I've stood on the sidelines of dances, concerts, and lakes watching my friends and strangers enjoy themselves. Instead of enjoying whatever was happening myself, I was lost in a loop of thoughts questioning how silly I would look if I got loose on the dance floor, or what people would think about my body if I took off my cover-up and jumped into the water.

These thoughts were suffocating, a vicious cycle of desire relentlessly pursued by a fear of judgment. I gave into these thoughts for the longest time, convinced that once I lost some weight or my hair grew past my shoulders, that I would be worthy of the joy my friends felt – love, acceptance, joy, the freedom of living in the moment. I so deeply believed that I had to reach a benchmark in order to live a life I enjoyed that I became obsessed with altering my body through exercise, diet, and makeup. I thought that once I read enough books or wore size two jeans that the cute boy I met at that party last week would finally be interested. My mind was a broken record, repeating that I was not good enough and only needed to be better in order to achieve happiness.

I gave into the perfectionist voice in my head. I lost 10 or so pounds, read one book a week, and practiced violin for an hour or more a day for almost three months. I was running 30-40 miles a week and practically starving myself. I spent most of my time alone, contemplating what I needed to do next and then running my physical and mental health into the ground to check off a few more to-dos. I recall looking at myself in the mirror and saying to myself, “I base my happiness off of my appearance and how people perceive me and that’s okay.” It’s not okay. This admission was on the opposite side of the spectrum from okay – a belief created by my burning desire to be what everybody wanted: smart, funny, educated, athletic, talented… the list goes on and on and on. I wanted to be everything for everybody.

But I forgot how to truly be me for myself.

Even when I closed the cover of another book or learned another violin scale, I was always hungering for more. I still felt empty, I still felt unhappy, I still sat on the pier thinking that next week would be the time to swim, but not now, you’re not skinny enough.

I derived my motivation to exercise, to read, to eat well, to even graduate early (yes, even my education) on my external environment. Romantic relationships came and went, providing motivation, then ripping it from my hands upon departure. I didn’t know what do.

I turned to therapists, doctors, and drug abuse to provide me with an answer, but remained empty handed. Then one day I decided, truly decided, that I was tired of chasing approval and respect from my peers. I didn’t know at the time that this was the first step towards loving myself, but it has proven to be the best decision I’ve made.

I stopped taking my anxiety medicine that I thought gave me the freedom to dance like a fool, but only numbed my ability to feel anxiety, pleasure, or anything "good".

I stopped taking my ADD medicine that I thought gave me complete reign over the size of my body, but transformed me into a robotic shell too preoccupied with productivity that I forgot to appreciate my family, my friends, and the beautiful gift of them sharing their time with me.

The first week was hell on earth, but I found a tranquil comfort in knowing I was myself. I was terrified of facing the world in my vulnerable position, but knew that my past choices were the road more traveled, and it was time for me to struggle and grow.

It wasn’t until I became honest with myself as I described to a life coach how my motivation seemed to wax and wane according to my relationships, and how I always seemed to be chasing love that I understood the problem I created for myself. At the end of our first session, my coach, Isabel, braced me for what most of her clients believed to be the hardest but most rewarding exercise. She reached into her bag, and her hand emerged with a mirror decorated with stars and glitter. She passed it over to me and instructed me to look myself in the eyes and tell myself, “I love myself”. I brought the mirror to eye level and saw reflected a red-faced girl with mascara running down her cheeks, my rough skin complexion, my large nose, and my asymmetrical chin. I looked myself in the eyes and my voice cracked and my tears started to fall as I struggled to say the three words that were to eventually bring solace.

I thought of all the musicians, artists, politicians, and scientists in the world who were valued for their contributions to society, and how their minds were preoccupied with thoughts much higher than their physical appearance. I began to understand that if I wanted to achieve anything and feel the full force of my achievements, that I must seek the approval of myself. I saw that value was calculated by how many people you touch with your words or infect with your laughter, not measurements that only help you find a comfortable outfit.

"It is the feeling you get when you completely let go and allow yourself to belong to yourself for the first time. When you look in the mirror and it is just you. Your eyes finally just your eyes. Your skin finally just your skin. Their fingerprints nowhere to be found. You are the you before they came. The you that does not have grief resting in their belly and mourning rotting on their tongue. You are stripped clean of everything that could not carry the way your heart demanded youth be carried. It is all you. Welcome back. You have been gone for such a while. It is all you. It has always just been, all you." -Rupi Kaur