Honestly, there is nothing more annoying than self-love.

I’m not saying that I find it annoying when people love themselves. In fact, I love when people love themselves. I think we all should! I just think the process to self-love is annoying. It is extremely tedious. You have to be patient and compassionate with yourself, which is incredibly difficult — especially if you have no one to guide you.

My journey to self-love began as a senior in high school. I was a coast away from my family going to a conservatory boarding school for acting. I joined a cohort full of twenty-one extremely talented actors. Imposter syndrome punched my square in the face on the first day of class. I followed every intrusive urge to compare myself to everyone in the room. My perfectionism worsened and I was never satisfied with my work, which pulled me deeper and deeper into a spiral of self-hate and disappointment. And I think almost everyone felt the same way. It was almost encouraged in our program. The professors didn’t tell us we were worthless or anything like that, but they were always most impressed when we were in our most exhausted, tortured state. Emotional excavation was a part of our curriculum. So much so that the lines blurred between our real lives and our acting.

And then I went to our school counselor.

And she told me that I was a perfectionist and I should be more compassionate with myself. “It’s the first step in the towards self-love.”

And then I stopped going to our school counselor.

Pffft. Self-compassion. Self-love. I already had a lot to do. My schedule was full (down to the minutes) and I had no time to work in “self-compassion” (whatever the hell that was). Months went by. Emotionally draining months. I auditioned for colleges. Got accepted. Committed. Graduated. And moved on.

Imposter-syndrome decked me on the first day of class once again. Our acting professor had high standards for us and made that fact very clear over and over again. I was never quite good enough for her. My perfectionism kicked into high gear. I discovered that perfectionism and impossibly high standards is not a good mix. I came into class trying to prove something to myself and my acting teacher and everyone else and the imposter syndrome that keeps fucking my shit up and I could never do it.

I was at the kitchen sink washing dishes while my classma — I mean, brother, was goofing off and making jokes. I started to laugh at him. The fourth wall was demolsihed by my acting teacher.

“Stop. Audrey, are you a girl laughing at her brother or an actress trying to laugh.”

…

“…an actress trying to laugh?”

“Exactly. Someone else take her place.”

I could never prove myself.

I tried therapy again. I made time in my schedule. Perfectionism and disappointment and fear of failure swam in my head while little bubbles of compassion began to float around it all. Months went by. Emotionally draining, insightful, hopeful, annoying months. And, eventually, those little self-compassion bubbles popped and self-love began to dissipate through all of the other shit in my head. I began to navigate living with those insecurities alongside compassion and love.

It’s annoying. But I kind of love it.