Loving Yourself When Everything Falls Apart, Including You

This is more of a confession than a story, really.

My journey of self-love is incomplete. In fact, I’m standing right in the middle of the battle as I’ve briefly laid down my arms to write this post. 

I tend to only share about my really dark season after I’ve come out the other side. I prefer stories with a happy ending, tied up in a pretty bow. Stories with a nice, organized conclusion that gives you hope and also maybejustalittlebit reminds you that, perhaps I was a bit of a mess before, but don’t worry, I’ve got it all figured out now! Look how great things are!

This is not one of those stories. This is a story of me, in the thick of it, without the answers and without any pretty ribbon to tie it all up in. I guess it’s more of a confession than a story with a beginning, middle, and end.

So here’s my confession: I do not love myself.

But I’ve already learned this, dammit.

Ugh. What is so especially hard about writing those words is I thought I had mastered this. I regained self-worth by climbing a mountain for two weeks after the end of an abusive marriage and a traumatic divorce; I rebuilt my self-love after being hit by a truck and spending a week in a Bali hospital questioning whether I was strong enough to continue.

I built a social media brand devoted to instilling others with the self-confidence and self-belief that they were stronger than they imagined, and could accomplish greater things than they’d ever dreamt. 

I overcame so much to get to a place of self-worth and self-love in my mid-20s, and now, here I am again, approaching 30, struggling to be able to look in the mirror and not scream profanities at the person staring back.

I thought I’d figured this out already, dammit.

But if there’s anything I hope to accomplish with writing this, it’s to remind you (and me) that self-love is not a door to pass through, not an obstacle to overcome, not a box to “check” off — but rather a journey or a cycle, containing a whole bunch of different trials that show up in brand new scenarios for as long as the earth continues to spin. 

And I also hope to remind you that if you’re still in the middle of a self-love struggle, I am right there with you. I don’t have it all figured out and I don’t have the answers, and I unfortunately don’t have any shiny ribbon in which to wrap up our stories… yet. 

But in my moments of clarity, I do believe, with every fiber of my being, that we’re going to figure this out. We’re going to get through this and be okay, and be built up stronger than before, ready to take on the next battles that will surely come.

So, allow me to let you into my ongoing, unfinished, unsterilized process of facing the reality that I, Alexandra Saper, do not love myself. 

Hmph. Where to begin.

Here’s what I do know: My most broken chapters of life built my strongest foundations.

Social media has an insidious way of tearing apart self-love and self-confidence the second one shows any weakness. I know this; I’ve built my business on social media and I’ve seen the dark side.

But the way social media has picked apart my self-love might not be how you’d expect.

Although I’ve always tried to keep things real and authentic, talking about the hard and messy stuff and showing you the not-so-picture-perfect moments of travel and life, I neglected a much quieter disease, festering beneath the surface.

Truthfully, I did overcome so many battles and learn so much about self-love in my early and mid-20s, but I realize now that it was imperfect, or incomplete.

You see, growing up I had built my self-worth on living a life that was outwardly “impressive” to others — one that would elicit admiration or, if I’m being perfectly honest, jealousy. 

Although deep down I hated and resented my “promising” career, I felt trapped in a toxic marriage, and I was wholly out of place in the church and legal communities in which I tried to belong, at least on the outside my life looked freaking great. The fact that others believed my life was idyllic carried me through, even when I knew it was a farce . . . until it couldn’t carry me anymore.

My divorce was devastating and traumatic, and I lost my community, my church, my friends, my reputation, and my sense of self & belonging in a gloriously dramatic fashion. I stood on the bow of my sinking ship, setting fire to the sails with a middle finger to the world, going down with it in a fury. 

Oh you just WATCH me self-destruct! Grab the popcorn, here I go!

I call those the Dark Ages. I can laugh about them now because I figured it out. Whoops. But I digress.

I then managed to graduate law school (with honors, by the sheer grace of God) and fled the country for an around-the-world trip during which I spent two weeks trekking through the Nepal Himalayas on a route called the Annapurna Circuit completely alone. During monsoon season. There were leeches. And landslides. And days I’d go without speaking aloud to another human being. 

