...but I love me most

Up until a year ago, I would look at this phrase and think that by saying such a thing I would be selfish. Was this thinking from being raised in a conservative Southern Baptist church? Was it because of being a woman? Was it because this was the thinking of my mother? Was it because my pride and worth came from putting myself down and looking at others as more valuable? The answer is yes to all of these. My thinking did not happen overnight, but was fostered from years and years of living. No one was to blame, yet at some point I realized I was to blame if I let this thinking continue.

I guess you can call it a conversion experience, but it was not an experience like Paul’s on his way to Emmaus. I did not see God or an angle. My conversion experience was seeing myself; I mean truly seeing myself. For years I had been reading books and studying about the true self, the self that desperately wants to find its way to the surface. I constantly wanted to find it, yet I knew it was a process. I knew it was a process that I had to live. There were no magical steps; yet I knew at some point I would find it.

One year ago last Saturday (June 5, 2009), I found my true self. I found her by saying, but I love me most. I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was on-call at the hospital and my life literally started crumbling before my eyes. Looking back, I realize it had been crumbling for a long time. There is no use getting into the details. All I knew is that living for me meant finally saying, but I love me most. I sat in the chair in the on-call room and knew that I had not been living. I was in a relationship that was stifling me and the only way out was for me to finally start loving me. I could only think of me in that moment. I didn’t realize that the decision I was making was in essence me loving myself most. It has taken a year of living to come to that conclusion.

It has also taken a year to realize that me not loving myself most did not start in that one relationship; it had been happening my whole life. It had prevented me from letting go of my mother for the eleven years after her death. It kept my worry and anxiety high. It kept me away from the peace that I so deeply desired.

I now realize that by saying that I love me most does not mean that I am selfish. In reality, saying this means just the opposite. I have found in this last year that I am grounded in a way that allows my heart to be open to others, life, and God in a way that I have never known. I go to sleep and wake up each day with a peace that does surpass all understanding. I go through each day holding the goodness of my mother instead of being weighed down with the grief of her death. I go through each day knowing that no matter what happens in life, I love me. For me, that is what matters most.