There are two roads: one of Fear, the other of Love.

Fear: that feeling, like prickly heat,
That suffuses one's face,
Bubbling up from a well in one's navel,
Seemingly inexorable.
Nameless and invisible, but well known to the body
Who has an intimate acquaintance with what it has
wrought.

Like a neglected child, I treat myself
With the same indifference accorded to me in the
past.
The Fear eagerly fueling the neglect.
Intentions of self-care, or possible self-regard, or
even insight
Are met with nausea.

Love: well, that is harder to define.
If one is capable of bestowing love on others
Then surely one can bestow it on oneself. Logical.

To begin that journey, one must
Walk through the gates of Fear
Without thought or analysis, and
Tell the craven voices within to be still