Coming fresh – and by “fresh” I mean five months – out of a breakup is always a challenge. Make that breakup right before the holidays, and you’ve got yourself a really happy camper.
As soon as Christmas passed, it was like I was clubbed with an abundance of overpriced cards, chocolates and stuffed animals. I could not make a Target run in peace. Apologies to the happy couples out there, but Valentine’s Day is not exactly a holiday I was looking forward to.
Don’t get me wrong, the hopeless romantic in me can still appreciate a good pack of Russell Stover’s while watching a Jennifer Aniston double (possibly triple) feature. But with the post-relationship clarity I’ve gained, I realize the downright criminal exploitation of what was once just a Christian holiday for some priest who stood on the business of love (real). Now, it’s just an excuse to overspend on flowers and chocolate – which should be a regular occurrence, if I do say so myself.
Valentine’s Day could be a constant reminder of what I once had and lost, but instead, with time, it’s actually an indication of the growth I’ve made. Contrary to popular belief, you can enjoy it as a single pringle.
Something I’ve familiarized myself with these last few months is “self-love.” And, given I’m alone (sigh) this Valentine’s, those around me emphasize this oh-so-treasured concept – not only that but also that men ain’t shit. I don’t know which one is more important though, the line has gotten a little blurry.
Upon first hearing, “self-love” is a bit of a cheesy term. After some intense introspection, though, I’ve learned the importance of it. You can go down the classic route of giving self-affirmations in the mirror, but I prefer finding joy in the little things – making a good coffee, doing my makeup, or, you know, reawakening my Chris Evans obsession.
Getting serious now – there is an abundance of ways you can take care of yourself, and, at the end of the day, you know yourself better than anyone else. Even in this progressive society, for some reason, women are made to think they can’t do “it” alone. This ambiguous “it” is seemingly a metaphor for life, but I think it’s really just a load of bull.
We’re conditioned to think that we need a partner to feel fulfilled, so when we lose one, it’s like we don’t know what to do with ourselves. I spent so much time depressed in bed when really I should’ve been taking myself out on dates and doing little things to make me happy. I didn’t need a short – like, insanely short – broke boy to do that, but for the longest time, I thought differently.
For the committed partners out there, Valentine’s Day is a day for you to drop an unnecessary amount of money to show your bountiful love for your boo-thang. On the contrary, for us singles, it’s a reminder of our independence, rather than our loneliness.
When I got dumped (four times, yikes), I thought my world was ending. I’d gotten so used to my role as a girlfriend that I forgot what it was like to enjoy my own company. Part of my healing process has been learning to fall in love with myself again (cheesy but true).
I feel like so many of us hear the words “self-love,” and we run because of how corny it sounds. Yeah, it’s important to know it exists, but saying it aloud makes us inwardly and outwardly cringe.
Putting corniness aside, the art of being your own partner in crime is something I’ve come to appreciate. You really can’t love someone else until you genuinely love yourself.
I wasn’t excited for Valentine’s Day three months ago (and I’m still not), but I am excited to make myself a nice dinner and watch my favorite movie.
And I don’t need a boy to do it.