Valentine's Day is coming, and I have complicated feelings about it. Not the angry kind. Not even the bitter kind. Just... the kind where you've lived long enough to know that the dream and the reality rarely match, and somehow you're okay with that.
I used to dream about Valentine's Day the way other girls dreamed about their weddings. Flowers. Chocolate. A card with actual words written inside, not just a signature. Maybe dinner somewhere nice. The whole romantic comedy package.
Instead, what I got was life.
The only Valentine's flowers I ever received in my entire existence came from my children. They were young. Working early jobs with practically no money. And they showed up with a bouquet they could barely afford, proud and a little shy about it.
I cried.
Not sad crying. The kind of crying that happens when you realize love shows up in ways you didn't script.
Let me back up.
Marriage #1: The Grand Wedding I Didn't Want
My first marriage wasn't built on love. It was built on inexperience, curiosity, and a series of decisions that made sense to a girl who had no idea what she was doing.
I grew up with strict parents. The kind who were awkward about dating, relationships, and anything resembling "the talk." I never had a proper boyfriend. Never went on a real date. I just read romance novels and wondered what it felt like to be wanted like that.
So when I got the chance to experiment—to see what dating felt like, what concerts were like, what holding hands in public felt like—I took it.
I wanted the experience. The dream. The thing I read about in books.
What I got was pregnant.
Without love.
I didn't want to be a teen mom. I didn't want that life. So we had a wedding.
A grand wedding.
The kind where the whole Philippine Senate showed up because my father-in-law was a well-known politician. The kind with a guest list I didn't make and a dress I barely remember wearing.
And then it all went downhill.
Let's just say I survived domestic abuse from a drug addict. I'll leave it at that. Some chapters don't need to be reopened. Some scars are proof you made it out, not invitations to relive it.
Marriage #2: The One I Avoided (Until I Couldn't)
This time, I married for love.
Controversial love, but let's not get into details.
I met him through work. And honestly? I avoided him at first. He was a foreigner. My English wasn't bad, but the idea of speaking it face-to-face with someone whose first language it was? My nose bled just thinking about it.
I felt intimidated. Out of my depth. Like I'd fumble every word and he'd realize I wasn't as capable as I seemed.
But he didn't care about my English.
He made me feel seen. Safe. Like I was worth treating well. Like love didn't have to hurt to be real.
For the first time in my life, I understood what it felt like to be loved the way the books described it. Not the drama. Not the grand gestures. Just... steady. Warm. Magic in the mundane.
This time, there was no grand wedding.
Just the two of us on a cruise ship with the ship officials. Then straight to the honeymoon in the Caribbean.
That's why we cruise every year—it's our anniversary. A reminder that we chose each other when we didn't have to. When it would've been easier not to.
We met late in life. He was 48. I was 38. And let's just say... it was complicated.
The Valentine's Day That Never Came
Fast forward to now.
I still have never had a Valentine's Day.
No dates. No roses delivered to the door on February 14th. No chocolates shaped like hearts.
I used to be upset about it. I'd see other women posting their flowers online and feel that small, quiet ache. The one that asks, Am I not worth celebrating?
But then my husband told me the truth: he doesn't believe in Valentine's Day.
He thinks it's a made-up holiday for merchants to make money.
And you know what? I didn't find this out until after we got married.
We were long-distance before marriage. Me in the Philippines. Him in California. So I thought maybe it was just the distance. Maybe when we were together, it would be different.
Nope.
Here I am, ten years later, and I've accepted it.
Is this adulting? I wonder.
Is this what mature love looks like? You stop waiting for someone to perform love the way Hallmark says they should?
Because here's the thing: my husband buys me flowers on random Tuesdays. He makes sure I have fresh flowers in my stateroom when we're on the ship. He sends surprise deliveries when he's overseas. He never forgets my birthday.
He doesn't do Valentine's Day.
But he planted me a rose garden.
Not for a holiday. Not for an occasion. Just because he knows I love roses and wanted me to have them all the time.
Every time I look at it, I think about how love shows up. Not in the way Hallmark tells you it should. But in the way that actually matters.
And honestly? There's some truth to what he says. Flowers do get more expensive. The restaurants are packed. The whole thing is designed to make you spend money on a feeling you should be expressing year-round.
Plus, Miley Cyrus said it best: I can buy my own flowers.
What Miley Taught Me (And Why It Matters)
I love that song.
Not because it's about being alone. But because it's about being whole.
I can buy my own flowers. I can hold my own hand. I can love me better than you can.
That last line? That's the one that broke me open.
For so long, I waited for someone to prove I was worth loving. To show up with the flowers, the plans, the gestures that said, You matter.
And now I realize: I don't need someone else to prove that anymore.
I can do it myself.
No more apologies for wanting things. No more explanations for needing space. No more waiting for someone to see me.
I see myself.
And that's the most important Valentine I'll ever get.
What Old Love Actually Looks Like
I think this is what people mean when they talk about mature love.
We don't need weekly date nights anymore. We don't need fancy restaurants or planned adventures.
My husband cooks dinner. I clean up. He watches sports. I read.
Sometimes we just sit on the bed together, each on our own phone, sharing videos that made us laugh. Cheering each other on when we win fake money on our casino slots app.
We're experimenting with juicing now. Trying to stay healthy so we can live longer. So we have more time for adventures together.
We met late in life. We're not wasting what we have left.
And here's the thing no one tells you about long marriages: the giving becomes effortless.
I massage him and don't expect him to massage me back. I give freely, lovingly, without scorekeeping.
We can do nothing together and still love it.
We can go to McDonald's drive-thru or Mel's Diner and enjoy it just as much as any five-star restaurant.
The flowers don't matter as much anymore.
What matters is that he's here. That we chose each other. That love doesn't have to be loud to be real.
So... Is This Being Over It?
I don't know if I'm "over" Valentine's Day.
I don't hate it. I don't resent it.
I just... don't need it the way I used to.
Maybe that's growth. Maybe that's just getting older and realizing that the dream you had at 20 doesn't have to be the reality that makes you happy at 54.
I never got the flowers on Valentine's Day.
But I got a rose garden. I got a man who shows up. Who cooks for me. Who makes sure I'm cared for even when he's overseas. Who sits quietly beside me and feels like home.
I got children who, even when they were broke, bought me flowers just to see me smile.
I got myself. Whole. Unapologetic. Capable of loving me better than anyone else can.
And honestly?
That's the most romantic thing I could've asked for.
So this Valentine's Day, I'm not waiting for flowers.
I'm buying my own.
And I'm celebrating the fact that I don't need a holiday to know I'm loved.
Because I already know.
What about you? Did you get the Valentine's Day dream? Or did life hand you something different—something better? I'd love to hear your story in the comments.
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