The Best Valentine, Ever.

Every January, the shelves of the stores explode with a thousand shades of red and pink. It always reminds me of the most meaningful valentine I ever received, which also made me think of what I’d like my daughters to know as they navigate life and notions of romantic love.

First, let’s briefly talk Valentine’s day. Love, romance, hearts, flowers! I like that it’s an opportunity for people to express their romantic feelings and appreciation for their significant others.  But as we all know, it can be a tough holiday… for anyone. 

For those who are unattached, it can feel like the world is conspiring to make you feel inadequate.

From billboards pushing engagement rings, to streaming platforms pushing romcoms and love stories, to wistful messages like “Be Mine” or “Forever Yours” on candies, coffee mugs and succulent planters in every store, it’s impossible to escape this celebration of romantic love. 

And if you don’t have that and you want it, the day can feel like a huge downer.  You have to work to keep yourself from feeling down about yourself, even though the best part of you knows this one day shouldn’t make a difference. I spent the vast majority of my 20’s being single, and when I didn’t have V Day plans I’d head to TJ Maxx or Marshall’s after work to distract myself from my sorry state of singlehood with some retail therapy.

For those who are attached, it’s not a cakewalk either. 

It’s like Christmas for couples minus Jesus’s birthday and the day off of work.  From a young age, our culture conditions us to have very high expectations of Valentine’s Day, often involving material things or grand gestures. It puts a tremendous amount of pressure on people, maybe even financial strain.

Even if we’re aware of how commercialized and over-the-top Valentine’s Day has become, we can still find ourselves dissatisfied because we’re still subconsciously conflicted about the distance between what we have and what society has told us we should have. Instead of being grateful, we might focus on things we don’t have which inevitably leads to disappointment. 

This brings me to my story of Valentine’s day blues. 

I think I was a freshman in high school, many moons ago. Like most teens, I had my share of acne, I felt like my body’s proportions didn’t always make sense, and I was oh-so-aware of how my appearance was nothing like the girls I saw in TEEN or Seventeen or other fashion magazines that my friends and I devoured back then.

And on Valentine’s Day, at school, all day long I saw classmates get stuff from their boyfriends.  Some were surprised by flowers in their lockers. Singing telegrams were a thing back then, so one girl was approached by a gorilla in a tutu who sang the refrain of “I Just Called To Say I Love You” then handed her a bunch of balloons. Newer relationships or crushes got cards, conversation hearts, or small boxes of chocolate wrapped in crimson cellophane.  

I don’t recall friends exchanging valentine’s with friends in high school. Today, we have Galentine’s Day, thanks to Amy Poehler’s character Leslie on Parks & Recreation.  My daughters aren’t in high school yet, so they pass out valentines to their entire classes.  But back then, at least at my school, Valentine’s Day was for the lucky ones who were romantically involved.

Valentine’s Day for me? I got nothing. 

No boyfriend, no one even interested in me, meant no flowers, no stuffed animals, no candy.  

Waiting for my mom to pick me up after school, I was down, but I tried not to show it. My parents didn’t like the idea of boyfriends before college…they thought boys were a distraction, and that we should focus on our grades and extracurriculars instead.  So I didn’t feel like I could talk about how crummy it felt to NOT have a boyfriend who could give me something on Valentine’s Day. I could barely make sense of it all, but I pushed the thoughts aside as her car pulled up and I opened the passenger side door.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” my mom said, as I settled into the front seat and she reached behind me into the back seat to grab something.  Seconds later, she presented me with a small bouquet of a dozen miniature peach roses, with sprigs of baby’s breath peeking out from the sides.  The tag read, “Love you, pretty rosebud!” – her nickname for my sister and I.

My eyes started to sting as I teared up.  “Thanks mom,” I said, and gave her a big hug.  “They’re so pretty.”  As she pulled away and started the drive home, the first thought that came to my head was,

“I’m such a loser…the only thing I get on Valentine’s Day is from my mom.”

Some valentine. This is the worst Valentine’s Day ever. On the surface I was pleased and grateful, but that was my thinking for the rest of the ride home, and for a long time after that.

It wasn’t until years later, when I told a friend about my mom’s gift, that I had a huge perspective shift.  Instead of scoffing like I expected her to, she said “Aww, how sweet.”

Sweet? I mean yeah, but wasn’t it more pathetic than sweet? 

“Your mom was so thoughtful,” my friend said, almost wistfully.

And she was right. I had to sit with it for a while, but I eventually saw her gesture for what it was. 

My mom gave me flowers on Valentine’s Day because she loved me – not out of pity, not because she felt sorry for me, but because she wanted to celebrate me. 

The flowers weren’t a consolation prize, they were THE prize.  They reminded me of how grateful I was for her, for my family, for the power of small acts of kindness.  By giving me flowers, she nudged me to rethink what Valentine’s Day meant, and could mean.

Her valentine told me that whether or not I was liked by a boy, I was worthy of love; I was worthy of flowers. 

And though those flowers are long gone, I realize now it was the best valentine ever.

They’re tweens now, so this may feel less applicable to them (and I may get an eyeroll), but hopefully they’ll carry these truths as they navigate crushes, relationships, heartache and more in the years to come.