I met a woman the other day — her and her husband were visiting here in Nashville. They had traveled from Cork, Ireland to see what this city was about.
As we partook in a game of corn hole, sharing lots of laughs, cheers, and taking moments to dance to the music in-between — our conversation suddenly struck a serious chord.
As we offered small glimpses into each other’s lives, she stopped.
“Do you know your worth?”
Without taking a breath, I nodded — “I do, I d-“ …
She interrupted me.
“You don’t.” She told me.
We eventually parted ways, but as we embraced in a hug, she paused and looked me in the eyes with a very serious expression across her face —
“I don’t care if you remember my name or anything about me tonight. But the only thing you have to promise me you are going to do, is to know your worth.”
What had turned into a good 30 minute heart to heart, really got me thinking —
What does knowing your worth even mean? And, do I really know mine — or was she right?
My self love journey over the years has been anything but linear, and for the better half of my life almost always lived in the negatives. Thankfully as I’ve gotten older and began uncovering new parts and people in this vast world, I began discovering parts of myself as well — parts I actually liked and made me feel most authentically, well… me. I began putting together the puzzle pieces of my most inner self, building the ever evolving image of a person I could proudly be.
So, I reached this crossroads recently — of liking who I am (and continuing to become), while also questioning why I still don’t feel enough sometimes. Why I wasn’t enough for another person or opportunity. It’s messed up, I know — but I also don’t think it’s as foreign of a feeling to the vast majority as we would like to admit…
I saw a video recently talking about this — the whole idea of loving who we are, but feeling inadequate when others don’t want to choose or accept that version of us. I could relate. If people can’t seem to want this version of me, even though I like it, surely that must mean it could be better — I could be better. Or instead, there must be something wrong with it.
Underneath that video, someone had commented — “You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world, and there’s still going to be somebody who hates peaches.”
And then, it hit me. Did I really, actually, wholeheartedly know my worth, if I only felt worthy when others chose it?
She was right… Emma, my Irish corn-hole companion, knew it all along — and wasn’t afraid to call me on it.
The next morning, I woke up inspired.
As I strolled up the street to the cafe, notebook in hand, I began to wonder —
What makes me worthy?
I uncapped my pen, ready to scribble away all the things that came to mind, and I paused.
My pen hovered over the blank page for at least 5-10 minutes.
What made me worthy?
It’s an uncomfortable question, really. Being forced to sit there and have to say nice things about myself felt so egotistical. But beyond the comfortability, there was another problem…
It took me almost 10 minutes to be able to actually write down a singular sentence describing a reason or quality that deemed myself “worthy” (whatever that means).
You see, part of my inspiration that morning included a new art project — motivation to create something new for my wall in my still fairly blank apartment. I would take a canvas and simply cover it in sentences — sentences describing all of the things that deemed me a “worthy” human on this Earth. It would hang on my wall, for me, and no one else — but it would be there so every day I wake up, I would have to be faced with those things — those reminders. I would be forced to read the words and be reminded that regardless of whether I feel chosen by people or the world, these are the puzzle pieces of me and they are in fact adequate — even if they don’t feel accepted or seen by anybody else.
I continued to sit at the coffee shop for an hour. If I had plans to fill a whole canvas with small little sentences, I’d have to write more than five words…
I managed to knock out a few more, but then decided to give it a rest for a bit.
The coolest thing about this was as my day went on, I started to feel my world open up a bit — to feel myself opening up to love that I unconsciously had been neglecting to give to myself. As I ran errands, I would notice little things — oh, I smiled at that stranger and told her how beautiful she looked today, and I wasn’t worried about a smile in return or even a thank you back — I really just wanted her to know. I like that about myself. Gosh, it’s even uncomfortable to write that now… it makes me want to crawl into a hole. Saying something nice about myself and then publishing it for the world to read just feels not right for some reason — too self-important, which is so far from the human I aspire and live to be.
But then again, I think there is this middle ground we can live in — that we should live in. So often, so many of us are so quick to proclaim all of the things we dislike about ourselves… “This dress makes me look like I’m 1,000 lbs”, “look at my double chin in that picture”, “I talk too much”, the list goes on, right? We are all guilty.
But what about the things we like, maybe even (hopefully) love about ourselves?
This is where I feel it is less of a proclamation to the world, and more so to ourselves — but still, a proclamation at that.
The painting I did — it wasn’t made to hang in a museum or on the outside of my door for everyone else to read. It was made for me. To live and hang on the walls where I exist and typically spend a lot of my time questioning all of the more negative considerations I’ve scattered throughout this ramble of mine.
One of my favorite things about the journey this project took me on, was realizing the value I have and do provide to situations and people outside of myself — for example, “I am an aunt to beautiful nieces and nephews who explode with joy every time we are together.” It’s true, they do — just as I feel the same for them. But it got me thinking… how valuable and special that is… to be able to mutually share joy like that because of who I choose to show up as (and vice versa). How, almost, disrespectful of me… to have the audacity to question my own value and worth when I have 6 little kids in my life who want to choose to spend time with me.
The sentences that now decorate my wall also not only serve as a reminder of the person I am, but the one I want to be. None of us are perfect — I most definitely am not. Do you think just because “I forgive.” is one of statements written means I am a saint and forgive seamlessly every time, to every person, situation, etc.?
Absolutely not.
But then, as I read those words, I am challenged to acknowledge the importance of that action. That deep down I have the capacity and will to do it, and instead of turning bitter at times, choosing to take a breath and work towards what the highest version of myself would do — and then, continue to work to be her.
And for the last lesson of this random and sporadic project… and I think the one Emma wanted me to understand the most —
These words, these statements… these are how I show up, how I love, and how I live.
And I deserve all of those things in return.
I got it — it finally clicked. I had been going on and on to her about all of these attempts I was making that were neglected and rejected — and to her, that was all she needed to know.
I read a quote once that said, “We accept the love we think we deserve.”
And it’s true, really. But, the first step to that is forcing ourselves to sit in the discomfort of discovering what that is, and why?
What makes us worthy?
What makes you worthy?
