How to Truly Love Yourself (and Why It Matters)

🌀 Celebrating those who awaken our ability to love ourselves deeply.

The Migration Triangle

From 2007 to 2016, I followed a seasonal migration route between India, Nepal, and Thailand. My life was punctuated with delivering yoga teacher training, pilgrimages and treks, meditation retreats and monasteries, and escaping cold or monsoon rains.

By 2010, my partner and I moved our yoga school to Kathmandu, Nepal, making the Himalayas my more permanent home while continuing my regular travels across this South East Asia triangle. It was a blessed chapter of my life. Asia spoke through the sweetness of mangosteen, the warm gold of mangoes, and the fragrance of lychees—a time I will always cherish, just as these flavors linger, forever etched in my memories.

In Nepal, I built a network of expertise to complement the training we were offering—particularly Ayurveda and Astrology, the two sister sciences of yoga. Traditionally, yoga is for the mind, Ayurveda for the body, and astrology serves as a guide—bridging the physical and spiritual realms.

It was through this journey that I met Dr. Rishi Koirala, an Ayurvedic doctor unlike any other.

A Master Healer

I sat in the waiting area of Dr. Rishi’s clinic, Ayurveda Health Home in Dhapasi, a suburb of Kathmandu. I would let myself drift, immersed in the signature aroma of Ayurvedic oils and herbs, watching the staff move like bees in a hive—graceful, harmonious, each with a radiant smile. There was a buzz in the air, something almost intoxicating in its vibrancy.

A sign on the wall caught my eye:

"Health is the absence of all conflict."

Here, diseases weren’t seen as something to be "fought"—they were conditions we were given, invitations to dance with the forces of the Universe, moving in and out of balance.

Over the years, many have asked me how to find a true yoga master. My answer was always the same:

Don’t look at the teacher. Look at their closest assistant. If the assistant is not enlightened, run!

If the person closest to the teacher has not awakened, what are the chances that you would? At the clinic, the vibe was so high I was ready to receive from anyone. But I digress.

A consultation with Dr. Rishi was unlike anything else. He never asked why I had come—he would insist that I let him find the answers. And he was always spot-on. If I had questions, they would be answered before I even spoke them.

By the time our session ended, I always left lighter, elevated, as if infused with light. It wasn’t just a consultation—it was vibrational healing at the deepest level. Something those familiar with the Indian sub continent culture would recognize as Satsang: sitting near the truth.

We would share personal projects, exchange ideas close to our hearts, and the meeting would end in an aura of magic. As I reached the door, without fail, he would always say:

“You are a very healthy human. Your practice is working. Please, don’t forget to love yourself.”

I would bow with a namaste, acknowledging his words, and move on.

Singapore

In July 2013, I was traveling through Singapore after a long journey that had taken me to India, Hong Kong, and Bali. In the days leading up to my encounter with Ama Lia (see my post "The Rise of Shakti"), I was wandering in the streets near the Sri Krishnan Temple, when I noticed the office of a Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) doctor.

Curious about the modality, I made an appointment for the next day.

The doctor was a sweet, middle-aged Chinese woman, calm and soft-spoken. She moved through her protocol with precision, her presence reassuring. I was fascinated. It reminded me of Dr Rishi’s practice.

Just as I reached the door to leave, she stopped me.

"You are a very healthy human. Yet, if you allow me, I would say—please, don’t forget to love yourself."

A strong shiver flowed through my system. It was as if the universe had momentarily glitched—a wormhole had opened, connecting a space beyond this reality.

For the rest of the day, I wandered the streets of Singapore, profoundly shaken. The words weren’t new—I had heard them countless times before.

But I had never truly listened.

I knew what the words meant, but I did not know what they meant for me.

And in that moment, I understood:

I was too hard on myself. I had failed to love myself in some way.

It was suddenly crystal clear—a superior intelligence had found a way to break through my resistance, to deliver a message I had refused to hear before.

The Place of Discipline

Does this mean that discipline and austere practices had no place in my journey? Certainly not.

Earlier in my path, my ego was too strong, too out of control. I still remember the first time my Aikido teacher asked me to fold his hakama.

I was fuming.

“How dare you? I am not your servant!”, I thought, but these thoughts were so strong I am sure he heard them.

My ego went into full resistance, completely blind to what was really happening. I failed to see it for what it was:

A privilege—a gesture of trust from the teacher.

A sign of reverence—the silent invitation to become his number one apprentice.

And hunch—I would soon have to fold my own hakama so it was time to learn.

I could not see it then. I was unable to surrender, unable to recognize that discipline was necessary—that it was the fire needed to break through the thick layers of ego I was carrying, without even knowing they were there.

Yet at some point, the pendulum had to swing.

I needed to switch gears—or rather, to balance discipline with self-love.

I had been living under the subtle influence of ego-driven striving—pushed by unseen forces within me. And when I failed to hear the message from Dr. Rishi, the universe sent another teacher—one I never expected.

A random Traditional Chinese Medicine doctor became an unsuspecting emissary, shaking me awake from my sleepwalking habits.

The signs were always there. I just hadn’t been listening.

A Turning Point

The timing of this realization could not have been more perfect.

I had come to Singapore questioning my next step—whether to go to India for a three-year ascetic retreat. This moment prepared me for the answer to come through Ama Lia in the following days.

I had spent years pushing myself through severe disciplines, believing that transcendence required control and austerity. And I had harvested many fruits from this work. My meditation was deep and undisturbed.

But now, I saw the hidden trap of asceticism—how it could become a refuge for the self-critical voice.

I don’t fully love myself, so I practice hard to make myself better.

It was a cycle of striving—a subtle denial of my own wholeness.

From there on, I would walk a different path.

A Door That Never Closes

Dr. Rishi passed away in August 2021, and I cannot help but feel his absence. Or perhaps, more truthfully, I feel his presence in ways that transcend the physical plane.

I can still feel the knob of his office door in my hand, still see myself turning back over my shoulder to say goodbye, only to hear his voice one last time:

"Don’t forget to love yourself."

That door will never close.

The connection he built between us remains, unshaken by time or distance. The depth of his message still moves through me—a whisper woven into my days, a presence that lingers like the scent of herbs steeping in warm Ayurvedic oils. Slowly, gently, it infused itself into me, not through force but through patience and grace, until it became a part of my very cells, my DNA.

So if you’ve read this far—

Can you hear Dr. Rishi speaking to you through my words?

Please, don’t forget to love yourself.