Self-Care and Loving Yourself

Izel Nava (She/Her)

Editorial Team Member

When I was young, I saw the world strangely and intensely. I dreamt of adventure, of longing, of sacrifice. To me, life was a fairytale, and falling in love was the gold waiting at the end of the rainbow called life. I was sure I’d grow up to wear elaborate gowns, grow old in a castle, and when it was all over, my one true love would sweep me off my feet and ask for my hand. “Of course, it would happen,” I assured myself, as if love that great was like breathing, something natural and inevitable.

Much of my teenage years were spent realizing that I wasn’t sure what love was. When I got to high school, the sunsets and romance wilted at the sight of reality. And for me, and many of my classmates, we all had to learn how to not only love someone else but love who we were becoming.

My life is a love letter to my family. It’s a love letter to myself and my newfound comfort with my individuality. It’s the way I write, the way I braid my hair, the wind in the trees, the flowers growing out of stubborn soil, my culture, the food I eat, and it’s the time I take for myself. Fantasy will always hold its place in my heart, and a part of me will always be reading under the covers, or watching a romance movie an inch from the screen, but now I can find solace in being singular.