Self-pity doesn’t completely encapsulate how I used to treat myself – perhaps it’s more appropriate to call it self-disgust. I would close my eyes and remember all my past mistakes and I’d shiver with disgust – at myself. I would get goosebumps thinking about the horrendous treatments I allowed, enabled, and excused repeatedly. Once I moved on from mourning the useless relationship, I didn’t wisely get to a place of forgiveness and self-love. Unlike the women I see on social media who experience their “eat, pray, love” phase… that phase of glowing skin, releasing thyself from the shackles of needing a man, and traveling the world and taking stunning pictures … my own post-break up story did not touch the hem of the garment of such stories of redemption. It didn’t even occur to me to perhaps spend my new-found singleness discovering happiness. Rather, I decided that since I could …