Self-love for the days you don’t feel lovable

February has a particular atmosphere. Romance seems to be everywhere, with hearts hung in shop windows and an unspoken question: how lovable are you feeling today?

For some people, that question can feel easy to answer. But for others, it can feel like pressure. Or comparison. Or just a reminder of everything that already feels a bit tender or bruised. 

Sometimes, liking yourself might feel out of reach. If that’s the case, I would like to say:

Self-love is not measured by how warmly you feel about yourself.

It’s measured by how you treat yourself when you don’t.

When Valentine’s Day amplifies the doubt

Valentine’s Day has a way of magnifying whatever is already there.

When I’m feeling content, Valentine’s can feel quite sweet. But, if I’m feeling lonely, low, or overwhelmed with life as it is, it can feel like a horrid spotlight, highlighting every way that I’m not doing “good enough” as a human. 

Even self-love messaging can start to sound like another instruction:

“Love yourself more.” “Be confident.” “Feel good in your body.”

But what if you don’t feel like that? What if February finds you feeling tired, flat, anxious, self-critical, or just not very fond of your own company?

I’ve realised that doesn’t mean I’m “failing” at self-love.

It simply means that I’m human.

The days you don’t feel lovable

Somedays, loving yourself may feel… unrealistic.

Days when:

• your body feels unfamiliar

• your thoughts constantly loop and won’t settle down

• anxiety makes you feel like “too much”

• depression makes you feel like you’re “not enough”

• ADHD leaves you exhausted by your own mind

• old patterns of self-criticism resurface without warning

  
  

If you hadn’t guessed, I could easily say “yep, that’s me!” to all of the above on certain days. And, on those days, self-love can feel like a foreign language.

Yet, those are the days when it usually matters most.

My quiet disagreement with modern self-love

Here’s my honest opinion…

Self-love tends to be marketed as confidence, self-admiration, and empowerment.

Liking what you see in the mirror.

Feeling good about yourself more often.

And while those can all be lovely, I don’t think they’re really the foundation. Here’s why:

If self-love only exists when you feel good about yourself, then what happens when you don’t feel good about yourself?

For many of us, especially those living with anxiety, depression, OCD, or neurodivergence, liking ourselves every moment of every day doesn’t feel realistic. And that’s okay.

That’s why I think that self-love isn’t about liking yourself more. I believe it’s about abandoning yourself less.

What self-love looks like on ordinary, difficult days

Real self-love is rarely like the aesthetic images seen on social media. It doesn’t always “feel”

empowering. Often, it looks deeply unremarkable. Boring, even.

For me, it might look like:

• eating even when I don’t have the energy to make something

• resting without having to “earn” it

• cancelling plans at the last minute when chronic fatigue takes over

• Letting internal discomfort exist without trying to “fix” myself, because sometimes it’s okay to feel uncomfortable

Sometimes, self-love is simply about not making things worse.

And, sometimes, that’s more than enough.

Staying instead of fixing

So much of the advice we often hear around wellbeing is about improvement. Growing. Becoming better.

But what if, on some days, the most loving thing you can do is to stop trying to improve yourself? What if self-compassion isn’t all about change, but about presence?

About staying with yourself when you feel messy.

About not turning away when your inner world feels loud or heavy.

About choosing gentleness, kindness, and comfort.

That’s the kind of self-love that doesn’t shout. It doesn’t demand miraculous transformations or a strictly-scheduled plan. It’s a self-love that simply says, I’m still here.

A softer kind of love

February can feel tender, so this month I’ll be keeping these in mind:

Self-love doesn’t have to be loud or pretty.

It’s not always about confidence.

It doesn’t always feel warm or fuzzy.

Sometimes, it’s quiet. Or neutral. Showing up for yourself. 

Knowing that you can love yourself, even if you don’t really like yourself at that moment. You don’t have to “feel” lovable to treat yourself with care. 

A final note

I wrote my poetry book at a time when self-compassion felt fragile rather than empowering. It isn’t about loving yourself loudly or getting it “right”. It’s about the subtle changes, the way we talk to ourselves, and why we may feel the way we do. 

If that speaks to you, you can find it here.