By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

A friend took me out to dinner recently (a nice treat!) and I ordered a cobb salad with grilled chicken breast. Simple enough, but as I sliced up the chicken and took a bite, it was clear that the meat was not quite thoroughly cooked. Here’s where it gets screwy: I ate half of it anyway.

On a normal night I would have waved down our server and politely requested that the meat go back on the grill for a few more minutes till it was cooked through. But this particular night came at the tail end of a long week of self-loathing. I’d spent days focusing on business failings, financial failings, and personal failings (among them, feeling like the only childless woman among my überly-reproductive peers). I risked getting violently ill because at the time I thought to myself It’s not worth it. Which, if you haven’t already guessed, translates to I am not worth it.

I thought about this a lot in the days that followed, and after I stopped beating myself up, I remembered something someone taught me long ago. If I were a mother lioness and my baby cubs were at risk, I would be fierce about protecting them. If I’d paid good money for an expensive meal for my family, I would insist that it be served to my satisfaction. If my child was served a plate of raw meat, I would immediately return it to the kitchen. So…isn’t it time I start taking care of my inner child?

Much of my life I was groomed to be polite, not make waves, keep the peace. And there’s a place for that. But as I work through this process of grieving and healing, I think there’s also a place for standing up for myself, speaking up, being fierce on my own behalf. I can start with something as little as refusing to accept bad chicken. Because, as the classic L’Oreal campaign has tried to imprint in us, I’m worth it.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.