The Importance of Self-Love

I have realized that the reasons for my belief that I was unlovable are less important than understanding why I am lovable.

Sil Lai Abrams is an empowerment specialist and a relationship columnist for Men's Fitness magazine and the author of No More Drama: Nine Simple Steps to Transforming a Breakdown Into a Breakthrough.

For a very long time I placed little importance on developing any love in my life that was not directly related to courtship. This wasn't a conscious decision...it was something I did without any thought at all. I simply didn't have any interest in putting my energy into relationships that weren't romantically oriented. Driving this behavior was the belief that I would only have the foundation I needed in my life to succeed if I were in the right relationship. In a way I was very much like Dumbo the flying elephant.

In Disney's movie of the same name, Dumbo was an elephant with ears large enough to use for wings. The problem was that he was terrified of flying. A friend gave him a feather and told him that as long as he held it in his trunk he would be safe from harm, so he took his friend's well-meaning advice to heart and never attempted to fly without his feather. In a critical scene in the film, the feather slipped out of Dumbo's trunk while he was in mid-air, and because he believed he was powerless without it, he fell straight to earth with a crash.

A romantic relationship was my feather and my fear of living my life alone eventually led me to get involved in all sorts of destructive relationships. When they inevitably failed, I would emotionally crash, each time harder than the last time. The love that I was pursuing in others was a desperate attempt to fulfill my lack of self-love.

On an intellectual level I realized that my belief system was off base, but I held fast to my hope that Prince Charming was going to rescue me from my miserable existence. Society trains us from the time we are little girls that this sort of thing actually happens. Sleeping Beauty...Cinderella...Snow White. I read these and a whole host of other fairy tales as a small child, and like many little girls, I took them to heart. These tales whispered of a handsome and valiant prince who would sweep into the life of a forlorn young woman to rescue her from her tragic existence, and each man that I dated was another chance for me to make my fantasy come true. Of course, no man could fulfill my fantasies completely, and when it became clear that he was just another human being like the rest of us, I would discard the relationship.

For reasons still unclear, I believed that I was inherently unlovable. I thought that maybe if I were whiter, or shorter, or quieter, or smarter, maybe someone would be willing to love me. This belief may have stemmed from abandonment by my biological mother, or it could have come about because I never knew my biological father. Or maybe I was just born believing it. I have since realized that the reasons for my belief that I was unlovable are less important than understanding why I am lovable.

All the Wrong Places

As a child, there was nothing I wanted more than to be loved by my parents. Not just the "keeping a roof over our head and food in our belly" type of love I received, but the hugs and cuddles I didn't seem to get. I craved my parent's affection, but they were very uncomfortable with physical displays of love, and instead expressed their love in very practical ways. Basic clothing, a clean home, and three meals a day weren't enough for me...I wanted more.

As a child I believed that if I were good or helpful enough they would give me what I needed. At a young age I tried to earn their love by being indispensable around the house. At the age of four I would change my baby brother's diapers and babysit my younger sister, and by the age of ten I would shadow my stepmother in the kitchen and help her clean the house. None of my good actions earned me an overt display of love and acceptance, but my negative actions sure got me attention!

My parents' favorite form of punishment was to banish me to my room for weeks at a time, many times without any real discussion. When I started using alcohol at thirteen I pushed back...hard. I began to reject them as much as I felt they had rejected me. Once it became clear that they would never give me the love and acceptance I wanted, I began to actively seek it outside the home. I discovered that boys were a way to get the affection I so desperately desired, and began to act out sexually by the time I was fourteen. In my quest for love I would sneak out of the house...waiting until it was late at night to rip the screens away from the windows so I could climb outside into the ark of night and into the waiting arms of a boy I barely knew. As I got older I stopped creeping out of the house and began to boldly stride out the front door, any time I pleased.

My parents tried to stop me from acting out on my sexual impulses by shaming me and placing harsh restrictions on my freedom, but they were never successful. Nothing could stop me from seeking self-love from others once I discovered that I could momentarily feel what I thought was love by sexually relating to boys.

Every tryst was a fix, a high, a momentary escape from the heartbreaking isolation that I felt at home and in school. It didn't matter that the boys didn't really care about me. Thirty minutes of passion gave me the feeling of being wanted, of being accepted, of being okay.

I didn't know that I had anything else to give other than sex. I had no idea how to connect on a level that didn't somehow involve the promise of or the actuality of a sexual connection. Lust and love were interchangeable to me.

Relationship After Relationship

Because of the warped way I used sexuality to try to meet my emotional needs, I carried a fear based belief that all men were incapable of controlling their erotic impulses and had ulterior motives in their friendships with women. This belief was simply a projection of my inability to relate to male friends in non-sexual ways, but I held the belief well into my early twenties. It wasn't until after my son was born that I was able to develop a friendship that finally opened me up to the principle of spiritual love.

Randy was a man I met through an ex-boyfriend. Tall, attractive, hard working, and single, he set many women's heart aflutter with his physical and spiritual beauty. He was a fervent Christian who dedicated much of his free time to helping others and attending church. Our friendship developed at a time in my life when I was active in the church. We spent many a Sunday afternoon together going to church or brunch. Sometimes we would just sit in the park and talk about God and religion for hours.

This friendship was the first time in my life I was able to experience a form of love between a man and woman that didn't have sexual overtones. Randy had made the decision to remain celibate until he was married, and he treated every woman he met with respect. His platonic expression of love allowed me to feel safe enough to challenge and expand my concept of love. He showed me that it was possible for men and women to care for one another without
any hidden agendas.

Through his platonic expression of love, I came to believe that not all men were untrustworthy, and if just one man were capable of disciplining his behavior, then surely there must be others. Randy's self-discipline was inspiring, and slowly I began to develop feelings for him that were not strictly platonic. Finally, after two years of steady friendship I gathered the courage to confess my love to him.

In a very gentle, but firm voice he responded, "Sil Lai, you aren't in love with me. You are still sleeping with other people. You just think you are in love with me because I am probably your first male friend who hasn't tried to have sex with you."

"Randy, I swear that's not it! I really do love you! I can't explain it, but it's true!"

As much as I tried to convince him otherwise, he was not convinced by my assertions of love. His rebuff bruised my ego, but he was right. I would not have been able to love him, because I didn't love myself. Fortunately he was disciplined with his behavior and spared us both the pain of discovering through trial and error that I was incapable of truly loving him at that point in my life. Since coming to a different understanding of love in my thirties, I've developed many friendships with men that are platonic. But before I could do so, I had to take action and work to purify my own spirit and intentions first, before I could expect another person to respond to me in kind.

(Excerpted from No More Drama: Nine Simple Steps to Transforming a Breakdown Into a Breakthrough.  © Copyright Sil Lai Abrams.  Excerpted by permission of Sepia Press Publishing.  All rights reserved.  No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.)