When I first read Little Women at 14, I thought it was a love story. I think I was right… and dead wrong.

Because Little Women *is* a love story, you know? The March sisters love each other. Laurie loves Jo. Meg loves John. Amy loves Laurie. Jo loves Friedrich. Alcott dishes up sisterly love; parental love; romantic love; epic, unrequited, reckless love.

And it’s beautiful. Classic and timeless.

But Beth dies. And Jo doesn’t love Laurie… not like that. And Amy always has… right?

So we’re all a little surprised when the story continues, and it still feels like love. It still feels like home. How can that be?

How can this be a love story if it’s so… messy?

Maybe it’s because Little Women is not about an out there somewhere kind of fulfillment.

In fact, as I see it today, this story is about the most powerful force in the universe. (Bear with me, okay? It’ll be worth it.)

*deep breath*

Little Women is about self-love.

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Let’s backtrack.

I wanted to see Laurie and Jo end up together just as much as the next 14-year-old girl. During that particular season of my life, nothing would’ve made me happier. When I walked into the movie theater on New Year’s Day, there was a tiny part of me whispering, “It could still happen.”

Alas, Greta Gerwig stayed true to the text. Huff.

So there I was, faced with the single most gut-wrenching adaption of the rejection scene ever created–and I wasn’t disappointed. Or sad. Or angry. I was crying, absolutely… but I didn’t know why.

Later on, at home, it hit me.

“I’m homely, and I’m awkward, and I’m odd–“

“I love you, Jo.”

“–and you’d be ashamed of me.”

“I love you, Jo.”

Little Women 2019

Those four lines. Those four masterful, precious lines, punched up just enough for the big screen. They tell the whole story, give all the subtext I was missing in my early teenage years.

We all knew that Laurie loved Jo. But did we know how he loved her? Did we know all the reasons why?

This is important because let’s face it: it’s easy to love people in spite of certain qualities or characteristics. We can love people despite their quirks and despite their insecurities. We can love them despite the way they think and despite the way they treat us.

But Laurie doesn’t love Jo like that… does he?

Laurie loves Jo because she’s a little odd. He loves her because she’s quirky. He loves her even when her brain is caught halfway between home and her next story. No, not “even when.” Especially when.

And I know they don’t end up together. I know the very idea of it fills Alcott’s grave with unrest. But it doesn’t make this any less true:

Loving despite is not the same as loving because. And there is nothing more powerful than loving on purpose.

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So what does any of this have to do with self-love?

Look at those four lines again.

I’m a mess, Jo argues. I’m straight crazy.

Does that sound like love to you? Because it doesn’t to me.

But recall what happens once Jo commits to her path. Remember, for example, in Greta Gerwig’s adaption, how Jo March plants herself in that dusty old attic and writes and scribbles and rearranges until she’s created a book. Her book. The one that saves her.

Recall how, in those scenes, she doesn’t pause to bathe or explain or worry about anything but the words staring up at her from the floor.

Jo has freed herself. Has she not?

And what is self-love but an expression of our highest freedom?

Jo can’t love Laurie the way he wants her to.

But she can begin to love herself the way he loves her. She can love herself even more.

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Yes, you deserve to be loved because, not despite.

Yes, you deserve romance, if you want it.

But here is what I’m learning (very, very slowly): We are the only people who can love ourselves the way we need to be loved. Individually. Uniquely. Wholly. Because.

And it is messy. It’s harder than it sounds. If you’re new to self-love, it can feel dorky and stupid and unsatisfying.

But the longer we sit with those feelings, the longer we embrace that which we seemingly cannot love… the easier it becomes to do just that.

And the more you love yourself, the more we, as a collective, learn to love each other.

The more you love yourself, the more we can love you, too.