Warning: well-deserved naughty language ahead!
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Giant hot mess.

That was the phrase I used to describe myself last week.

It feels a little dramatic now, but in the moment it seemed like the only nugget of truth I could manage to share with those around me.

Between work overwhelm, relationship struggles, physical exhaustion, unexpected car troubles, time spent traveling, and an overwhelming desire to stay under the damn covers, I wasn’t feeling my best. I wasn’t feeling like myself.

And at my toughest moments, I wasn’t really sure who “myself” was.

I found myself questioning my feelings, my skills, my appearance, my worth, and what I brought to the table in every aspect of my life.

At my lowest point, I found myself standing outside of Jiffy Lube in 30-degree weather sobbing on the phone with my sisters, trying to listen to the mechanic explain something about a mouse eating through some hose (that apparently seemed instrumental to the overall function of my car), while I desperately called an Uber so I could make it to my therapy appointment. I would have laughed at myself—if I hadn’t been crying so hard.

This isn’t an everyday occurrence for me. On most days, I’m actually pretty confident.

I’m self-aware enough to acknowledge and accept my flaws: I’m a creature of sometimes bad habits, who’s chronically late for everything but work, with an often crippling addiction to processed sugar and “90 Day Fiancé,” on top of being a master at starting to-do lists just to cross off what I’ve already done, and a desire to fix everyone and everything around me, even if that means I become last on the list.

But I’m also fully aware of what makes me freakin’ awesome. I’m witty and sarcastic and one of the funniest people I’ve met. I love who I love with zero apologies and with every tiny crevice of my heart. I work hard and smart and bring my passion to everything I do. I march to the beat of my own drum—or so I’ve been told by anyone who’s known me since birth. I am fair and just and make every effort to make the world that way. I know what I want and what I deserve and I have a low tolerance for bullshit. I’m playful and wacky and haven’t forgotten the joy of being five years old and climbing trees and watching Disney movies.

And I want to live all of life: the adventure and the sadness and the love and the brokenness and the food and the sex and the pain and the magic of it all.

Then times like last week happen—times when I struggle to see any of the good, times when the bad seems to have gained super-human powers and drop-kicked the good right on its ass.

This is a phenomenon my sisters and I like to refer to as “feeling like shit” versus “feeling like the shit.”

Last week was also the first time I saw the video for Demi Lovato‘s new single, “I Love Me.”

By the time the chorus hit, I felt like she had written this song for me—maybe for all of us—to listen to on my worst days.

“‘Cause I’m a black belt when I’m beating up on myself
But I’m an expert at giving love to somebody else
I, me, myself and I don’t see eye to eye
Oh, why do I compare myself to everyone?
And I always got my finger on the self-destruct
I wonder when I love me is enough
I wonder when I love me is enough
Why am I always looking for a ride or die?
‘Cause mine’s the only heart I’m gonna have for life
After all the times I went and fucked it up
I wonder when I love me is enough”

I mean, who hasn’t been there?

If you’re having one of those days, those weeks, those years where you don’t feel like yourself, or even fully understand who that is, turn this up. Sing it at the top of your lungs. Listen to it while you work out or cook yourself a meal or cry uncontrollably under the covers.

And if you’ve recently gone from “feeling like the shit” to just “feeling like shit,” know that you’re not alone. We’ve all been there. We’ll all be there again at some point.

Because, like Demi sings:

“I’m my own worst critic, talk a whole lot of shit
But I’m a ten out of ten even when I forget”

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