At the start of this experiment I was sort of hoping to find the perfect “self-love recipe” to apply to myself and swiftly achieve that blissful state of fully accepting my Self, and maybe even graduate to loving me.
This summer I came close to living something I had dreamt of for 30 years. A man I’d loved, from up close but mostly from afar, came back into my life and suddenly, for the first time since high school, things felt possible. And then they didn’t.
This box of Conversation Hearts was calling out my name. “Converse with us!” they cried. The first one slammed me with the embarrassing question: What would have to change for me to become my own “dream date”?
Mirrors live in most of our homes with us. I’ve got several, myself. And despite having given it a fair amount of thought over the years, I haven’t yet managed to make friends with the face that looks back at me every single day.
I’m 46 years old. It’s fair to say I’m past half-time. I’m the mom of three incredible daughters. I’m the ex-wife of one, ex-girlfriend of a dozen or so, and ex-lover of a few. I have sought LOVE like it was my oxygen, always feeling more alive, more worthy, more worthwhile, and let’s face it, prettier, through the eyes of someone else.