By Kate Kole
I grew up in the era of Freddie Prinze Jr. movies and Nicholas Sparks novels, and you’d better believe that my view towards romantic relationships was skewed accordingly. You know, towards that soul awakening, against all odds, white hot and passionate kind of experience. Which it seems, exists in some form and duration, but isn’t exactly the foundation of every lasting love story.
My journey towards self-love has proved to be equally misguided. It doesn’t look or feel like I thought it would. I firmly believed that once I sorted through my life and perfected myself, then I could accept and celebrate who I’d become. Self-love was a finish line to cross with a million road blocks to overcome and mile markers to get through first. Continue reading