I love who I am and how I feel.

Love of the durable kind has never depended on its object being at its best. Think of someone who visited when you had flu and sat there while you said almost nothing, and did not need you to be good company. They were not putting up with you. They were simply there, on an unimpressive Tuesday, for the unimpressive version.

Extending that inward is unfamiliar work. It means the version of you that woke up tense and got through the morning anyway is also included — not tolerated, included.