I’ve never really had good self-esteem.
I don’t know where it came from. It’s just always been like that. I don’t always believe the good things people say about me but I think I hold it together on the outside pretty well.
Despite that, there’s a constant inkling in the back of my mind telling me I am not good enough — not for my job, not for my school, not for a romantic relationship and not for my friends.
It’s really easy to say those things to myself. But it would feel like swallowing glass to say that to any of my friends because, for them, it isn’t true.
When I dream big and have ambitious goals, I think I’m asking for too much. But when Sarah does it, I think she’s the bravest person in the world for knowing her worth and chasing after her dreams.
When I wanted to move to Vancouver, I thought I was letting everyone down by leaving them behind. But when Brooklyn wanted to move to Jasper, I encouraged her to go outside her comfort zone and that I’d still be there wherever she was in the world.
When I joke around and dance like a dork, I feel cringey. But when Megan and Aidan and Talia do it, I laugh and join in because it’s a reminder of how unabashedly human we all are.
Every time I think I’m being a burden to my friends, I shut everyone else out. But when Cam does the same thing, I remind them there’s no universe in which they’d be a burden because I chose them as a friend.
When I think my work is horrendous, I feel like a failure and a fraud. But when Elena or Aisha or Iman or Isa or any single one of my friends feels that way, I am the first to convince them that they deserve their seat at the table.
There are so many instances of me hating myself for something I love my friends for.
If I see my friends as worthy, why can’t I believe that there’s evidence of people feeling the same way about me? That I’m the one that they admire for something they dislike about themselves?
I see the best in them like they see the best in me.
And I’ve realized that I can’t be the exception to love. If I have so much love to give, then I have to give some to myself too.
It’s not a perfect formula for learning to love yourself. I still don’t have the highest self-esteem. Friends drift apart — that’s how it goes sometimes.
But when I really thought about this, I realized there are only two ways this could pan out: my friends start to internalize my hatred for my own qualities that are also their qualities or my friends start to see me as unworthy as I see myself.
And I know that if they start to see me as unworthy, they will leave. Friendships are one of the few relationships that aren’t obligatory — there’s no rhyme or reason to friends other than you like being around that person. So I know if they leave, they will leave because of me and that’s worse than any pain I will go through trying to love myself.
So I try to love myself a little bit more each day. I try for them. Because I know if I don’t, I will lose the only people who ever truly loved me.
And I think that is one of the reasons why I’ve never had a boyfriend. When I tell people this, I usually get one of two reactions: a small, shared smile from the people who also have never been in a relationship or pity from those who have.
You’ll find someone soon, they all say.
You’ll be loved soon, they all mean.
Except, I am loved.
I am loved by my wonderful, amazing friends. But they don’t seem to count when it comes to love.
It’s normal to say you’re “just friends” with a boy as if being friends with someone is somehow lesser than being in a romantic relationship with them. It’s normal to cry about being single because it’s a “horrible” experience.
Society is obsessed with love — but only romantic love. There are entire media genres dedicated to love and baby clothes that say “heartbreaker” and “ladies man.” There are songs about falling in love but also shitty boyfriends and videos of dead-beat husbands not getting their wives' presents but also beautiful, heartfelt proposals. It doesn’t seem to matter if it’s good or bad — just that it has to do with romance.
The obsession with romantic love ignores other ways to feel fulfilled and happy.
People want their partner to randomly ask them to slow dance, or write poetry for them or to support their dreams. Saying “If he wanted to, he would,” is as common as online puppy videos or astrology text posts.
And when I see those, I have to smile — because it’s true. Except I wouldn’t know because of a boy. I know because my friends have done all those things for me, or I for them. They set my standards.
I buy Golden Oreos because I know one of my friends doesn’t like the regular ones. Another one asked me to waltz with her in grade 11 during a play production when no one was watching just to make me feel special. I gave my best friend a scrapbook full of songs that remind me of her. Another friend gave me an annotated book of poetry.
Couples who have been together for a long time usually say the secret to their relationship is that their partner is their best friend. Doesn’t that show your best friends are the ones who love you the most?
Why does a soulmate have to be romantic?
My friends are the people who understand me even when I don’t understand myself. They pick me up when I’m down, they celebrate my wins no matter how small and they push me to be the best version of myself. They make me feel like a kid again, even as I hold the weight of the world on my shoulders. When I’m with them, it feels like their atoms were meant to be beside mine because there’s a sense of calm I never feel by myself.
If that isn’t the purest of love, then I’m not sure what is.
I’m not saying I don’t want a romantic relationship — I do. But my friends have set high standards of love I know not to settle for, and no one has met that yet. That’s fine with me. Just because I only have platonic love right now doesn’t mean I’m incomplete.
I’m happy with my friends. That should be enough for everyone else — it’s enough for me.
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