much energy and space. It takes putting yourself first. It takes selfishness. It takes saying no to others and saying yes to yourself. I am still not the best at this. 

However, I will need to be. This journey of writing, becoming an author, and sharing myself with the world requires me to not hold space for others as much as I traditionally have. I know I will feel bad along the process, and my relationships will need to shift. Is it worth it? Is it worth it to break the patterns of the past in how I love? Yes. It is.