Napkin Wisdom

“You need to stop being insecure. I’m sick and tired of you writing like you belong in the bin behind a Zara.”
That’s how my best friend responded to the seven-part voice memo I sent her between 4:20 and 5:05 a.m. She wasn’t being mean. She was being right.
“Start writing some self-help shit,” she said. “Act like you’re worth something. Because you are.”
And honestly? She was right. So, this morning, in a café where I barely finished my soy milk matcha, I did something drastic: I picked up a napkin, borrowed a pen from the barista, and wrote down 10 things I love about myself.

I won’t lie, it felt unnatural. Like watching Anna Wintour without her oversized sunglasses wearing non-florals. But the thing about personal brands is that they can evolve. And maybe this is mine soft-launching optimism.

Sometimes, what you need most isn’t a therapist or a full moon ritual. Sometimes, you just need a friend to drag you by the metaphorical wrist and shove a mirror in your face. Sometimes, you need napkin wisdom — the kind that happens mid-breakdown, over cheap gin, with shaking hands and stubborn hope.

1. My eyebrows.
They’re thick. They’re bold. They walk into the room five seconds before I do, and in this cultural moment, with Charli XCX, Cierra O’Day, and even Sabrina Carpenter donning bushy brows like battle armour, that makes me feel current, maybe even cool. I used to hate them but to whoever said social media is bad for you, this is living proof that social media helped me.

2. My nose.
It’s been the subject of many unsolicited comments, but when someone once said, “I bet I could punch your nose and it’d still look perfect,” I realized: okay, that’s psychotic, but also kind of flattering. (Don’t worry, I stay away from her once she’s five drinks in.)

3. My singing voice.
Specifically, my singing voice. I know it’s very Rachel Berry-meets-X-Factor UK Rachel hopeful, but I mean it. Stick me in a karaoke room and I command it like the Navy. Bonus points if there’s disco lighting.

4. My skin.
It’s behaved like a well-trained boarding school student. No teenage rebellion, no sudden breakouts, just a reliable, (occasionally) dewy glow. I know skin isn’t a personality, but in a world of 12-step routines and panic over clogged pores, it’s my silent flex.

5. My hair.
The perm rumors? All natural, babe. I spent most of my life keeping it short, never giving it the chance to be what it is now: big, bouncy, Bob Ross-core. I love when strangers ask what I use in it and I get to say, “Water and don’t tell it it’s an important day.”

6. My creativity.
Not just in writing, but in how I approach everything. I once rewrote the lyrics to ‘thank u, next’ to reflect my history with certain teachers and performed it as a ballad in the school toilet for acoustics. There was applause. From me.

7. My ambition.
Even at my lowest, something in me keeps lunging forward. It’s like survival instinct. There are days when everything feels still and grey, but I still plan outfits for futures I haven’t lived yet. I write applications I’m not ready for. I dream as if I am paid handsomely for it. I’ve never been a candle in the wind. In fact, I’m more like the chandelier Sia wants to swing like.

8. My empathy.
I clock shifts in tone like a therapist on his fourth Red Bull. It’s draining, sure. But it’s also the reason people feel safe around me, and why I know when to say, “let me call you back” instead of “Kim, there’s people that are dying.”

9. My strength.
I hate how well I hide my pain. People assume I’m fine because I’m functioning, which is both the curse and the miracle of being emotionally self-sufficient. But I know what I’ve carried. And I know I’m still here.

10. I notice the little things.
The way someone’s voice softens when they talk about a childhood pet. The shift in sky color at 6:42 p.m., the way silence feels different depending on who you’re with.

Maybe this napkin list wasn’t just an assignment from a fed-up friend. Maybe it’s the beginning of a new ritual. A reminder that even in my worst mental outfit, there’s still something worth loving. Maybe the cure to spiraling isn’t silence — it’s napkin wisdom. The type that forces you to pause mid-breakdown and say, “Okay, but I have really nice curls.”

Because sometimes the bravest thing you can do isn’t surviving the fall. It’s standing up in the middle of your own insecurity spiral and saying, “Wait fuck that shit, I like myself.”