For a long time, I lived thinking something was wrong with me. As a true Aspergerian (a term I embrace with affection, even if it sounds strange to many), my way of perceiving the world has always been unique. Even without knowing the concept, I sensed it from a young age. I felt everything differently—more intensely. I lived in a capsule, in a parallel universe where the social rules of this world didn’t apply—or at least, not the way others expected them to.

And of course, it was hard. Because you try to fit in, even when you feel broken inside. It was frustrating to constantly try to translate my thoughts and emotions so others wouldn't feel uncomfortable around me. Seeing how my efforts to belong ended in misunderstandings, disappointment, and rejection was painful. I often asked myself: Why can’t I be like everyone else?

The answer came when I understood who I was. It wasn’t a diagnosis—it was a revelation, a blessing. Realizing I wasn’t broken, just operating with a different system, gave me peace. The windows opened, and finally, the light came in.

That’s when my real self-love story began. Self-love isn’t just looking in the mirror and saying nice things to yourself (though that helps); it’s about living from a place of true acceptance. I stopped trying so hard to make others understand me and started focusing on understanding myself—embracing my process, respecting my pace, and not forcing my energy where it doesn't flow. And that, believe me, was more than a revolution—it was evolution.

I also learned that many people don’t understand themselves. They don’t know who they are, and that’s why, when they meet someone who does, they get uncomfortable. I’ve learned to see that with compassion, no judgment. But also, with boundaries. Because not everything that comes from others deserves to stay with me.

On this journey toward self-love, I’ve had to say “no” to many things—and to many people, too. Friends who demanded I be someone I’m not. The family that, out of ignorance, tried to mold me into an ideal that didn’t represent me. They learned, slowly—but they did. And even though they sometimes forget, they now understand that the greatest act of love I can offer them is to be myself.

Today, I dress up for myself. I wear what I like, not to impress anyone. I speak to myself with respect—even when I mess up. I allow myself to cry, to doubt, to make mistakes—because all of that is me. And in the middle of that chaos, I celebrate myself.

It feels amazing not to need external validation to feel worthy. It feels liberating not to ask permission to exist just as I am. There’s an immense peace when I choose myself. I don’t have to beg for attention or love. Loving yourself means knowing you are enough. Not as a self-help slogan, but as a truth that’s been built through every fall, every solitary step.

It hasn’t been magical—it’s been work. Constant. Sometimes painful. But always necessary. Because without self-love, you live at the mercy of others. And that’s not my thing.

If I can tell you one thing, it’s this: self-love is not selfishness. It’s a responsibility. It’s about no longer putting your well-being in someone else’s hands.

And yes, like everyone, I have shadow days too. But I don’t punish myself for them. I’ve learned that even in those moments, I deserve care, kindness, and compassion.

I love myself. And I am my priority.