The Girl With The Gnarly Tattoo

I’ve written about this subject before, but it has so many aspects to it that I haven’t even dented the surface of it.

Self worth.

It’s the hardest thing to develop and maintain, in my honest opinion, but it’s something I’m working on diligently because I believe it’s the root of my depression. So, I’m going to be writing a lot about it.

Let’s start from the beginning, and why I even decided that my own self worth was the most important thing to work on*****. I’ve even written about this on my other blog, but here we go.

Zachary Levi. Angel sent by God to MAKE PEOPLE FEEL REALLY GOOD ABOUT THEMSELVES. And a nice man to look at, double win. He’s incredibly smart in a way that just…makes sense. Maybe it’s his religious background. Maybe he’s just super experienced in saying the right things. Maybe he’s got the part of life figured out that I haven’t yet. Either way, he’s a role model for me. An inspiration. The reason I find reason to get out of bed in the morning. Long story short, he’s got this quote floating around the internet from NerdHQ one year about self worth and knowing about it.

“Know your worth and value your own worth because so much of the value that people give to you or treat you with, you dictate to them.”

When I first heard this, I was like “uh what???” Then I thought about it. Then it made sense. The reason I have such a high respect and love for this stupid 35 year old actor with nice facial hair is because he presents himself as a smart 35 year old actor with nice facial hair who also seems to have a really good head on his shoulders and seems to also have his life figured out. Maybe he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. Maybe he hates himself and doesn’t see himself as someone worthy of praise, or love, or respect, or whatever. But because he puts himself out there as a guy with a clue and some self love in there, that’s how I perceive him.

So I thought about it. If I present myself as an idiot and I constantly degrade myself verbally and I show no self respect, love, worth, etc, then everyone else around me will start to believe that, too. And soon enough, everything I truly am (which is a lot, and I hate admitting it sometimes because I hate sounding like an egotistically prat) will be gone. No one will see it, not even me.

I’m wrapping this part up, I swear. So back in April, I went to see She Loves Me (surprise!!!!) with a good friend Donna; and at the stage door, I asked Zac if he’d write out the words “Know Your Worth” for me. I showed him my other tattoo of Tom Hiddleston’s “Love Your Life” quote (which is a completely different story, different post), and I explained to him how much it’d mean to me if I could have it written in his own handwriting. I’d been wanting it for awhile.

So he did. And I cried for a good 15 minutes after he did so. Then the next day, I went down to a tattoo parlor and got it done.

Why? What’s the point? It’s just ink on your skin, Rhia. You can’t even see it, it’s on your foot? What a dumb place to put it.

If I’m down, if I’ve gotten knocked down to the ground–metaphorically speaking–my foot, my feet, would be the first things I’d see getting up. A reminder that even in the deepest of my depression, I’m gonna try and love my life, know my worth. It’s stupid, yeah. It’s pointless, okay? It’s just ink in my skin, but it means so much to me. I look down at my feet and I nod, I take a deep breath and I nod, and somehow I’m okay.

My tattoos are nothing more than a constant reminder to me to love what I have, who I am, everything about my life. And it works. It actually works. So when Zac’s asked in an interview about stage door gifts and he brings up not a gift for himself, but a gift for me, I find myself so overcome with emotion and respect and love and happiness. My tattoo doesn’t only give to me, but it gives to others as well. It doesn’t only make me feel good, it makes him feel good too.

All in all, I’m changing bit by bit every single day. Every morning, I wake up loving myself a little more. Every night, I go to bed a little happier. It’s working. And I will forever be grateful to that stupid 35 year old actor with pretty good facial hair and a pretty nice brain in his skull. I don’t think ANYTHING will make him understand the gratitude I feel–not a letter and a box of Schmackary’s cookies, not a hug, not me weeping at the stage door. He will never understand.

This blog is a trainwreck, but I’m not going to proofread it because I’m honestly typing from my heart. I’m putting to word my thoughts and feelings over the entire thing. And it’s not even where I wanted it to go, WHICH IS A GOOD THING. I started this post with full intentions on hating myself for ruining a friendship of mine, and my struggles to forgive myself for it, and I wrote instead about how happy I am, and how much I actually love myself.

It takes time and effort, but it’s so worth it. I close this post with a song.


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