So, I was watching an ancient home video the other day. We’re talking 1994, Now That’s What I Call Music Volume One ancient. I’m sitting there watching my two-year-old self frolicking to and fro. I read a book with my dad. I sang a lullaby, shirtless, might I add, because I had gone on a clothing strike that month. I was an ass then, too. I heard my little voice ask questions and laugh. And I found myself incredibly emotional. I’ll cry at a dog commercial, so this isn’t anything new. But I’m talking hysterical heaving here.
I just thought to myself, “holy shit.” Holy shit are you in for a ride, kid. You may be frolicking right now, but frolic you shall not in the coming years. Things get pretty ugly. Don’t get me wrong, you have a lot of great shenanigans ahead of you, too. You get a brother. You get an electric scooter for your birthday in a couple years. Still on the fence as to which was a better gift, but I’m leaning towards that beautiful piece of Razor machinery. Sorry, Tay. But this blissful utopia you’re living in doesn’t last. Life kind of sucks sometimes. People kind of suck sometimes. You kind of suck sometimes. And that’s when the waterworks came. Niagara fell and she fell hard. “You kind of suck sometimes.” I watched this beautiful, happy little girl and thought about what I’d done to her. I thought about the things I’ve said to her. She’s not skinny enough. She’s not pretty enough. She’s not smart enough. She’s not good enough. She’s not enough.
I did that to her. I said that to her. I broke her. And it’s time to fix that.
I don’t particularly know what my point is here. Hell, maybe I don’t even have one. But I guess some days we just need someone to tell us it’s okay. That we are okay. That we are enough. And some days, that person needs to be ourselves.
Look at your first t-ball team picture. Read your fourth grade diary. Watch a video of your 6th birthday party. Remember that little girl.
What would that little girl think of your innermost thoughts? The way you look at yourself, the way you talk to yourself. What would she think of the person you’ve become?
If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for her. If you can’t love yourself, love her. Remember what she deserves. What you deserve. Because this world is already filled with too much hate. Don’t make yourself your own target. This world needs love. You need love. So, give it. Love yourself. When you screw up that presentation. When your thighs still touch. When you say the wrong thing, when you do the wrong thing. You can’t change the things you’ve done. You can’t unsay the things you’ve said. But you can stop hating yourself for it. Because, somewhere inside, we’re all still that two-year-old bundle of beauty. So, protect her. Love her.
In the words of our generation’s sagacious wordsmith Justin Bieber, “baby, you should go and love yourself.”