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Forget all the trivial buzzwords, mundane influencers and the follies of the wellness industry, there is a real and practical approach to a crazy little thing called self-love

Traditionally, Valentine’s Day has been a time to celebrate romantic love, either for someone with whom you’re already involved or someone with whom you want to be. Over time, however, the objects of our affection have expanded to include everyone and everything, but it has always been about that one feeling, that one emotion: love.

When I used to think of love, I used to think about all the people I loved. I love my husband for being himself and, also, for never forgetting to put the trash out on pickup day. I loved my mother, who left this planet nearly two years ago, but was my lifelong cheerleader (and if it’s possible, she’s still rooting me on). At this time of year, I also love things like my car, a small but rugged pile of metal that gets me everywhere, even through heaps of snow and across sheets of ice.

Previously, I never thought about loving myself, regardless of time of year. Self-love was a word, rather two hyphenated words, which simply never entered my lexicon. To read its definition aloud — a regard for one’s own well- being and happiness — left me with a trace feeling of selfishness and ridiculousness.

The over-saturation and commercialization of the self- care industry hasn’t exactly encouraged me to keep the love vibes flowing inward, either. Between the $4.2-trillion global wellness economy (which, according to the Global Wellness Institute, is growing twice as fast as the global economy), and the insistence from influencers and advertising to buy everything to feel even just a wee bit better about me, it doesn’t exactly encourage an organic, natural process.

So the idea of practicing anything in support of selflove, even something as small as a few simple selfcare behaviours, seemed unnatural and outright strange.

In contrast, it felt far more normal to practice self-care from a place of selfhate, something I knew rather well. You see, I grew up during the fat-free, weightconscious period of the 1980s and 1990s, yet my big body has always been wobbly and thick. Since childhood, I’ve been repeatedly told that it was not acceptable to be fat. My parents said this to me with their words and their food restrictions; the average-sized kids at school said this by refusing to play with me or bullying my big- little body; my doctor said this every single time I was on the scale; and a steady stream of friends tried really hard to cure me of my unacceptable fatness.

Thanks to all that programming during my formative years, I hated my body. And being fat wasn’t just the state of my body; it was who I was. It became a state of mind. After being bullied by kids for being bigger; after being ignored by boys at all the school dances; after being picked last for every sporting activity; after being told, “You’re pretty for a big girl,” for the thousandth time; I convinced myself that everyone was right. In time, I surmised that I was

only a fat girl and deserved to feel

“less than” all the time. I spent every moment of three decades trying to fix me from that perspective — a mindset of self-hate.

When I finally got a full- time job and could throw some money at fixing my body, I put dollars toward the self- care espoused by any sort of wellness guru. I paid a massage therapist to rub the cellulite off of me (and ease my body pain). I hired fitness trainers to make sure I got on the treadmill and, hopefully, stayed on the treadmill. I purchased expensive vitamin regimes and stuffed my face with super- sized green smoothies, packed with supplements, in order to be healthier, smaller, prettier, smarter or just more than whatever I was. And despite all the dollars spent on all these so-called self-care practices, I still didn’t feel like much. I’d leave the spa, gym or health food store determined to feel good. And, in about five minutes flat, I’d return to my old thoughts, ones in which I was fat, unloved and a problem for everyone, including me.

But then, on New Year’s Day 2015, something changed. Slumped in front of the television overeating nothing memorable, I was about to become the very first cliché of yet another new year. For the thousandth time, I committed to figuring out my health situation, whispering it to myself aloud, “I will prioritize my health, and I will lose weight.”

Once again, I committed to losing weight on the first day of the new year. It’s a thing. It’s definitely my thing. It may be your thing, too. But on this New Year’s Day, in between big gulps of red wine, the whispers finally stuck and I started on my path to a new way to food, which I documented in my cookbook, appropriately titled, A New Way to Food.

Since this experience, I write about self- love frequently and I think the most obvious step to finding selflove is probably the most difficult one. I found that I needed to take the action to love myself long before I felt that love deep within. You see, loving yourself is not a feeling you summon. You can’t whisper, “I love myself ” and then you just feel it. I wish it worked that way. I actually had to physically take action to love myself in order to finally feel real love for myself.

When I started on this journey, I didn’t love myself, not in the least. But, somehow, I had to exhibit self-love behaviours, even when it felt like the last thing I wanted to do. It’s as if the behaviours or actions, all added up on top of each other, build that bridge to real self-love. These actions are actually forms of self-care but not the sort splashed about by influencers and big business. It’s breathing, slowly, to just feel calm. It’s eating gradually to realize when I’m full and how that food feels in my body. It’s drinking water, preferably with a bit of lemon, to cleanse my system and stay hydrated. It’s saying “no” to anyone and everyone when I simply don’t have the time or the inclination. It’s practicing my favourite forms of movement — yoga and walking — to keep my joints squeak-free.

I found a healthier way of eating far more intuitively and, in parallel, sorted through the tough topics from my life to shift my mindset and reconcile my decades as a fat girl. I lost a bunch of weight, ended years of joint pain and finally walked a mile or two without effort. And I embraced a new self- care regime, including some of the actions already mentioned, and it changed my life.

I didn’t wait for that selflove feeling to just take me over. I did something to appreciate my body long before I actually loved my body. For example, I started the process of dry brushing my skin each morning before a shower. Sure, it was a little abrasive and it was also painful to look at all my body’s nooks and crannies. But, after doing it every day for a year, I started to appreciate my thick thighs and often rubbed my puffy belly.

By looking at my body, I found so much gratitude for every part and, eventually, loved taking care of those parts. My thighs are smaller but still thick. My belly is flatter but still puffy. And I love them so much for carrying me through this world the best they can and, gosh, that’s really all I can hope for them. And for me, really.

It turns out that real selfcare, the sort that preserves or improves one’s health, doesn’t require a sizeable bank account and certainly shouldn’t come with lingering bad feelings around expensive purchases. Instead, my kind of self- care is a deliberate practice that feels good.

Once I started eating better, listening to my body, and practicing real self- care, I began to see myself as more than just a forever-fat girl. I saw myself as worthy of good health. I saw all of my beautiful potential. I finally liked my body enough and, on some days, I even loved it. And I now make all of my wellness decisions from what’s become my new baseline: self-love.

Now, I still love other people and even my sturdy car. But I love me more. I love myself. And prioritizing my own well-being and happiness has made my transformation possible.

When I write, “I love myself,” I mean I understand my past, I appreciate my present and I am enthusiastic for my future. I mean that it’s okay to eat however I want here or there, for very good reasons,

When I started on this journey, I didn’t love myself, not in the least. But, somehow, I had to exhibit self-love behaviours, even when it felt like the last thing I wanted to do. It’s as if the behaviours or actions, all added up on top of each other, build that bridge to real self-love

and it’s okay to pause first and say, “What is this food going to do for my health today?” I mean I don’t need to explain myself or toss out excuses for my behaviour; I simply need to be kind to myself and to others.

Unlike what the self-care industry sells, real self-care, the sort that made a longlasting change in my life, is actually very practical and, for the most part, free. Real self-care, the sort that can lead to self-love, isn’t as trendy as the expensive kind, but it’s a worthwhile pursuit to a more positive existence. Certainly, you have to fake it a bit until you truly make it — because, remember, we need to build that bridge to self-love — but the results are life-changing. I’d happily put these steps into action over and over again because this feeling of radical self-love is worth it. It makes up for all the years when hate trumped love. Nowadays, love definitely trumps hate.