In Defense of Valentine’s Day, Sort of

Every February, all of those feelings of rejection and not being good enough come flooding back to me. My hatred of all things romantic started young. I was in elementary school the first time I learned what rejection felt like, and I would repeat it every year until adulthood.

Valentine’s Day in school was celebrated a bit differently back in the day. Parents weren’t served with a list of students and told that everyone had to get a card. In the ‘80s and ‘90s, it was all about breaking hearts and shattering dreams.

I was one of those kids that loved music. I made mixtapes from the radio. I would sit on my bed every afternoon after school with my hot pink Casio radio and wait for that perfect song to come on next. Thirty-five years later, I still remember my third-grade teacher Mrs. Peterson. A lot happened to me in third grade. I had my first crush and my first heartbreak when I realized I was just too nerdy for him. Mrs. Peterson knew that the best way to heal a broken heart was through music.

The first Valentine’s Day I remember celebrating, I had to be about nine or ten. We colored pictures for our parents and made cards to take home. At the end of the day, we were allowed to exchange cards. Like the overachiever I was, I stayed up the night before making cards for everyone in the class. I signed my name with little hearts.

The next day at school, we when exchanged candy and cards I didn’t get any. I came home feeling defeated, and somehow even then, my young brain registered the mantra I would carry with me until I was old enough to shed it, "You’re not worthy, you’ll never be good enough."

Every year of elementary and middle school, the scenario repeated. I gave out cards and received none in return. And every year, my heart hardened a little more. Each year I lost another tiny piece of hope that waited for someone to notice me, for someone to like me.

High school wasn’t any better. The candy of elementary school was replaced with flower grams for the girls and heart lollipops for the boys. Every Valentine's Day, I grew envious of the girls that would walk around school all day with their bouquets sticking out of their backpacks. I wished it was me but knew that it would never be.

In my senior year of high school, my mother went so far as to persuade a neighbor boy to send me a flower, but it didn’t work. He kept the money or used it to buy his valentine an extra flower. I wasn’t allowed to date, and that was fine because no one wanted to date me. I went to prom with a neighbor who went to a different school.

I looked forward to college. I wanted to get away from my strict upbringing, and I knew that somehow I would find my person there. But I was naïve about dating. I wanted to date so badly, but like in high school, no one wanted to date the girl who looked way too young to be in college. Instead, I found my first boyfriend online.

He was a few years older than me. A few were more like ten. He lived in my home state, so we only got to see each other when I was home on break. At first, it was terrific. I relished the attention: the phone calls, emails, and little surprises he would send me in the mail. I couldn’t wait for Valentine’s Day to come. It was the first I would ever celebrate with my boyfriend.

I remember he bought me a Shania Twain CD and a tub of my favorite ice cream Dulce de Leche. He knew my love language. The next day he broke up with me. I cried the entire train ride back to school. But instead of feeling sorry for myself, I listened to The Cranberries, and to this day, whenever I hear a song from that album, I think of him. I haven’t listened to Shania Twain since, nor have I celebrated Valentine’s Day.

If my twenties had a chapter title, I could call it the Friends with Benefits years. I don’t know why women allow themselves to be in this position. Oh wait, I do know. It’s because we want that person so badly that we’re willing to take anything we can get, even if it means being involved in something that isn’t good for us.

I met him on my birthday. I thought if anything were fated to last, it would be us. He told me that he was my birthday present. He said lots of things because he knew all of the right words to say. He listened, and more than anything, I needed someone to listen to me. But he did more than that. He heard me. He was the keeper of my secrets, my long-lost wishes, and when I thought of him, I always heard the song Anonymous.

“I wrote our names a thousand times to see yours sitting next to mine. And sent you flowers cards unsigned, Anonymous. In days to come, like days that passed. My heart beats for you, always has, although you know me only as Anonymous.” – Garth Brooks

I spent ten years waiting with the hope that one day he would see me differently. One day he would wake up and realize he was in love with me all this time. It would be just like in the movies. But it never happened. He would always meet someone, and then I wouldn't hear from him for a while. They’d break up, and he’d call me back. We’d start all over again.

There’s something that changes in a person when they realize they aren’t your first choice. It makes you feel like you aren’t worthy of love and that you’ll always be their back up plan.

Yet, I kept going back because I had issues so profound that needed to be healed before I could love another human and expect them to love me in the way that I needed. My problem was no different than most girls my age who grew up without a father. When I finally got up the courage to search him out, he pretended like he was happy to see me. Maybe in some way, he was.

He made promises that I believed he would keep. Even though I was an adult, it felt good to have a dad. But he was never my father, and he never kept his promises. Any resolutions that I needed, I would have to make for myself. Sometimes you don’t get the closure you need or deserve.

They say a father is supposed to be the role model for the kind of relationship his daughter will want and have. I never had that. Instead, I went from relationship to abusive relationship, looking for something and not knowing what it was. I always wound up with men who were amazing spinners of deception.

I got engaged, broke it off. Met someone else, got married, and had children. Only to get divorced and then remarried to someone else. Marriage is hard work, even without all the baggage.

Relationships are all about compromise, marriage even more so. The problem with compromise is that I always felt like I was the person chipping away tiny pieces of myself to keep someone around. I wanted to be accepted, and most importantly, I wanted someone to know me and all of my shortcomings and love me anyway.

Sometimes the longer you’re married, the more you feel like you’ve lost a piece of yourself. Along the way, I’ve lost so much of myself that sometimes I look in the mirror, and I don’t know who the person is staring back at me. I wish I were young again, not for the youthful appearance but to tell myself that I’m worthy. To make different choices, to stay who I was before life and love changed me.

I know I can’t go back in time. The only thing I can change is my future. I had to be willing to fight for the life I wanted for myself. I needed to learn to love myself and my life. Sometimes I get so hung up on what should have been that I forget to see what is.

I stopped believing in Hollywood romance a long time ago to the dismay of my husband, who is a hopeless romantic. But every now and again, I watch a romantic comedy, and I wonder what our love would be like if life and past loves hadn’t changed me. I try to take down the wall I built around my heart, but it’s tall and sturdy.

If my life were one of those movies I watched as a kid when I wished on stars that somewhere out there was someone for me, then this would be the point in the story where I get my happy ending. But happy endings aren’t like those in Hollywood.

My happy ending isn’t all fireworks and moonbeams. It’s simple, everyday life. Being surrounded by those you love and the people who care for you in return. The Hollywood ending isn’t driving off into the sunset. It’s sitting on your back porch in the quiet stillness of the evening while the kids are inside playing Minecraft with their friends. It’s the friends you can count on to be there when you need lifting up. But mostly, it’s knowing that even if you don’t feel like you’re worthy of love and that you aren't good enough to be someone’s first choice, you are.

If this tugged at your heartstrings or put you in your feelings then give me some love by clicking a heart and tips are always welcome but never required. Thank you for reading. xoxo