“You have to love yourself before you can love someone else.”
“You have to fall in love with yourself before anyone else can love you.”
How many times have you heard a version these words? If you’re single like me, you’ve probably heard it more than the average person. The belief that you need to love yourself before you are capable of being in a relationship is a common one. There are people who have even said it to me about themselves.
Everyone who says it has good intentions. I love my friends for caring about me. But here’s the thing: I don’t think I will ever love myself the way I’m supposed to.
And I think there are a lot of people out there just like me. Struggling with their mental health— unable to see themselves in the same light as their friends and family.
Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I go through periods of being okay with who I am. There’re things about me that people say are great, but there is always a voice in my head correcting their words. Sometimes I want to believe them. Sometimes for brief periods, I wonder if they are right— but then I push away the thought and retreat.
Hearing that I have to love myself before anyone else can love me is like a punch in the gut. I try not to flinch when they say that. I know they are trying to be helpful, but it’s like they are shouting at me that I am unworthy of love.
There’s so many of us struggling with any number of mental illnesses. Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, Bipolar 1 & 2, or any other number of things. But some of us also struggle with simple insecurity. We’re putting in the work to accept our flaws, but always seem to fall short.
For me, the cycle of trying to accept myself is never ending.
When you’re depressed, the dislike turns into loathing; a voice in your head constantly telling you that you are worthless and that people are better off without you. You push yourself through the day— feeling guilty for being a burden. How can people possibly love you? The fog crowds in and you try to put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes you can’t, so you lie in bed and stare silently at the ceiling. You hate yourself for not being able to just snap out of it. You despise your brain and how difficult every single task is.
But I don’t just dislike myself when I’m depressed. It’s possible to hate myself when I’m hypo-manic too. Oh sure, there are bursts of confidence where I am convinced that I should date— but the reality is that when my mind races and I’m fighting off extreme paranoia or agitation— I am filled with a self disgust.
“Why aren’t you normal?!” I sometimes scream in my car. “Why aren’t you capable of being stable and happy?” I look in the mirror and wonder how any part of me is lovable. Wishing I could have the confidence of many I know and the self compassion I preach to everyone else.
I haven’t been on a date for over two years. People have asked me over and over why I’m not on Tinder or trying to meet people. I never know exactly what to say. I’m dealing with a ten year problem, I’m scared of things I can’t discuss, or that my mental illness makes me the worst girlfriend in the world?
People laugh at that, but I mean it. I’ve looked back on my life and have so many regrets. My most serious relationship was long distance and it’s filled me with horror to realize how awful my brain made me to deal with. We don’t talk anymore, but I will never, ever forget the words he said when I realized it was probably over:
“Why are you so emotional? Why does everything bother you?”
I opened my mouth to tell him that I would fix it. I was sitting on a couch in my parent’s house and I couldn’t understand why he hated my emotions so much. But as I opened my mouth to say I would fix it, something inside of me realized that that was impossible. I was up and I was down and as much as I tried to hide it, he would know.
Instead, I told him that I didn’t think he wanted me. It was the first time I understood that relationships don’t always end because people no longer love each other.
He had been dealing with a mentally unwell girlfriend for three years— we had both known I was extremely emotional, but neither of us knew how to deal with it. He took the brunt of the irritation, anger, highs, lows, and everything in between— all without a diagnosis that could have helped us navigate through it. Don’t get me wrong, I am definitely not blaming all my mistakes on my mental health. Many of them were unrelated.
After we broke up, I tried to date again. But these relationship were short lived and each time I dated, I would hide more and more of myself. There is one guy I briefly dated that I actually laugh when I think about the shell of the person he met. He had no idea who I was. I put on a mask for three months whenever he saw me.
Because of my mental health, and also because of some unresolved things from my past, I stopped dating. Completely. Every time a man has hinted that he is interested, I’ve run in the other direction. I’ve been half rude in pushing them away.
During this time, I’ve tried so hard to love myself. I’ve taken selfies— trying to accept my looks. I’ve gone to therapy to try and accept the cycles. I’ve tried to become a better person. And over and over I’ve reminded myself about every single person I know with a mental illness who is wonderful and in a loving relationship.
But the highs and lows still come— and with them, the complete and utter frustration of believing I will go back to being that awful girlfriend I was during that relationship so long ago. That in the beginning they will meet the bright and shiny Kristi-- full of life and energy. But then out of nowhere the crash will come and they will wonder where I went.
“You have to love yourself before you can be in a relationship.”
When I hear those words, I think to myself that I will never be deserving of love. That I will never be able to love someone they way they should be loved. That love is meant only for those who are free of problems and full of self acceptance.
But even though I feel like I shouldn’t be in a relationship— I know those words are wrong. I know how much love people have to offer. I know people with mental illnesses and insecurities who are in committed relationships. Yes, it takes a lot of work and patience— but are we any less deserving? If someone is willing to ride through the storms with us, is it okay for us to let them?
Should we take away a partner’s choice to see through all the fog, blinding lights, and panic attacks? What if they are willing to accept what changes in routine, crowded rooms, and strange triggers can do to make us spiral? What if they are warned but still want to take the chance because they think we are worth it?
When we are ill and insecure, are we capable of loving others? Our family, friends, and pets? Why are we told that we deserve love in all areas except a romantic relationship?
I’m not a good example of why you should never say those words. I have failed in every single relationship I’ve attempted. But I can tell you this: I am capable of loving fiercely and deeply. I am loyal to the core. My flaws are many, but I want to be a better person.
Sometimes I feel so much love it hurts. I go through periods when I am the worst communicator, not fun to be around; I cry at the drop of a hat, and panic at a moment’s notice. I have fits of wanting to dance wildly in my living room and do strange things. There are a few people who have told me to let someone choose if they want to deal with all those things when I’m in those stages.
And to be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready. Even though I have moments of feeling desperately lonely. I hear those words:
“You have to love yourself before you can be in a relationship.”
I have whispered those words to myself huddled in a ball on the living room floor. I have shouted them when standing on the cliffs with the waves pounding below.
There is no anger towards the people who have given me that piece of advice, but I have come to believe something:
It is a dangerous thing to say to a person who is struggling with self acceptance, insecurity, or a mental illness.