It changed my life, so much that I got the coordinates of the summit tattooed on my right arm. Because I never wanted to forget how strong I was even when I felt weak, unprepared, and alone. Because I never wanted to forget that the only way I accomplished the toughest moments on that trek was to push through the tears and pain, and take one more step — one after the other after the other, until I’d taken 20 kilometers of steps and could rest my head for the night again, and then wake up and do it all over again.

That journey laid the foundation for me to admit, a year later, that I outright hated being a lawyer. Despite having just completed three brutal years of graduate school to get my law degree, and working myself into a pile of student debt, I couldn’t continue pretending that the paycheck and the esteem were enough for me. 

So I decided to put my degree in storage, sell everything I owned, and move to Bali to try to figure something else out. Maybe I could get my blog off the ground, or develop photography skills and make a living off of Instagram. Maybe I just needed a few months to rest and recover and then I’d come back to Washington DC and get a “real job.”

Shortly after landing in Bali, after a couple of months chasing my tail with zero sense of vision or goals or order in my life, I got T-boned by a truck while driving my bike and landed myself in the hospital for a week. Ouch.

In those moments of weakness, one of my closest friends at the time suggested I go home to America, because it just didn’t seem like I was “tough enough” to handle Bali. Double ouch. 

For some reason I stayed — maybe it was perseverance, or maybe stubbornness — and went through a process of ridding myself of the self-victimization and fears that held me back from making any progress in this “dream life” I’d set out to pursue. I removed toxic people from my life, got a gym membership, started reading and listening to self-help and personal development books and podcasts, and finally found purpose to keep me grounded and on track. 

What was that purpose? To help people see their potential, discover their own strength to get there, and implement the changes and tools to make it all reality.

That was about two and a half years ago, and here I am still in Bali, with a business built off of Instagram and my blog, inspiring people to believe in themselves and run after their dreams.

My Instagram account skyrocketed, dream jobs came my way, and I became known for my positive mindset, encouraging tales of overcoming, and messages of self-love and self-belief. It was incredible! I figured it all out!!

And then, 2020 happened. 

When it all fell apart, secretly.

To be honest, the first half of 2020 was amazing. I was on such a high of self-love, self-belief, and my unwavering positive mindset, that even when I lost every single work contract for the year within a one-week period of time, I was perfectly content. 

It was “an opportunity to rest, to steer toward personal growth and lifestyle content rather than depending on travel to please my audience.” I developed a stellar home-workout routine and got into the best shape of my life. I learned to love yoga and connect with my body, so even on the off days I felt steady joy and adoration for the woman staring back in the mirror — mind, body, and soul.

It was “an opportunity to finally write my book” and I stuck to my daily writing plan religiously for months.

I loved the routine, and I loved that I could be still, dig into community, and plant roots in Bali. I set goals to finish my book, make new friends, put my heart out in the world and maybe start dating again. . . .

Until all those big shiny goals didn’t quite pan out. The friends I invested in either left Bali, or betrayed me in gut-wrenching ways. I opened myself up to a man who was very much not interested (ouch) but then I tried again — the second time, unfortunately trusting someone who was physically, emotionally, and mentally destructive, leaving me to put back together a mind and body shattered by trauma. 

I stopped writing my book, because I began to think it was a load of utter crap. I know — all first drafts are a load of utter crap, but I couldn’t bring myself to face my crap-work each and every day and keep going. I needed something in my life to not feel like a big pile of steaming dog poo.

But, I couldn't quite figure what that “something” was, exactly.

What were the things I used to be good at, that would build my self-esteem? I no longer had a flourishing business, because jobs in travel became obsolete and I was (and still am) quarantined on this island. And I no longer had the thrill and adventure of travel to keep myself feeling creative, exciting, passionate, and interesting. I no longer had my creative outlets or expressions. I didn’t have much of a community left on the island. And I didn’t have the heart to keep inspiring people to “follow their dreams” when it seemed very likely that I was watching mine die before my eyes.

I turned to exercise because it was the only thing I could control, where I actually could see certain and quick results. If you have ever looked at my exercise routine and thought, “Wow, that’s so impressive! What great discipline! She really has it together!” I am here to tell you that is not the entire picture. Exercise is what I feel able to control in an otherwise out of control season of life. 

