Still Here... Sneak peek of my book!

Chapter Opening Draft: “Still Here”

So even as I sit here, heart open, trying to write a book about self-love…I can’t help but ask myself — have I even gotten there?

Do I know what self-love really is? Have I truly felt it — not the concept, not the Pinterest quote, but the kind that roots into your bones when no one is looking?

And yet… here I am. Writing anyway.

Because somewhere deep inside, I know this is needed. Not just by others, but by me. Still. Always.

We need this. We need these words — not because they’re perfect, but because they’re true. Because someone out there is holding their breath in a dressing room mirror just like I did.Because someone else woke up this morning and looked at their reflection the way I did — scanning for flaws, searching for permission to feel okay.

I looked in the mirror and tugged at my shirt. Pulled fabric. Checked angles.Wished I could feel beautiful in this body that’s carried me through everything. And I felt the spiral begin again. That old, familiar ache.The one that says, “You’re not enough. Still. Even now.”

And after all the work I’ve done…After decades of healing and learning and unlearning…I’m still here.

But maybe—maybe that’s the work.

Maybe self-love isn’t about never having those moments. Perhaps it’s about learning to stay with ourselves inside them. To love the part that’s hurting. To see the girl in the mirror who was never told she was enough, and finally, finally — whisper: “I see you. You are not too much. You are not too big. You are not wrong.”

Every layer I peel back reveals another. Another place I’ve abandoned myself. Another wound still aching for love. And maybe that’s not failure. Perhaps that’s the invitation.

To love what was never loved.To hold what was never held. To choose, again and again, to come home — even when it’s hard.

Especially when it’s hard.

Because we are worthy.

Not because of our size. Not because of our weight. Not because of our performance, our productivity, or our proximity to perfection.

We are worthy —Exactly as we are.

Period.