Loving Yourself Enough

Last Tuesday, I made eggs.

Not a metaphor. Not a wellness milestone.
Just eggs.
Scrambled, because my hands were shaking too much
for anything more complicated.

I ate them standing at the counter
because sitting felt like too much commitment.

That was self-care that day.

Not the Instagram kind.
Not the bath-and-candles kind.
The kind where you feed your body
when your brain is screaming that nothing matters
and you should just go back to bed.

I used to think self-care meant having my shit together.
Green smoothies. Morning routines. Gratitude journals.
The whole performance.

But most days?
Most days I'm just trying to choose the basics
without hating myself for needing them.

Sleep when my body says stop,
not when the world says it's acceptable.

Eat something, anything,
when the stomach knots from old stories
about deserving or earning food.

Move, not as punishment for existing in this body,
but because sometimes motion is the only thing
that unsticks the static.

It's not glamorous.
It's not a twenty-step transformation program.

It's just the relentless, unglamorous work
of keeping the fire going
when everything in you wants to let it die out.

Some days that fire is a roaring blaze.
I'm hiking six miles with a heavy pack,
feeling invincible, alive, capable.
Those days are real. I don't discount them.

But some days?
Some days the fire is a barely-there ember.
And the entire victory is not letting it go dark.

Eating the eggs.
Drinking the water.
Getting horizontal when the body says it's done.

The trail taught me this, actually.
Out here, you don't apologize for needing fuel.
You don't punish yourself for resting between climbs.
You just keep the systems running
so you can keep moving.

That's all this is.
Systems maintenance. Biological basics.

Sleep, food, movement.
Not because they're virtuous,
but because they're what keeps the machine functional
enough to experience anything else.

I'm not saying it's easy.
Some days choosing to eat feels like an act of defiance
against every voice that ever told me I didn't deserve care.

Some days going to bed feels like giving up,
even though I know it's the opposite.

But I keep doing it anyway.

Not because I've mastered self-love
or achieved some enlightened state.
Because the alternative—
slow-motion self-destruction disguised as toughness—
doesn't actually get me anywhere I want to go.

You don't need the whole map.
You don't need to love yourself perfectly
or consistently or even convincingly.

You just need to feed yourself.
Rest yourself. Move yourself.
Even when it feels mechanical.
Even when it doesn't feel like enough.

It is enough.
It's the soil everything else grows from.

And some days?
Eggs at the counter, shaking hands and all,
is the trailhead.

* * *

→ Related: Put Your Body to Bed Like You Love It

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Peer reflection, not therapy advice. Your healing journey is uniquely yours.*Peer reflection, not therapy advice. Your healing journey is uniquely yours.*