The Long Road to Loving Myself

The second [commandment] is this: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

— Mark 12:31a (ESV)

It’s a commandment that sounds simple but cuts so deep. For decades, I wrestled with it — not because I didn’t want to love my neighbor; for the most part, that was easy, especially after becoming a Christian.

The problem was loving myself. If I’m honest, I still struggle with the second part of this commandment.

The verse assumes a foundation: to love others, you need to love yourself. But what if you don’t? And what if, deeper still, you realize you can’t love yourself because you haven’t fully grasped what it means to love God? I’ve spent much of my life caught in this cycle, yearning to love my neighbor as myself but falling short because my own heart feels like a battlefield.

Growing up, I carried a secret that shaped how I saw myself: I was born with gynecomastia, a condition that caused me to develop male breasts. It wasn’t just a physical trait; it was a weight on my soul. I could never take off my t-shirt in public. While other kids ran carefree at the pool or the beach, I stayed covered; that's why I never learned how to swim.

Gym class was the worst. In junior high and high school, “shirts and skins” games were nightmares. I always did my best to be on the “shirts” team, my stomach churning with dread whenever I wasn’t.

Standing there, shirtless, I felt like every eye was on me judging, mocking. I crossed my arms, hunched my shoulders, anything to hide. Those moments seared shame into me, whispering that I was defective, unworthy of acceptance — even my own.

In eighth grade, I experienced communal showers for the first time. Part of me found it exciting because I was able to see other guys’ bodies, but I also hated it, comparing their penises, pecs, and more muscular bodies with mine.

That shame didn’t stay confined to my body; it also bled into my spiritual life. I hated myself for constantly sinning against God.

For years, I struggled with same-sex attraction and acted on it. After decades of going out and looking for men, I started watching porn. Each time I gave in, the guilt and self-loathing piled higher. I knew what God’s Word said, and I believed it, but I couldn’t stop. It felt like I was betraying Him — and myself — over and over. There were times when the shame was suffocating. I cried out to God for forgiveness, promising to change, only to fall into sexual sin again.

I couldn’t look in the mirror without seeing someone who was failing, someone who didn’t deserve love — not from God, not from others, and certainly not from myself.

To cope, I turned to things I thought would fill the void. I started buying stuff — clothes, gadgets, anything that promised some kind of happiness. For a moment, it worked. A new purchase gave me a fleeting high, a sense that I was worth something. But the thrill always faded, leaving me emptier than before.

Food became another escape. I ate to numb the pain, to silence the self-hatred and shame. I ate until I was sick, until I couldn’t feel anything else. Over time, my weight climbed higher and higher, peaking at 497 pounds. My body became another source of shame, a visible reminder of my lack of control and my failure to fix myself. I thought if I could just have the right things or feel full enough, I’d finally be okay. But no amount of stuff or food could make me love myself.

I made several suicide attempts because I hated myself so much, even growing mad at God because He wouldn’t let it happen.

In 2007, I stopped being with men, and two years later, I stopped watching porn. The constant cycle of guilt and shame began to loosen its grip. I started to see glimpses of God’s grace, believing that His love for me wasn’t based on my performance. I gave up trying to kill myself and accepted that God wanted me here for a reason.

I lost weight — not all of it, but enough to feel like I was taking care of the body God gave me. I also began to let go of the need to buy things to prove my worth.

For the first time, I didn’t hate myself. But even now, I can’t say I truly love myself. There’s a difference between not hating and actively loving, and I’m still learning what the latter looks like.

Part of the problem is that I’ve been trying to love myself on my own terms, as if it’s something I can manufacture, but the Bible ties it all back to God. If I don’t love Him first — really love Him, not just obey out of fear or duty — I can’t love myself. And if I don’t love myself, how can I love my neighbor?

It’s like a chain: God’s love flows into us, fills us, and then spills out to others. Somewhere along the way, I’ve been blocking that flow. Maybe it’s because I still carry the scars of shame, or maybe it’s because I’m still learning to trust that God’s love for me is real, unshakable, even when I feel unlovable.

I’m not there yet. I still catch myself avoiding mirrors, not because of my gynecomastia or weight, but because I’m afraid of what I’ll see — not just my reflection, but the person I am. I still struggle to believe I’m worthy of love, from myself or anyone else.

But I’m starting to understand that loving myself isn’t about feeling perfect or even feeling good all the time. It’s about seeing myself the way God sees me: flawed, yes, but redeemed. Forgiven. Loved beyond measure.

It’s about letting His love reshape the way I view my body, my past, and my struggles. It’s about trusting that He’s still working in me, even when I can’t see it. I’m learning to lean into that truth and let it sink deep into my bones. Some days, I feel it more than others; some days, I still hear the old whispers of shame telling me I’ll never be enough. But I’m holding onto the promise that God’s love is enough, and that’s where the journey to loving myself begins.

It’s not a destination I’ve reached, but a path I’m walking. One step at a time.

As I navigate this journey, nothing — not my past, not my shame, not my struggles with self-love — can cut me off from God’s love. And if His love is unbreakable, then maybe I can learn to love myself and, in doing so, finally love my neighbor as myself. 

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

— Romans 8:38-39 (ESV)

Do you struggle to love yourself? What shame do you carry that makes it difficult to love yourself?