The Self Love Myth: Why You’re Still Holding Your Breath

Self-love is often sold as confidence.

Boldness.

Standing in your power.

But I wonder... what if self-belonging begins somewhere much quieter?

What if it's not about becoming more impressive at all?

How Are You When No One's Watching?

I've been sitting with this question for a while.

How are you when no one is watching?

Really. When you're completely alone. When there's no one to impress, no one to perform for, no one whose opinion matters in that moment.

Who are you then?

For years, I didn't realize how much energy I was spending monitoring myself.

I used to hold my stomach in... even in my own kitchen with no one around.

Why? I don't even know. It had just become automatic. This constant low-level tension. This sense that I needed to stay held, stay acceptable, stay... I'm not even sure what.

I'd check my reflection every time I passed a mirror or window. Not because I was vain. I was assessing.

Constantly assessing.

Is this okay?

Do I look acceptable?

Would I pass some invisible standard I'd internalized so deeply I didn't even question it anymore?

I used to joke that I got dressed like I was in a public changing room... even in my own bedroom. There was always this sense of being observed. Of needing to measure up.

That self conscious feeling whilst dressing, even alone, never went away... even as my body got smaller

And here's what really surprised me: this didn't go away when my body got smaller.

There was a time when I was in what most people would call my "best shape." I'd lost weight. Got compliments. Earned validation.

And still... something didn't feel settled.

Sometimes I even felt like a fraud. Like I should feel better than I did. Like I'd done the thing I was supposed to do, so why wasn't I fixed?

That's when I started to understand... maybe this was never about my body at all.

The Nervous System Factor

Looking back now through the lens of nervous system work, I can see what was really happening.

That constant self-monitoring? It wasn't vanity. It wasn't weakness.

It was protection.

Because here's something I've learned: belonging equals survival to your nervous system.

For our nervous systems, being part of the group, being accepted, being valued... that's not just nice to have. It's safety. In evolutionary terms, it's life or death.

And for women especially, belonging has often been conditional.

The messages we absorb... sometimes loud, often subtle... tell us things like:

Be agreeable, but have opinions. Be attractive, but not vain.

Be capable, but not intimidating.

Be accomplished, but not too ambitious.

Be strong, but stay soft. Take up space, but not too much.

These aren't always explicit. Sometimes they're cultural. Generational. Relational.

But your nervous system picks them up. And it adapts.

Because adaptation is survival.

So if you recognize yourself in this... the shaping, the scanning, the constant self-adjusting, the holding your breath, the tensing your body even when you're alone... I wonder if it might help to know: this isn't a flaw.

It's intelligent adaptation to the environments you've been in.

Your system learned that if you looked right, acted right, stayed acceptable... you'd be safe.

You'd belong.

And that strategy probably worked. For a while.

Until the effort of maintaining it became exhausting.

Until you realized you'd been holding your breath... literally and metaphorically... for years.

When Achievement Doesn't Create Safety

This is what surprised me most.

Even when external achievements arrived, internal safety didn't automatically follow.

I achieved "the body."

Got the compliments.

Earned the validation.

And I still didn't feel at home in myself.

In fact, sometimes I felt more like a fraud. Like I should feel better than I did.

Compliments didn't stop the bracing.

A smaller body didn't create belonging.

That gap... between external approval and internal ease... it revealed something I hadn't expected.

Maybe it was never about appearance.

Maybe it was about safety all along.

I'd been trying to earn belonging through achievement, through looking a certain way, through being acceptable.

But you can't earn your way into belonging to yourself.

At least, I couldn't.

And I wonder if that resonates for you too.

The Breath Factor

Let me bring this back to something really practical.

When you hold your stomach in, you can't take a full breath.

I didn't realize this for years. But when you're holding tension in your belly, you're breathing shallowly. Into your chest. Maybe even holding your breath without noticing.

And I find this really interesting... shallow breathing is a signal to your nervous system.

It says: something's wrong.

Stay alert.

So there I was, in my own home, sending my body the message "stay tense, stay vigilant, you're being observed"... even when I wasn't.

When you let your belly soften and breathe lower, you send a different message. A message that says: we're okay. We can settle.

