Am I Even Worth It?

A few weeks ago, I decided to sell the many, many scarves I’ve crocheted over the years. I listed them on several online platforms, and on our local neighborhood app, one specific scarf quickly caught people's eye. I have to admit: it was a beautiful scarf. Gorgeous, warm colors, and a really practical design. I had poured a lot of time and love into it, and it felt great that people recognized that. The first woman who messaged me to buy it asked how much I wanted for it. I replied that 12 euros seemed fair to me, and asked if she agreed. Her response caught me completely off guard: "No, that’s way too low. I think 20, or maybe even 25 euros, is a much fairer price. When can I come pick it up?"

What she said really touched me. I knew she was right, but why does someone else have to tell me that? Why can’t I see it myself? Why do I undervalue my own skills and the hard work I put into it (which is about 20 hours per scarf on average, depending on the length and the stitch)? Why do I feel like I shouldn't accept 20 euros, but 12 is fine? Why do I grant myself so little?

Yesterday, I had an experience that made me ask myself the exact same question. I was walking to the grocery store, and because I wanted to enjoy some nature and get some exercise, I decided to take a detour through the park. On my way there, as I was crossing the street, I suddenly spotted a five-euro bill lying right in front of me. To be honest, I had absolutely no idea what to do with it... My instinct was to just leave it there for someone else to find, so it could make their day. Taking it myself felt a bit like... stealing. Yet, if someone else were to find it and pick it up, I’d say, "Good for you! Enjoy it!" But apparently, I can't say that to myself. I bent down, picked it up, and decided to slide it into my pocket for the time being. I continued my walk and started praying about it ("Walk and talk," as I sometimes hear people say). I told God that if there was someone begging at the entrance of the grocery store, I would give it to them. That way, maybe they could buy something nice to eat. Honestly, I could almost hear God say: “Nathalie, you have to scrape together every single cent because you’ve given way too much away to others in the past—because you couldn't receive it, because you didn't think you were worthy. Sometimes you want to buy meat but you can't, so you end up eating eggs yet again. Now please, please, please (!), go into that store AND BUY YOURSELF SOME FOOD! Don't you dare give it to someone else! I put this here for you to find. Please, accept My love and this gift from Me.”

Ugh. What an internal battle followed. Because do I even deserve something like that? I don’t think so. Well, I decided to make a deal with God: if someone is begging out front, I will pray about it again. If there’s no one there, I’ll use it to buy food for myself.
Surprise, surprise: there was no beggar outside the store. I used the money to buy a pack of chicken breasts on clearance, which meant I only had to pay an extra 1.5 euros out of pocket. I must admit, I felt a little ashamed when I handed the money to the cashier. But that evening, as I ate the chicken, I mostly felt incredibly blessed and loved. That chicken was a gift for me. And no matter how I feel about it, I just have to accept it and let it fill me up—both with the chicken and with God's love and protection, in this case!

After my walk, I had two long, deep phone calls. Both conversations lasted an hour or more, and with both people, I heard the exact same pain, the same sadness, and the same question surface: "Am I even worth it?" From a distance, because I am not them, nor am I their past or their wounds, I can say with absolute conviction: "Yes, you are worth it! You are worth it a thousand times over! You deserve to be surrounded by good people, to receive love, and to take good care of yourself. Of course you are worth it!"
When I tell them that, I do it with so much conviction. I mean it with every fiber of my being. But why can't I say that to myself? And why can't they say it to themselves?

In recovery, I learned that "why" is not the question we should be asking. The only right question is: "How do I move past this?" And I believe the answer is simply by doing it. By buying that chicken for myself, by allowing myself to accept 20 euros for a scarf I crocheted, by letting myself be surrounded and loved by others. By working through that heartache, together with God. By letting Him heal it. "The measure we gave is the measure we got back." In this case, it’s not about giving to others—I did that for so many years until I was completely empty—but giving to myself. The more I love myself and the more I dare to receive love from others, the more old wounds can heal. A broken leg can heal too. Give it rest, time, and proper care, and it’s as good as new. It’s no different for me, or for any of us.