I'm okay. I AM OKAY.

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe deserve your love and affection.” --Buddha

Isn’t that breathtaking? Yin sent me this quote after a rich conversation we had on the nature of self-acceptance.

It was prompted when I related an offhand comment from Said Husband. I have often accused him of “lawyering” me—asking questions that make me feel as if I should be on the witness stand. The other day, as he was about to launch a line of inquiry about some subject, he said, “This may seem like lawyering to you, but I’ve always asked questions like this. It’s just the way I am.” (Emphasis mine.) I don’t remember if he actually said, “You’ll get over it.” But that was the implication.

It raised my eyebrows—and my hackles. What a terribly unapologetic, self-justifying thing to say, I thought. How without regard for my opinion or interpretation. How dare he dismiss my accusation.

And then I realized that what I felt wasn’t just anger. It was also envy.

Why don’t I have that same solid sense of self-acceptance? I don’t ever imagine I’ll lose the tendency to push for personal growth and self-improvement; I don’t want to.

But why am I not more willing to be okay with who I am in the midst of that process? To be more compassionate about who I am in the moment would be deliciously spirit-freeing. To accept myself, if not because of my flaws, in spite of them? That is the definition of unconditional self-love. To stand firmly in all myself as a Child of God—recognizing even the God-ness that hides in my chinks and quirks. That would be wholly holy. And don’t I deserve that as much as the next person? Doesn’t everyone? The Buddha thought so.

We women, I'm convinced, have a more difficult time balancing the I’m Okay/You’re Okay model. We either accept other people, bending ourselves around their tendencies (even if it means denying our own). Or we expect other people to be as pliable as we are—and are hurt and disappointed when they don’t yield adequately to us. But aren’t we supposed to compromise—especially those we live intimately with? Aren’t they supposed to compromise, too?

Of course. But there is a line—thin, pliant, as easily broken as the strand of a spider web—between compromising and being compromised. Compromises, good ones, feel healthy and mutual. When we are compromised—subject to concessions that ultimately devalue or undermine who we truly are—an important line has been crossed. Like a spider web, you can’t always see it, but you feel it to sticking to you uncomfortably even after you’re sure you’ve wiped it away.

It made for a rich debate with Yin. She pressed the point that we have to be ready—especially in intimate relationships—to set aside some of the “just the way I am” stuff in the name the union. I agree. But I argued with her (maybe as a means of convincing myself) that boundaries must also be drawn, even in the deepest I love you relationships, so that I love ME is never forgotten.

She defended my hackled response to Said Husband’s comment. What kind of thing was that for him to say? I was right to be offended, she said. But whether his stance is wrong or not, he raised questions I need to explore: Do I deserve my own love, no matter what? And how can I learn the art of self-acceptance?