The Greatest Act of Self-Love

The following is an abridged excerpt from my book, Creatrix Rising. (She Writes Press, 2021) It’s a story about an act of self-love that changed the trajectory of my life. (This one’s for you,

Prajna O'Hara

)

At thirty-five years old, I found myself embarrassed and uncertain, navigating a life that felt like it had derailed years ago. Every afternoon, I worked in a law office, and every morning, I attended classes at the community college. I was returning to the pieces of a life I’d rejected twenty years prior. At a time when many of my peers were settling into the successes of their families and careers, I was driven by a mix of shame and just enough hope to attempt a do-over.

I never finished high school. Dropping out felt like a liberating choice, one that promised adventure. My action was the last straw for my mother, who drove me to Los Angeles and left me there with one month’s rent and her best wishes. I thought escaping home would bring me relief and freedom. But it didn’t take long for that fantasy to unravel. There were moments in LA that hinted at possibility, false starts that could have grown into something real. But I had a talent for self-sabotage. The single choice to drop out of school slowly eroded my self-esteem, festering into a deep well of self-loathing. By the time I reached my mid-thirties, the weight of regret had become impossible to ignore.

By then, I wasn’t using drugs anymore—even pot—and I’d started attending Unity Church in Santa Monica. It gave me a space to check in with something positive, if only for an hour each week. It might not seem like much, but that weekly routine sparked something small and vital in me: a flicker of self-love.

One Sunday, the minister invited us to write down a question for him to answer. I jotted mine down, folded it, and dropped it into the basket. My question was simple: “How do you know when you’re doing God’s will?” His response was equally simple: “You know you’re doing God’s will,” he said, “when you are in touch with the deepest desires of your heart and begin to act on them.”

Those words hit me hard. I knew I’d hurt myself by dropping out of school. The regret was like a shadow following me, a constant reminder of my perceived failures. But the minister’s words gave me the nudge I needed. Within weeks, I enrolled at Santa Monica College for the spring semester. That decision was more than just a step toward education—it was the beginning of self-forgiveness.

During my first year at the college, I met Smokey, a seventy-five-year-old student with a shock of gray hair and a name that suited him perfectly. Smokey quickly became a friend, a mentor, and a source of inspiration. He was in his final year at Santa Monica College, majoring in comparative French literature, and planned to continue on to UCLA. His story was remarkable: once a college freshman in the 1940’s, he was sidetracked by World War II. Smokey fought for his country and then, like so many others, put his education on hold to support his growing family. He became a welder, built a successful wrought iron business, raised his children, and only after retirement did he return to pursue his long-delayed degree.

I admired Smokey deeply. His life was filled with sacrifice and perseverance, qualities I felt I lacked. Where he had faced war and family responsibilities with courage, I had stumbled through my youth, with no awareness of anything like personal potential. But as I spent time with Smokey, I began to see my story in a new light. His presence gave me courage. His resilience made me feel less like a screwup and more like someone capable of change.

One afternoon, Smokey invited a few of us to his house. It was a modest home, adorned with wrought iron railings he’d crafted himself. His wife welcomed us warmly, treating us like special guests. Sitting in Smokey’s garden, talking about our future plans, I couldn’t help but reflect on how far I’d come since enrolling at Santa Monica College. Smokey lit a fire in me—a desire to forgive myself for past mistakes and move forward with purpose. His story made me believe I could rewrite my narrative.

Smokey often talked about returning to France, He wanted to visit the places he’d been during the war but this time with his wife and a renewed sense of peace. I understood the desire to revisit old battlegrounds and transform them into something beautiful.

In returning to school, I was able to return to myself. None of us are ever as broken or as alone as we think we are. Smokey’s legacy lives on in me—a reminder that it’s never too late for reinvention or reclamation, and that we all deserve the grace of a second chances.

Note: In 1991. I graduated from Naropa University with a degree in Writing and Poetics. I was thirty-nine years old. The framed degree hangs on my office wall, a reminder of how much I love the craft of writing; a reminder of Smokey; and an homage to the greatest act of self-love I ever committed.

Reflective Writing Prompts: 

• Can you think of a time when you made a life decision that pulled you from darkness into light; a choice that helped you to love and discover the best in yourself?

• Do you have a story about a helper that guided you toward your destiny?

Thank you, precious reader for allowing me to be a little part of your life. If you are so inclined, please show today’s post some love with hearts, restacks, and comments. And as always, I appreciate you. Thank you for subscribing. ~Stephanie