My own practice of self compassion goes in waves much like my losses.

I will destroy myself in ugly hatred and then remember that there is a different understanding. I talk to myself as a friend, Beyoncé, my inner child, a cow. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. I allow myself to cry. I didn’t let that happen for years. I allow myself to feel. Sometimes feeling hurts worse. I let myself think. I turn off my thoughts. I get drunk. I get high. I’m tripping. I make myself vulnerable. I close everyone out. I’m an extravert. I’m an introvert. I look for love. I swear to be alone. I go for walks. I don’t move for days. I eat everything. I can’t eat. I am in love with you. I hate you.