At the age of eleven I received a Valentines Day card from a boy in class telling me he hated me. It even included a poem with the famous “Roses are red, Violets are blue…” tagline and an adorable teddy bear on the front to entice me into believing it was sent with love. This mean-spirited gesture to an insecure, eleven-year-old girl whose braces were bigger than her boobs has directly affected my perception of February 14th ever since then .
I’m not one of those people you see on social media Tweeting about their disdain for the card companies who’ve created a holiday designed to make everyone miserable whether they’re single or in a relationship. I don’t sit on the bus glaring at couples holding hands or spend the evening planning my revenge against every man that’s ever wronged me – instead I see it as a day to celebrate myself.
Ever since the moment I ripped open that card hoping to find messages of love and adoration I realised that life is full of disappointments. This isn’t the movie about a lonely girl who finds herself surprised on Valentines Day as her high school crush suddenly realises that she’s the one for him. I might have been insecure and full of self-doubt back then but thirteen years later I love myself more than anyone else ever could – that’s why my Valentines plans include myself, a bottle of red wine and Pulp Fiction. We spend so much time critiquing ourselves about mistakes we’ve made, people we’ve wronged or how much money we’ve spent – why not stop for a moment and spend the entire day indulging in yourself? As L’Oreal would say: “you’re worth it!”