Dark Rooms


I’m sitting here alone in a dark room. My boyfriend is gone for the weekend and I failed to turn any lights on before the sun set completely. The fan is brushing in all the cool air from outside and I can’t help but think of all the time people spent “teaching” me how to be happy. The concept is a little ironic, since I blog for that very reason, to feel what I only occasionally manage to muster up in myself.

I have to be honest. I’m never really sure if I doing it right, life that is; even on my very best day. I’m also pretty sure that most of the world is sitting next to me on that. I think, mostly, because we don’t actually live to be happy. We live according to what happy is supposed to look like.

You should be allowed to love yourself the way you want to love yourself. For some that’s openly and in response to adoration from others. For me, it stems from the mere concept of making a difference. Yet in the same light, I find true solace in my own mind and thoughts. I believe that comes from a lifetime of feeling like I have only my two feet to stand on and often leads me to write most of these pieces to myself.

I hate to assume what people think of me, because my thoughts are not always the prettiest. However, what I’ve gathered to accept is that many would consider me a social butterfly. I put on a smile, I dress up, and I act like I own the world. I’ll be the first to admit that… and some days that’s enough.

The crazy part is that fact that 80% of the time; I’d rather be alone, in my room, with the lights off, just like this. I find I love myself most in these moments. You could blame it on my childhood, or my inability to attach myself to things permanently. It’s kind of ugly, the way I love to love myself. To some it looks anti-social, but to me it’s like finding the deepest parts of your sub-conscious buried deep in a corner.

The process of loving myself is not something you’d want to see in person. It’s uncomfortable, raw, and incredibly sad a lot of the time. I might share my inner findings with the world, but that’s only because I want young women to know they are not alone. I’m not a social butterfly. I’m a girl who puts on a brave face most every day. Likely to say, you’re that person too. We all have dark rooms we like to sit in, but that doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy the light.


Izzi Marie


Self-love is messy. It starts young and dies old. It’s staring in the mirror naked, trying not to see what the world wants you to. It’s anger, frustration. It’s hysterical crying in the shower at any time. It’s counting calories and keeping track in a diary you hide, because you don’t want the cool kids to notice. It’s thoughts of self-harm. It’s ugly and it never gets easier. There will always be bad days. But there will be less of them. You get used to checking yourself, before you let your mind get ahead. It’s about recognizing what you have, before you discredit your individuality.

On a day-to-day basis I interact with countless women who shame their own bodies and poison their minds continuously. I could sit there for hours and tell them that their beautiful, but it won’t matter until they can go home and say it to themselves. I watch women cry in dressing rooms, because they’re a size fourteen and not a twelve.

But there’s a flip-side…

I watch women who are sizes twenty and up love themselves backwards and forwards. I get to see beautiful fat babes where crop tops, bathing suits, show their arms, show their legs, and show off their true self. I get to watch women fall in love with themselves, just like I did. I get inspired by women, who do things I’m still working on. They’re confident. They’re bold. They own it. They just do it, because the best person to tell you it’s ok to do something is yourself.

I cannot sit here and tell you how to love yourself, because mostly I’m still learning. But also… because everyone does it differently. Each day shape shifts into a distinctive method. Some days that means dressing up, other days it means dressing down. Some days it means cake; some days it means a salad. Sometimes it means going for a walk, sometimes it’s Netflix and chill. For the most part these days, it just means me dancing around with no pants on. I do what feels right. I do anything and everything to give my mental state a high five. Self-love never looks the same and that’s ok. That fact alone is what makes it pretty messy; you’ve got to figure it out for yourself.

I read a quote from Anthony Bourdain today, “Your body is not a temple, it’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.”

Self love is messy.

Self love is beautiful.

I promise you…

Self love will save your life.

(So will cake.)


Izzi Marie