I accept myself.
I accept that I did the work, that I put effort into it, I accept that I healed. I accept that the work continues, in new ways, but that it comes from a place of healing and wholeness.
I accept all of the things that happened to me, that I did, and accept the labels I gave those things. I accept all of myself, including the things I rejected. My people pleasing behaviors. My skills. My childhood. The hurts I experienced. The ones I caused. I accept my self-destructive behaviors. I accept that I’m no longer defined or bound by these things. I accept my kind, loving, true self. I accept the gift that Diana gave me, the promise I made to her, the promise I kept. I accept all of my gifts.
If there was magic, that made a twin of me, who had gone through all of the same experiences, who had done the work, if that person was standing in front of me, I would hug them, and I’d say, “I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you for surviving, and thriving, for helping people, for being willing to make mistakes, for learning how to try and things you never thought possible, I’m proud of who you are, and who you’ll be. And I love you.”
And I’ve said this to myself, and I accept the gift. I accept that I’m allowing myself to be the person I wished was there for me so long ago, and I accept that I was always there, and that these are the same idea.
I’m acknowledging this out loud. I’m putting this in writing, because I love writing, because writing is sacred to me.
I’m grateful for my life. I accept all of my gifts.
I accept myself.