Loved Anyway: On Health, Self-Worth, and the Kind of Love That Stays

Dear Pet Mom,

There is something profoundly humbling about being seen at your most vulnerable, but being loved anyway.

When I was diagnosed with chronic spontaneous urticaria (CSU) and angioedema, I never imagined how much it would shake my sense of self. The hives and swelling appear without warning. They are unpredictable and often frustrating. Some days, it feels as if my own body has turned against me.

As a woman, so much of my confidence has long been tied to how I present myself to the world. Clear skin, a touch of makeup, tidy hair. There was comfort in feeling presentable, even if I was only running errands, hopping on a Zoom call, or passing by a mirror at home.

With this diagnosis, all of that has been taken away.

Some mornings, the swelling is so visible I do not bother trying. I stay in oversized clothes. I pull my hair into a loose bun. I avoid video calls. I cancel plans. And I sit in the quiet company of my pets, letting the day unfold however it needs to.

And yet, in the process of being stripped down, I have found something unexpected: comfort.

Even when my skin flares and I cannot wear any makeup. Even when I have no energy and spend most of the day lying down. Even when I look nothing like the version of myself I once worked hard to maintain, I am still loved.

I am loved by my husband, who does not blink when I show up to breakfast looking puffy. I am loved by my cats, who rub against me and settle into my lap without hesitation. They see me exactly as I am and never ask me to be anything else.

But perhaps the quietest and most important love I am learning to embrace is my own.

There are days when I am the only one who can offer myself kindness. I still have moments where I feel guilty for slowing down or feel embarrassed by my appearance, even when no one is watching. I have to remind myself that I am allowed to rest. That I do not have to earn softness or permission to care for myself. That I am still me, even when I feel less like myself.

And that love begins with me.

If you do not have a partner beside you, I hope you still feel this truth: you are worthy of love, exactly as you are. You are allowed to feel messy. You are allowed to not be “on.” You do not have to show up perfect to deserve care.

Sometimes love looks like brushing your hair gently. Or giving yourself time to cry. Or making a simple meal. Or curling up next to your pet and letting their quiet presence remind you that you are not alone.

And if you have a pet, then you already know this: animals do not care what we look like. They care that we are present. That we are near. That we are real.

There is a quiet freedom in being home. Not just physically, but emotionally. To be accepted by the people and animals we love. To be accepted by ourselves. To let go of the effort to appear fine, and simply be.

This kind of love is not loud. It does not require grand gestures. It does not ask us to do more, be more, or look a certain way. It is steady. It is patient. And it brings healing in ways I never expected.

If you are going through something difficult - whether it is a health condition, mental burnout, emotional overwhelm, or simply a season of not feeling like yourself - I hope you find a place where you can feel safe. I hope you have a pet, a friend, or a quiet moment that reminds you that you are still lovable.

And if not, I hope you can begin offering that love to yourself. I hope you can sit with your pain without rushing to fix it. I hope you can look in the mirror and see someone who is doing her best. Someone who is worthy. Someone who is enough.

Because the most beautiful kind of love is the one that sees you at your lowest, and stays. And that love, above all else, begins with you.