The Loneliest I’ve Ever Felt Wasn’t When I Was Single

Well, another Valentine’s Day has arrived. And if you’re not in a relationship after your divorce, it can make you feel lonely. Even if you’re in a good space overall.

Valentine’s Day has a great knack of poking at the old stories. The ones about being chosen. The ones that whisper that everyone else is paired up and you’re the odd one out.

It’s been thirteen years since my divorce and five since my last relationship ended. That’s a lot of Valentine’s Days.

Some of them were genuinely lovely. Some were awkward and underwhelming. A few were quietly painful or disappointing, like I was trying to convince myself it meant more than it did.

Somewhere along the way, though, the charge just fell out of it. Not because I’ve become cynical, and not because I don’t value love, but because I’ve lived enough ordinary February 14ths to see it for what it is. A highly hyped commercial day that comes and goes.

It doesn’t define anyone’s worth, the health of any relationship, and it certainly doesn’t define me. These days I barely notice it.

That wasn’t always the case.

A few years back, it did make me sad. I remember the subtle questioning of myself. Should I be with someone by now? Does this mean something about me?

Then I flashed back to a memory of Valentine’s Day 2019. One of the worst Valentine’s Days of my life happened when I was very much in a ‘happy’ relationship after my divorce.

There was unspoken pressure for it to be romantic and meaningful and proof that we were solid. Instead, we ended up in an argument. Not a tiny disagreement, a proper fight.

I went home alone that night feeling confused and deflated. At one point he told me he was so pissed off he didn’t feel like getting me a gift. So there I was, technically partnered, on the most romantic day of the year, feeling lonely and unloved.

That memory has stayed with me because it cuts through the fantasy. Being in a relationship doesn’t automatically make a day special. The quality of the relationship is what makes it meaningful. You can sit across from someone at a candlelit table and feel miles apart.

Sometimes it’s more about performing romance instead of actually being connected. That pressure alone can create friction. When you’re trying to meet an invisible standard, you can lose track of why you’re even there.

And then there’s social media.

The curated dinners, the roses, the trips away. I always remind myself that you can never see behind those posts. For all we know, they’re going home and fighting. I’ve lived that too.

One New Year’s Eve with my ex, we were out at a party, dressed up, laughing, taking photos that made us look completely in love. We posted them. They looked great.

By the end of the night we weren’t speaking. The photos were real, but they told a very edited version of the story.

Let’s face it, relationships are hard work. They require emotional maturity, compromise, and a willingness to give a lot of yourself. They can be beautiful. They can also be exhausting when they’re not right. Just being in one is not the achievement. Being in a healthy one is.

After my divorce, and again after my last relationship ended five years ago, I had to gently interrupt the thoughts that told me everyone else was happily in love while I was alone.

I would bring myself back to the fact that there’s a lot to be said for freedom and autonomy.

Alone also means peaceful. Alone means no tension in my house. It means I get to wake up and go to sleep without managing someone else’s moods.

Valentine’s Day became an opportunity.

If this is meant to be a day about love and care, what if I treated myself the way I once tried so hard to treat a partner? What if I cooked something I enjoy, created a nice atmosphere at home, spoke kindly to myself, put my feet up?

It sounds a bit silly at first. I get that. We’re so used to pouring our energy into other people that turning it inward can feel uncomfortable.

But after divorce, how we treat ourselves matters. This time between relationships is not empty space. It’s replenishment. It’s where we rebuild our capacity for love.

It’s where we learn better boundaries and sharpen our relational skills so that next time, we don’t abandon ourselves in the name of connection. (Been there, done that).

If you’re single this Valentine’s Day and it stings a little, that’s human. But you’re not missing out on something magical.

I’ve done the candlelit dinner and felt miserable. I’ve gone home alone on Valentine’s night feeling confused. And I’ve also sat in my own space, years later, completely at ease.

Being partnered is not what makes a day special. The quality of the connection does.

The first person you need to be connected to is you. Use this Valentine’s Day to strengthen that part of yourself, so that when love shows up again, you’re ready.

That’s the standard I’m holding now.

Until next time,

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