Redefining Romance: Embracing self-love and personal challenges on Valentine's Day

I’ve been married for 16 years, which means I now have the privilege of hindsight. I wouldn’t call it wisdom. This is mostly the ability to look back at certain moments and think, What on earth was that about? Then laugh, quietly. Sometimes out loud.

When I watch young people take Valentine’s Day very seriously, especially young women, I feel a familiar amusement rise up. The planning. The expectations. The decoding of gestures. The emotional arithmetic. I don’t mock it out loud. I just smile to myself. Luckily, I was never that delusional. I skipped straight to confusion and stayed there.

These days, Valentine’s Day comes with new vocabulary. Self-love. Galentine’s. Soft romance. Chosen families. Every few years, we invent a fresh term to explain something humans have been doing forever. Mostly hanging out, eating and talking nonsense.

Apparently, self-love is the new romance. I’m still trying to work out what that actually means.

I know what it isn’t. It isn’t staring at my reflection and whispering affirmations. I’ve seen my reflection. We’re on friendly terms. We don’t need speeches. Self-love, to me, has never been about obsession with myself. It’s more about tolerance and acceptance. And occasionally, restraint.

I also discovered I’ve always been a Galentine’s person, long before the word existed. I like people of all kinds and temperaments. I enjoy mixed company. I especially enjoy women for their bitchiness, which I say with deep affection and total respect. I’m also that woman. No one delivers commentary quite like women who have known you long enough to be honest.

So if self-love means choosing company that feels easy, I’ve been doing that quietly for years.

This year, however, I seem to be taking the concept further. Possibly too far.

I decided this would be the year I challenge myself. I announced, quite casually, that I might enter a bodybuilding contest. I say “might” in the same way people say “I might climb Everest,” having just Googled it once. Does this count as self-love or delusion? Unclear. My muscles have opinions. They express them loudly.

I am also embracing the fact that I’ve aged. Not fighting it. Not denying it. Just acknowledging it. My knees remind me daily. My patience reminds me hourly.

I’m thinking of returning to an old hobby: music. This is exciting for me and deeply unfortunate for anyone within earshot. I pity them already. Self-love sometimes involves selfish joy. Sometimes it involves noise complaints.

My wardrobe is next. My fashion sense irritates me now. It feels dated. Predictable. Too safe. Reds have been my lipstick comfort zone forever. I’m considering change. This is how you know things are getting serious.

Then there’s the driving. I struggled with my car licence for one-and-a-half years. Internal assessments. More assessments. Emotional damage. When I finally passed on the first try, it felt like divine intervention. Naturally, I now want a bike licence. Growth mindset or self-sabotage? Time will tell.

So here I am, on Valentine’s Day, not chasing romance, not rejecting it either. Just trying things. Questionable things. Loud things. Slightly impractical things.

If self-love means doing what scares you a little, irritates you occasionally, and forces you to laugh at yourself constantly, then yes, this probably counts.

If it kicks me in the backside instead, that also feels on brand.

Either way, it’ll be memorable. And honestly, after 16 years of marriage, that’s romance enough for me.