the birthright of self love

As a Black woman, I have to constantly remind myself that the way I want to be loved isn’t unattainable. Black women are con/unconsciously taught to put everyone else’s needs ahead of our own—to nurture, to sacrifice, to bear the weight of the world while asking for nothing in return. But I am unlearning. I am unbecoming. I am choosing myself, again & again.

I carry so much anger, pain, & resentment—toward others & myself—for the years I neglected my own needs. For the times I poured endlessly into others while running on empty. For the moments I silenced my desires because I was too afraid of being called selfish, needy, or too much. But how can I be angry at others for not reciprocating the love & care I give when I haven’t even given that love to myself? It doesn’t add up.

So I am rewriting the equation.

I am loving myself first. Taking care of myself first. Speaking life into myself first. Not as an afterthought, not as an act of rebellion, but as a birthright.

I recognize the guilt that creeps in when I choose myself. The whisper that tells me I’m wrong for prioritizing my own well-being. That guilt is a lie—a generational curse wrapped in obligation. I want that guilt to burn & die. To unravel & decay until it holds no power over me. I will combat that guilt forever—for myself, for my ancestors who were never given the space to choose themselves, & for every Black woman still fighting to be full without apology.

So I create rituals of self-devotion. I slow down. I breathe deeply. I say no without apology. I listen to my body & honor its wisdom. I take long, sacred baths under Yemaya’s moon, letting the water remind me that I am whole. I pour honey down my throat, making my words sweet like Oshun. I run my hands over my skin & whisper, I love you, I love you, I love you. I rest without justification. I hold my own hands. I reclaim my joy. I demand reciprocity in every space I enter.

The love I want, the love I require, is not unrealistic. It is not too much. It is not a fairytale. It is real. It is possible. It is already mine.

Let the love I receive from others be a reflection of the love I give myself. Let my self-love be the standard, the foundation, the truth I stand on.

Ashé.