I felt physically strong but behind the scenes, I began to spiral. My divorce and trekking journey taught me that I was capable of accomplishing great things on my own, and my bike accident taught me to start living according to my own terms and invest in personal growth.

But what I had not yet learned was how to love myself when all that strength, all those accomplishments, all that personal development just . . . fell apart. 

Who was I when I couldn’t produce? Or create? Or accomplish? Or inspire? Or have some kind of external mark of the value of my work (i.e. clients that actually paid me money)? Who was I when I didn’t feel strong and confident and mentally healthy?

What value did I bring to the world when I was in the middle of crumbling?

And here’s where social media comes in. I love the brand identity I’ve built with The Wayfaress. I love having a platform to inspire, encourage, and support others through my own creativity and adventures to live out their own authentic, extraordinary lives.

But at the end of the day, it’s a business fueled by the strength and numbers of an audience. Read: a business whereby success depends on followers and likes. 

I’d love to sit here and tell you the numbers don’t matter, that pshhh I don’t even pay attention to the likes silly!, but they really really do matter. Just like no CEO or corporate president could honestly tell you the sales and financials and client numbers don’t matter. The numbers are a clear marker (albeit not the only market, I admit) of whether your business is succeeding and growing, or whether it’s not.

And wow, the numbers were bad. The engagement and growth of my Instagram came to a screeching halt, before outright declining, once I could no longer share the exciting and adventurous travel content I once had. The travel jobs ceased, and working for free became a way to keep myself busy while slowly dying a silent demoralizing death inside. 

Guys, working for free just sucks after a while.

My Bali community, my bank account, my Instagram audience, and my social media “influence” dwindled before my eyes. It pained me every day I would wake up and see the declining numbers, or an empty inbox, or another request to work for free, or another event I wasn’t invited to. I simultaneously felt self-pity and self-loathing. It’s a weird combo but it’s possible, trust me. Ew.

I felt too much a fraud to keep trying to “encourage” or “inspire” my audience when it felt like I was failing, so rather than be inauthentic, I got quiet. Which definitely wasn’t good for business. And meant this identity I’d built as the strong, positive, inspirational Wayfaress was no more.

In a way, external circumstances dug me into a hole, and when I couldn’t find a way out, I grabbed the shovel and started digging too. It’s embarrassing to admit because, like I said before, I thought I’d already figured this out, dammit. Self-pity and self-loathing are sooo 2018, Alexandra!

*Cue dramatic eye roll.*

I must admit that what I built over the last three years in Bali has been so, so much better than where I was before. I did build a life I loved, working my ass off to turn my creative passions into a business. I did super scary things and took risks and learned so much along the way. I accomplished a lot, inspired a lot, and developed into a person I was truly, genuinely proud of inside and out.

But I’m not sure I recognize that person anymore. So, now what?

How can we love ourselves when we hardly recognize ourselves?

Without the accomplishments, the fancy jobs with big-name clients and big-time paychecks, the thriving community, or the heart to inspire personal or professional growth in others, I felt I had nothing to give to the world.

Honestly, most days feel I have nothing to give the world.

Yep, that’s where I’m at right now, in this current season of life, as I write this post. I wish I could keep those words in the past-tense (i.e. “I used to feel this way but not anymore!”) so that it seems like I’ve overcome all of it and am so much better and stronger now. I want to appear “inspiring” and “strong.” That’s the identity I built through social media, after all. But, the truth is, I’m still right here smack in the middle of it.

So this is my very raw, incomplete, vulnerable journey right here and now. These days, I struggle with self-worth and self-love because I built self-worth and self-love on the ways I was able to put my life together when it was broken.

I built it on the things I accomplished, overcame, created, and built; on the ways I could inspire others; on how I took charge of my mental health and personal development, transforming myself into Alexandra 2.0 all by myself. 

But how do I love myself in the midst of the brokenness, before I’ve figured out how to put it back together again? When life feels like it’s ripped a tidal wave through my business, accomplishments, ability to inspire and create, and mental health? When I feel like I’ve taken 10 steps backward and am ashamed to even admit it?

