Some holidays just never resonated with me. Valentine’s Day is one of them.
Why? Because I never saw it as having real meaning.
As a child, it was about making cards, giving out candy, and—voilà!—you’ve celebrated Valentine’s Day. Was the purpose the candy? If so, cool—I loved those little heart-shaped candies with messages on them. But the cards? They ended up in a bag somewhere and eventually in the trash. It all felt empty to me.
As a mom, I dreaded the annual class list for my kids. They were too young to do the work themselves, so guess who had to? Yep, me. Off to the store I’d go—at the last minute, of course, because when you don’t want to do something, you procrastinate. Who willingly runs toward something they find draining, meaningless, and time-consuming?
I’d rummage through whatever was left on the shelves, find the best option that somewhat reflected my girls, and head home. Then, out came the teacher’s list of names, and the assembly line began—cards, candy, envelopes, sorting them into neat little containers to be taken to school. Then, the next day, my girls would come home with their own box or bag full of cards and candy that I now had to manage. Because there was no way I was letting them eat all that sugar. Cavities? Sugar highs? No, thank you. Once again, Valentine’s Day felt like more hassle than meaning.
And then, there’s the adult side of Valentine’s Day.
So many relationships—dating, married, situationships, mismatched connections—just struggling to stay afloat. But somehow, on February 14th, there’s an expectation of grand gestures—roses, candy, expensive dinners. Why? What’s the purpose? If the relationship isn’t working, if no one is happy, why the performance? To me, it felt disingenuous. People going through the motions because they’ve been conditioned to.
I’ve always questioned conditioning. I resist doing things just because "that’s what people do." I believe in doing what’s true, what’s real, what has meaning.
So, am I the Grinch who stole Valentine’s Day?
Not exactly. I don’t begrudge the holiday. If it makes you happy, if it’s meaningful to you, then by all means, celebrate it. I just wonder—have you ever stopped to ask yourself why? Are you celebrating because it truly fills you up? Or because it looks good to others? Because you don’t want to be the only one in the office without flowers? Because you want to appear loved, valued, cherished—even if that’s not your reality?
In 2019, my perspective on Valentine’s Day shifted.
Early that year, I told my then-husband that I would be seeking a divorce. No one knew—not my children, not my friends—because I didn’t want to rob my daughter of the joy of bringing her first child into the world. Her baby was due mid-February, though we didn’t know exactly when.
Then, on February 14th—Valentine’s Day—my first granddaughter was born.
That day, we were in the hospital waiting for her arrival when my ex walked in with Starbucks drinks for all of us. "Happy Valentine’s Day," he said. And I remember thinking—Why? Was this an attempt to win me back? To make me feel loved when I had spent years feeling anything but? The gesture felt hollow, a symbol of everything I had come to resent about this holiday—forced affection, empty rituals, going through the motions.
Maybe you’ll say I was being too harsh. But I’m just being honest about the thoughts that ran through my mind.
And yet, that Valentine’s Day turned out to be the most meaningful one of my life.
I had given birth three times, but I had never witnessed the birth of another child—especially one connected to my own legacy. My daughter, my firstborn, was becoming a mother. I had a front-row seat to her labor, her strength, her courage. And then—her baby’s first breath, first cry, first moment in this world.
It was love. Real, deep, undeniable love.
And in that moment, Valentine’s Day wasn’t about candy, cards, or conditioned performances. It was about love in its purest form—a life entering the world, a generational bond expanding, a new chapter of my own motherhood unfolding.
So, do I still think Valentine’s Day is a manufactured holiday? Yes. Do I think love should be celebrated every day, not just once a year? Absolutely.
But now, February 14th carries a new meaning for me. It’s the day I became a grandmother.
It’s a reminder that even our most rigid beliefs, our strongest opinions, can shift when something truly meaningful happens. That our perspectives can be reframed, repurposed, and reshaped in ways that bring us joy.
So, I’ve decided to open my heart even wider. To love more. Give more. Receive more—not just on one designated day, but every day. To embrace love in all its forms, from those who offer it freely and genuinely, 365 days a year.
That’s the kind of Valentine’s Day I can celebrate.
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