“Learning To Love You More.” — Title of Miranda July and Harrell Fletcher’s 2007 digital art project.

I just came out of a temazcal, a traditional Mayan sweat lodge ceremony. I went in with the intention of getting rid of some negative energy I was carrying, whether it was grief or anger. I tried to feel grief as I let the heat move through my body. But then I was almost going to faint, so I left at the 3rd door. I sat in the sun on the open earth as I chugged my entire 700 mL bottle of water.

I was feeling…a lot of anger. Especially at my mother. At first, I just wanted the anger to leave my body. I wanted to just push it out or squash it down, away. But it wasn’t leaving. So I decided to try to feel it and listen to it. It was pure rage. I was just so angry at her. So angry. For just everything she had done to me. She has hurt me so much.

I tried to remember specific times she made me feel small. When she told me that my work wasn't enough. When she judged me for wearing a dark shade of lipstick I sampled from the drugstore for fun. When she wraps bullshit statements up in a bow like, “I love you no matter what,” or “I only want the best for you,” or “I'm just so glad to have children who are independent and for themselves.” She likes the idea of it until we actually do it. I felt all the rage towards her. She continues to hurt me often when I speak to her. Whether it was her losing her shit over the type of oatmeal I was about to buy in the grocery store last summer (she doesn’t even eat oatmeal), or dressing her judgments of me up as concern. She makes me feel worse about myself. She makes me feel unlovable, wrong, inferior.

Then, strangely, at that moment, while I sat in the dirt, I noticed that one of the sequins of my dress was shining. It shone right from the sun directly into my eye. And that is when it hit me: the sun is literally reflecting off of me. I am made of stardust. I am made of the earth. I am a reflection of the sun. I am a person, human, great, powerful, immense, beautiful, loving. The song, “Carry the Zero,” which I love, came on in my mind. You've become what you thought was wrong, a fraction of the sun. The feeling stuck with me: I am a reflection of the sun. I am light. Not in an egotistical way, I hope. More in the way of like: I am a full, beautiful human being, made of love and worthy of it. Worthy of unconditional love at that. An amazing human. I love how my articles are looking on my website. I love who I am. I love who I am becoming. I am so proud of myself. And that spoke some truth into me.

A second later, one of the men helping with the temazcal ceremony gave me a cup of cacao. I have never received a cup of cacao at that place before. This was a humble offering, a gift just for me. I drank it, and the cacao clumped together at the bottom of the cup in the shape of a big heart. And I thought about how, if you ask my friends or even random waiters or the hairdressers in my neighborhood, they may well tell you that I am great. I am a beautiful person. And perhaps I am a passionate and decent writer, too!

I just felt flooded with this dose of self-love. A prescription I didn’t know I needed. I thought about ACA, and the promises: “as we continue to love ourselves, we will see beautiful changes in all our relationships, especially with God, ourselves, and with our parents.” I began to see that, clichéd as it sounds, the more I could see and love and give to myself, then that can overflow, and I can give to others.

I wondered if, perhaps, the real open secret is that my mother does not love herself. Well, not enough anyway. She might not even like herself even a tiny bit. Which is tragic for her. But I will not let HER tragedy become MY tragedy. That is not my job to internalize her judgments. I am 10 times more than enough. I just published an article yesterday speaking boldly about porn recommendations for women. I am doing swimmingly in my own life. She doesn't love herself enough, and she tries to make that everyone else's problem by bringing them down, subtly criticizing, and manipulating them while fucking doing nothing about it. Frankly, I reject her judgments of me because that shit about me not being enough is not even true. That is not my circus, not my monkeys anymore. Good riddance.

I started to think about my life and things differently. I can ask myself, in any given moment: What is the most loving thing I can do for myself in this moment? I can go to sleep as an act of love for myself. I can cook myself a nice meal. I can curl up with a good book. I can go to an ACA meeting. I can sit down to write an article. I can apply to speak at a conference. I can go for a walk. I can set a boundary. I can send an email. All as an act of self-love. Wanting the best for myself (but not in that tainted way my mother overstates it.) Love through actions. Love through many actions. I can check in and ask myself.

For most of my life, my mother was allergic to the idea of enjoying herself. Happiness, joy, and peace were seen as lazy and undesirable states to be in. Before this afternoon, I’d even catch myself feeling guilty for being happy. Now, I am noticing this guilt as a hangover of my mother’s thinking. I am allowed to be happy and enjoy my life. There is nothing wrong with that, or with me wanting that. I live in Mexico because I love Mexico. I feel happy here, and I can live here because I deserve to be happy.

It felt good to say that. And, truly, I don’t want to hold anger in my heart. But one loving thing I can do for myself is take space from her.

I had been writing all this at a restaurant when someone just gave me a chocolate chip cookie with salt on it and a small glass of milk. Maybe my cycle of life is syncing up a bit more with the universe. I am already receiving the gifts, the beauty of life, when I re-orient towards this new “religion” of self-love. I am feeling the love of my work also shining through again. It is exciting. I'm feeling the itch to write SEO articles, of all things. I start planning to return home and see if I can identify gaps in my content to improve my latest suite of articles, before I watch Narcos Mexico.

It's now a couple of days later, and gifts keep coming to me every day. It started with the cacao and the cookie. Now one of my old friends from high school in London is here. Her visit is a gift. She invited me to an event at The Four Seasons, as she's taking part in a polo tournament. That is a gift. Yesterday, my cleaner came back from the market with a bag of cilantro that they had given to me for free. I am receiving the universe’s generosity as medicine for the self. The gift of other people's momentary generosity is showing me that I am a reflection of the sun. The privilege I have to be happy and do my writing, which I share with you today. I am learning to love me more.

I leave you with one of my favorite stories from Maya Angelou, speaking about her mother:

After we finished eating, we walked down the hill, and she started across the street, and she says,

“Now, wait a minute, baby.” I was 22 years old. She said,

“Wait a minute, baby. You know, I think you’re the greatest woman I've ever met.” She said,

“Mary McLeod Bethune, Eleanor Roosevelt, and my mother. You’re in that category.”

Then she said,

“Give me a kiss.”

I gave her a kiss, and I got onto the streetcar. I can remember the way the sun fell on the slats of the wooden seats. I sat there, and I thought about her. I thought: suppose she’s right? She’s intelligent. And she’s said she’s too mean to lie. So suppose I am going to be somebody. She released me. She freed me to say I may have something in me that would be of value. Maybe not just to me. That’s love.