Love, love.

I participate in Valentine’s Day exactly as much as is required of me as a mother. I buy my kid a little something, order her a heart-shaped pizza, and carry on with my day. But truth be told, my inner-Grinch tends to extend well past the Christmas season. If I were the queen of the world, every single day would be a love-filled holiday, but it wouldn't be so goddamned commercialized. But alas, I am not the queen of the world. I am just a bitch with a blog.

I spent most of today intending to write. The words kept falling flat. Even now, sitting with the keyboard, it feels uncomfortable. There are a few hard truths buried in this shift, and leading with radical honesty means risking a little eloquence.

Because let’s be real: how can you be single on Valentines day and not audit your past love stories?

I have spent the last 25 months in a state of intentional singleness, and as I finally begin to open the door to the world again, the history is coming up fast. Emotionally, spiritually, and electronically. Goddamned Facebook memories.

On This Day. X Years Ago.

The digital archive forces a confrontation with the narrative I’ve been running with. The truth is, I was mistreated a couple of times. Very badly by one person in particular. There were a few toxic, short-lived connections sprinkled across the last decade. But more often than I care to acknowledge, I was actually cared for and protected by the men I dated.

I experienced healthy, real romantic love far more than I did abuse. I was treated the way I needed to be treated. I was loved the way I needed to be loved. Except for that one specific anchor of past grief, I am on good terms with my exes.

And therein lies the discomfort. This Valentine’s Day is hitting a completely different frequency because it forced a question I didn't want to ask: Why did I run with a victim mentality for so long?

Why did I always feel like I was never loved quite enough? Why did I constantly ask, “He loves me, but does he really see me?”

Why did I harbor such a profound sense of lack when the people across from me were giving me one hundred percent of what they had?

I don't look back on past Valentine’s Days with a bitter heart. I am not on that basic, reactionary "men ain’t shit" vibe. If anything, I feel a quiet, residual guilt that so many beautiful flowers, thoughtful gifts, and nice dinners weren’t as appreciated as they should have been.

Mind you, it was never entitlement nor a mindless lack of gratitude. The lack of appreciation stemmed from something far more terrifying: a deafening internal alarm telling me that something was fundamentally off in myself.

It rang for years, relationship after relationship. I would sit in beautiful spaces, telling myself you should be happy, you should be grateful, you should feel lucky, but the emptiness remained unbothered. Do you know how upsetting that is? Do you know how broken that can make a woman feel? Not only did I believe something was inherently wrong with my capacity to love, but I lacked the emotional language to express the void without pointing fingers at the person trying to fill it.

Lately, however, the alarm has gone quiet.

The contrast between the Facebook memories of yesteryear and the reality of my current mornings is staggering. Yesterday, I woke up early, got dressed up just for the aesthetic of the day, and walked my dog through the tree-lined neighborhoods for two hours. I found myself looking at the houses, thinking about future investments, watching literal rainbows trace across the sky. I felt an unshakeable sense of peace. I felt whole.

Those days are no longer rare anomalies; they are becoming my baseline reality. The joy it brings me is a kind of sovereignty I can barely put into prose.

I realize now that had I never arrived at this place of internal appreciation, I would have spent the rest of my life looking for love in all the wrong places. More importantly, I would have kept looking for God in all the wrong places.

My spiritual journey isn’t just healing my past; it has gifted me with the awareness of what I was actually missing: I was trying to force human beings to fill a canyon that only Spirit could bridge.

I have since cultivated a specific, diligent spiritual practice that nourishes me to my bones. Every single day, I find myself falling deeper in love, with the world, with my life, and with the people around me. For the first time in my 32 years, I have a relationship that not only protects me from harm but provides an immovable foundation of strength, purpose, and clarity.

For the first time, the void is occupied. With God.

LOL- God is my Valentine.

XO