CHAPTER FOUR
At some point in the dips of my recovery, I had become a self-improvement machine. Mechanical gym routine. Rides with my Tribe. Five minute meditation breaks. Dandelion tea. Hand pouring soy candles. Digital detox. Gratitude lists.

People would hand me ‘self-care’ listicles and I’d paste them on the mirror - I was obsessed with analyzing, intellectualizing and medicalizing wellness, even doling out tips to friends as if I was some healing guru.
After some time, my stamina began to wane. Self-care had somehow morphed into a policing mechanism, a monstrous octopus whose tentacles found a way of wrapping demands around me.  

I felt like I had to work to deserve love. The truth is, tender loving kindness was a gift I could accept, even if in my unworthiness.
Perhaps it was the burnout, but self-affirmations have become much simpler today. I look at my reflection and whisper “I love you Eva”, and then give myself a little hug. It’s cute, and makes me feel like a puppy getting tickled in my underbelly. For now, that’s my favourite gesture of self-love.
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