Today, I had a moment of realisation that made me question whether I’d been understanding two terms wrongly all along. So yes, this post is fresh from the oven.
Self-love. Self-love.
It’s a term that’s become trendy, thrown around everywhere on the internet. But if we’re being honest, how many of us truly, truly love ourselves?
I think self-love might be the hardest kind of love there is, simply because nobody ever really taught us how to do it.
I once saw someone write, “No sex before marriage!” and call it the highest form of self-love her mother taught her growing up. Okay, point taken. But just point taken. Is that really the essence of self-love? And if it is, what happens after marriage? Do you suddenly stop loving yourself?
For the longest time, self-love felt like a vague concept to me too. Ask me if I love myself. Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
Yes, because I guard my boundaries. I don’t force myself into situations or commitments I genuinely don’t want. Notice how I didn’t mention getting my nails done or doing a full closet makeover. That was intentional.
But also no.
Because I condemn myself over the tiniest things. I default to negative self-talk, doubt myself constantly, and talk myself out of things I know I should do.
Before writing this out, I thought I’d score maybe a 70% on this so-called self-love exam. Now, I think I deserve closer to 40%. Not because I’m failing, but because I owe it to myself to do better. I realise I would never, ever treat another person the way I treat myself. I would never be this harsh, this unforgiving, or this mean to anyone else.
It wasn’t until this afternoon that I suddenly had an “aha” moment. I think I finally found the missing piece.
We can’t get to the core of self-love without self-acceptance.
Some people might argue that self-acceptance is just an excuse for settling. A justification for staying in your comfort zone, avoiding challenges, or not taking action. And sure, sometimes it can look like that. But I think there’s another way to see it.
I’m smiling a little as I type this, because it feels so obvious now. Yet somehow, it still took me this long to realise.
It’s simple. How can you love without acceptance? It’s not about which one matters more. They have to exist together.
Take Fibo, my baby, as an example. She sleeps most of the day, and just watching her curled up in her funny little positions makes my heart feel unbearably full. I often think about how lucky I am to have her. On the other hand, I’ve seen people abandon their hamsters because they sleep during the day and are labelled “useless.” Did you accept that hamsters are nocturnal animals in the first place? Don’t tell me you’re an animal lover if you can’t even accept an animal’s nature.
That might sound overly simplified, so let me spill more of my own tea.
As I mentioned earlier, my mental diet isn’t exactly top-notch. And trust me when I say I tried to change it. Repetitive affirmations, journalling, meditation, crystals. You name it. Nothing stuck. What finally dawned on me was this: I couldn’t truly love myself because I never accepted my mistakes, my flaws, or my lack of experience in certain areas.
I wanted to be better.
I wanted to achieve more.
I knew I could do certain things.
But instead of motivating me, those thoughts turned into self-hatred. I hated myself for not being “there” yet. I pushed myself relentlessly to prove I could do it fast, that I could succeed immediately, just like Judy in Zootopia. If you’ve read my previous post, you’ll know how badly that backfired and left me carrying years of trauma.
Even long after I thought I’d “moved on,” I was still blaming myself. It wasn’t until today that I realised why the whole process had been so mentally exhausting. I never accepted that I could make mistakes. That I could be wrong. That I could fail.
This hit especially hard in trading, which is a probability game by nature. I didn’t accept my inexperienced self, and I didn’t accept the nature of the game itself. As a result, I trapped myself in a toxic cycle that felt like my own personal nightmare.
Now, I started to see it differently. Instead of asking which comes first, self-love or self-acceptance, maybe it’s like the chicken and the egg.
You can’t love if there’s no love within you. Sometimes, even if there is acceptance, there may still be no love. But without acceptance, love doesn’t stand a chance.
Back to the animal example. Someone who doesn’t love animals may be able to accept them, but they can’t truly love them. Acceptance creates the capacity for love.
So maybe self-love isn’t meant to be loud, aesthetic, or instantly rewarding.
Maybe it’s quiet. Sometimes uncomfortable. A little inconvenient.
In this pro–self-love era, it’s easy to turn self-love into something performative. Something pretty we repost. Something comforting we tell ourselves when life gets hard. But real self-love is homework. The kind you do even when no one is watching.
Because how can we say we love ourselves if we don’t take the time to notice ourselves? To observe our patterns, our triggers, our fears. To sit with our flaws without immediately trying to fix, escape, or punish them.
Self-love isn’t just manicures, flowers, or outfit-of-the-day moments. Those can be expressions of love, but they’re not the whole story.
Self-love is choosing awareness over avoidance.
Acceptance over self-judgement.
Patience over comparison.
Faith over fear.
It’s saying, “This is where I am right now,” without attaching shame to it. It’s allowing yourself to grow without hating who you are in the process.
And maybe that’s where self-acceptance comes in. Not as permission to stay stagnant, but as a starting point. A soft place to stand while you learn how to love yourself more honestly, despite being imperfect.
So if you’re reading this and wondering whether you’re doing self-love “right,” maybe the question isn’t whether you love yourself enough yet.
Maybe the question is whether you’re willing to see yourself, accept yourself, and stay with yourself as you learn.
Because that, too, is love.
I want to end this post by sharing something my friend Caca sent me back in December. Our conversation was grounding and encouraging. This post is dedicated to you, girlie. Thank you for reminding me, in moments when I needed it most, that growth doesn’t have to come from self-punishment.
So blessed to be a girl’s girl, surrounded by friends who know how to hold space. Friends who allow vulnerability to exist without judgement, who meet raw honesty with softness instead of solutions, and who offer presence instead of pressure. Those safe spaces matter more than we realise. Sometimes, they are exactly where self-acceptance begins.
PS: here's another manifestation that panned out unexpectedly.
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