Hunger taps on my shoulder for the fourth time in the past ten minutes. With a begrudging sigh, I set my knitting needles and halfway-completed shawl down on my quilted comforter, slip into my Adidas house shoes and mosey into the kitchen to preheat the oven for dinner. I glance at the clock: 4:30 p.m., no wonder I’m starving, I think to myself.

Minutes later the most dashing, intelligent, and handsome man sweeps into the house and cradles me in strong arms. Goodness gracious do I love my husband. Shortly after, we say grace and settle down to dine together. Some chores and homework later, the clock reflects the exhaustion we feel: 9:07 p.m. Once I have moisturized my face with various creams and potions we snuggle into bed together knowing that we will both be snoring by 10:00 p.m.

My life is wonderfully blessed, and I am extraordinarily happy. Oh yes, and this July I had turned twenty-two.

Before you begin questioning my peculiar lifestyle choices, I can tell you that twenty-year-old Abby was nothing like present-day Abby. I was an OCD-perfectionist communication studies major who was a well-known night owl and proud single lady.

My life was busy, accomplished, overwhelming, exciting, and everything you should experience in college. I had no idea what a purl stitch was or how to properly cook chicken. And I have absolutely no regrets.

With my busy lifestyle as a stressed-out college student and worry-wart, I had no time to entertain potential spouses, enjoy hobbies, or reading for pleasure. The lifestyle I had built for myself was deteriorating me. After months of convincing from my family and friends, I finally saw a therapist. (Ok, let’s be honest … more like three freaking therapists because I would stop seeing one once he or she got too close to actually uncovering the issues.)

I was ashamed of myself. How could I have let myself slip into this? I would ask myself. I was clinically depressed, anxious, and too proud to even let myself help myself. School was not the only factor that led me to this state of being. A past abusive relationship, toxic friendships, and ridiculous self-imposed expectations and goals nipped and nagged at my sanity steadily since high school.

I was terrified of outsiders knowing my struggle. Although I never viewed myself as perfect, I held myself to outrageous standards demanding perfection of myself at all times. On the surface, it appeared that my life was successful and perfect—I naïvely thought that someone as smart as me does not let herself fall into depression.

Dear reader, how incredibly wrong I was. Here is something that is fact; something that took me months of praying, therapy, developing self-care habits, family love and support for me to finally grasp: mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of, and having mental illness does NOT mean that you are weak, stupid, lazy, inferior, unloved, or unworthy.

Mental illness is no different than being diagnosed with diabetes, sleep apnea, or any other illness. Why wouldn’t someone with diabetes take insulin to help treat his or her diabetes; thus, why shouldn’t I take care of myself and learn to love myself to help treat my depression?

It began tentatively and cautiously, but once I began to love myself again, I began to receive parts of myself back again. I allowed myself to buy knitting needles and yarn to reteach myself the craft I never had time for. I stopped punishing myself and learned to actually appreciate my mistakes. I understood that I was complete and worthy regardless of my relationship status or what my report card showed.

Before bed, I picked up a novel and reconnected with my passion for the written word. I found myself being able to pray and speak to the Lord much more freely than I ever did before. And when I would look at my reflection in the mirror before I headed off to class, I saw a new confidence and compassion in my eyes I hadn’t witnessed before.

By learning to accept myself, and to fall in love with myself again, I was able to live life the way we were all meant to live life: knowing that we are each beautiful, extraordinary, and worthy of all the greatness life has to offer.

As I have mentioned before, I am incredibly blessed. In the two years following my realizations and self-love, I have fallen in crazy love with my soul mate and husband, I have unearthed my true passions in life, gained a new confidence to pursue my aspirations wholeheartedly, grown closer to my family and friends, nurtured a healthier relationship with Christ, and I have promised myself that I will make sure everyone I come in contact with, knows that they are beautiful, extraordinary, and worthy of all the greatness life has to offer regardless of present circumstances.

Those who are wiser than I (my parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, mentors, teachers, and many more) are to be cherished, respected, admired, and loved. What I am grateful for is that I will never stop learning from them. They inspire me, and I aspire to inspire others within the love and guidance they have gifted to me.

So yes, regardless of my age, I love knitting and crochet. I love to cook for others, regardless of my marital status. I love to write, regardless that I struggled immensely with English classes in high school. I love to show love and teach others to love themselves, regardless of any gender, religion, age, race, nationality, ethnic background, or socioeconomic status difference there may be between us.

I am so appreciative and thankful to be me, someone I fought to embrace for years. I want you to love yourself the way you desire and need to be loved. Know that you are never alone, and that nothing can limit you. I send all my love, support, and kindness to you always. And I wish you the sweetest goodnight because it’s 9:43 p.m. here for me.