I’m working every single day to find solutions, and to build myself back up. I’m in counseling (honestly I think everyone should go to counseling), I listen to all the podcasts and read all the books, I work out every day and meditate and eat healthy. I even recently put myself out there (again) and started dating.

But I have to face the reality that I’ve never learned to love myself when I wasn’t busy accomplishing or producing or inspiring. I never learned to love myself in the middle of the brokenness, when I didn’t have a clue how to get out or how to overcome.

I am confident I will overcome, and I will find a way out. I don’t know how or when, and some days I want to give up, but eventually sensibility kicks in. And as I learned on the Annapurna Circuit, the only option is one step after the other — they can be steps forward or steps backward, but if I’m going to keep living on this earth, I might as well step forward.

Perhaps the only “ribbon” in which I can tie up this story is that finally confessing this, finally recognizing and admitting that I do not love myself in this state of brokenness, is the first step in learning how to eventually love myself unconditionally.

To love oneself in the brokenness is the only way out of the brokenness. 

Anything else is just a crutch, or some gauze to mask the wound and keep you going a while longer until your shaky foundations are stripped from beneath you.

We must keep going, and we must find self-love before we arrive.

For the past few months, I’ve tried incessantly to find solutions to my problems, to make changes in the way I’d encourage my followers to make changes. 

Business falls apart? Adapt! Start a new business! Modify your current business! Focus on things other than business! You don’t like where you live? Move! Find some new housemates or change of scenery! Mental and emotional health issues? Go to counseling! Read all the books and listen to all the podcasts! Practice gratitude!

And yeah, I’m sticking by this advice. It’s good advice! I’m going to keep trying all these things and more, and I hope you will, too. Because in my moments of clarity, I’m believing that despite all the walls we keep running into as we are trying so damn hard to make positive changes, we will eventually break through. 

But in the midst of a season of walking into a thousand walls, where our efforts don’t seem to accomplish results — that is when we need self-love and self-compassion the most. When we don’t have our paychecks and achievements and numbers and mental-emotional strength to prove our value and worth in the world, we must find something else. I must find something else. You must find something else.

Something deeper.

We must learn to love ourselves and show compassion toward ourselves when life is in chaos and our efforts don’t lead to solutions. When we fear that we are too exhausted and discouraged to try again. When we feel like a fraud and can barely bring ourselves to show up. When we feel like we’ve taken steps backward and are super embarrassed about it. We must. I must. You must.

I don’t have the answers and I haven’t figured this out yet. I have a few new ideas that I’ll be trying out over the next month in hopes they lead to some breakthrough and healing. They may work, or they may not. I may hit more walls and feel more discouragement and setback before I see progress. 

But I guess I’m learning that what I want even more than solutions, is to finally be okay with myself when I don’t have them. To finally learn to love myself when I don’t have the answers, when I can’t fix things, and when the tenets on which I built my identity and business and so much of my life are wiped out beneath me. 

What is my value when I can’t produce?

What is my value when I feel like I can’t fix or produce or accomplish or create or inspire or find solutions?

Actually, deep down, I do know the answer to this one: my value is infinite, and unchanging. Yours is, too.

I’ve seen my strength in small secret ways: biting my tongue when I want to lash out; doing a workout because I know I’ll feel better afterward, even though I just want to lay on the couch; having a hard conversation even when I fear rejection; getting back up and trying again every time I think I simply cannot try anymore; owning up to my most embarrassing and unresolved flaws (welcome to this blog post, world!); showing up when I fear I’m a fraud; responding to a setback with “that sucks” instead of “I suck;” cheering myself on whenever I see even the smallest glimpse of progress.

These aren’t the kinds of accomplishments that anyone would celebrate on social media, or that anyone around me would even recognize. But they’re the tiny clues reminding me that my inner strength is still there, my commitment to bettering myself is still there, my ability to love others is still there, my joy is still there — it may be hiding somewhere deep down, obscured by some messy piles of junk and dark shadows, but it’s all still there. I’m proud of those fibers that make up my DNA and that I know will shine again soon. Brighter and stronger, as I have every time I faced a mountain that seemed insurmountable.

I know you will, too. And it’s okay that we’re still figuring it out.

Until then, let us be kind to ourselves.