This isn't just metaphorical. It's physiological.

Learning to let my breath drop lower, to let my belly soften, to actually breathe fully... that shifted something for me. More than any affirmation I'd ever repeated.

Because maybe self-belonging isn't about thinking differently. Maybe it's about feeling safe enough to soften.

Practicing Self-Friendship

So how do you actually move toward self-belonging?

For me, the shift didn't come through some grand "I love myself now" breakthrough.

It came slowly. Through what I started thinking of as... practicing friendship with myself.

Not in a cheesy way. But in a "what would I do if this person actually mattered to me?" way.

I started noticing:

Would I push a friend the way I push myself?

No. I'd tell her to rest.

Would I criticize her as harshly?

No. I'd speak to her with kindness.

Would I deny her rest, food, or space?

No. I'd encourage her to take what she needs.

Would I monitor her body constantly?

No. I'd tell her she's allowed to just exist.

So I started trying those things with myself.

When I noticed I was holding my stomach in, I'd consciously let it soften.

When I caught myself checking my reflection for the third time, I'd pause and wonder... what am I actually looking for?

Approval?

Permission to exist?

When I wanted to skip rest because I "hadn't earned it," I'd remind myself... maybe rest isn't a reward.

Maybe it's just what bodies need.

I wonder if self-belonging starts there.

Not in grand gestures. But in small acts of treating yourself like someone who matters.

What Self-Belonging Actually Feels Like

I'm still learning this, honestly. But what I've noticed so far...

Self-belonging isn't a performance. It's more like... a settling.

It's that nervous system state where you feel safe enough to stop monitoring. Stop performing. Stop proving.

It's being able to exist in your own body without constantly editing yourself.

Sometimes it looks like:

• Wearing something because you like it, not because it's flattering

• Speaking without softening your words first

• Eating without negotiating it

• Resting without justifying it

• Letting your belly be soft

• Taking a full breath

These are small acts.

Tiny, even.

But maybe they're more powerful than we realize.

Because each one says: "I belong to myself first."

The Work Is Ongoing

I want to be honest with you... this work doesn't have an end point.

I still catch myself monitoring sometimes. Still notice when I'm performing instead of being.

But now I recognize it sooner. And I have some ways to come back.

The breath is one of those ways.

When I notice I'm holding tension, bracing, performing... I pause.

I take a breath. A real one. Into my belly.

I let my shoulders drop. My jaw soften. My belly release.

And I remind myself... you're allowed to be here. You don't have to earn the space you take up.

That's the practice. Not perfection. Just returning.

This Is Big Work

Before I close, I want to acknowledge... what we're touching on here isn't small.

This is often years... sometimes decades... of subtle self-monitoring. Learned relational strategies. Protective patterns.

Ways of being that once kept you connected, kept you safe.

We don't form these patterns in isolation.

We form them in families, classrooms, workplaces, relationships, cultures that quietly shape what's acceptable and worthy.

So if you're noticing yourself in this conversation... please don't take it as evidence that something's wrong with you.

Maybe it's intelligent adaptation to the environments you've been in.

And gently unwinding it... at a pace your nervous system can tolerate... that often takes support.

This is a big part of the work I do with clients.

Not surface-level confidence work.

Not "just think positive" work.

But nervous-system-led self-belonging work.

The kind that frees up energy because you're no longer spending it monitoring yourself, shaping yourself, holding yourself in.

A Different Kind of Love

So maybe this Valentine's Day can be about a different kind of love.

Not the kind that's loud and bold and performative.

But the kind where you actually show up for yourself. Where you belong to yourself first.

Because from what I've noticed... both in my own life and with the women I work with... when you truly belong to yourself, you actually belong more fully with others too.

There's less performance.

Less guarding.

Less exhausting yourself trying to be acceptable.

More steadiness.

More authenticity.

More energy for the things that actually matter.

Maybe that's the kind of love that sustains you.

Not the kind you chase.

The kind you already are.

I wonder... what if you don't need to become more impressive at all?

What if you just need to come home?

Listen to the full episode of Rooted in Presence episode 122 for more on this topic, including the nervous system patterns underneath and some gentle practices for building self-belonging.

Take care, Carly 💗