Valentines isn't always candles and roses
Valentine’s Day can be… a bit strange, can’t it?
There’s this unspoken rule that it’s meant to be romantic. As if romance is the only kind of love that counts. That connection only matters if it involves candlelight, a card, and some sort of pre booked plan you remembered to organise in between everything else.
And here’s the thing.
You can be in a solid, long-term relationship and feel oddly relieved when Valentine’s plans don’t quite come together. Properly relieved. Because the thought of getting dressed up, sitting upright at a restaurant on a Saturday night, and making polite conversation when you’re already tired… feels like a lot.
You can be single and absolutely fine with it. Content, even. Right up until you pop into the supermarket for milk and suddenly you’re navigating red balloons, heart-shaped everything, and shelves that seem to be asking you how you feel about it all.
And you can be deeply loved. Steady, safe, known. And still feel a bit flat about the whole day without being able to point to anything that’s actually wrong.
None of that fits neatly inside a velntines card.
I think that’s why Valentine’s often feels less romantic at this stage of life and more… reflective.
Not in a dramatic, reinvent-your-life way. More like the quiet mental stocktake that happens while you’re unloading the dishwasher or driving to Pilates. You notice what feels easy lately. You notice what feels like effort. You notice how relieved you are not to have to perform anything extra.
You notice how tired you are. Not collapsing on the sofa exhausted. Just carrying alot.
Which probaby explains the memes an the jokes about takeaways and pyjamas by 8pm. The exaggerated declarations of love for the dog.
And honestly? A deliberate opting out. Something comforting for dinner. An early night. That can sound perfect.
That isn’t bitterness. It’s realism.
Because at some point you realise that romance is actually quite easy to perform. Anyone can book a table, buy flowers, light a candle. But living inside your real life? That’s the part that tells the truth.
The work. The hormones. The changing body you’re still learning to be at home in. The parents who need more from you now. The grown kids who still need you, just differently. The constant mental tabs open in your head.
That’s where love either steadies you… or it doesn’t.
And maybe that’s the real gift of a day like this.
A small pause.
A moment to notice what’s already quietly ticking away in the background.
To ask yourself, gently:
How am I really?
Am I happy?
Do I feel settled… or just busy?
Am I genuinely okay, or just very good at coping?
Nothing dramatic. Just honest.
Maybe Valentine’s isn’t always candles and roses.
Maybe at this stage it’s about noticing the quieter kinds of love. The ones that look like comfort. Like humour. Like familiarity. Like boundaries. Like relief.
The kind that doesn’t need proving. Posting. Or planning weeks in advance.
Anyway. That’s what I’ve been thinking about.
Happy Valentine’s Day x
