Valentine’s Day never had much pull for me (though that was my parents’ anniversary), so I was never disappointed by it. But I have a husband now who remembers it each year. He gives me cards when I return from trips and flowers for no reason. And then there’s the musical compositions he writes for me and the poems. A girl couldn’t ask for anything more. And the miracle is I believe I am worthy of these gifts because of the time I spent learning about my worthiness. His love and acceptance has certainly helped me with that, but I think I needed to get to the place where I felt like I was worthy of love and acceptance first in order to recognize it.

Which I think is what self-love means to me. It has been a journey, one that seems to continue as I peel the onion, discovering what to keep and what to discard. What I did today (Valentine’s Day eve) was wrote myself through a wave of low-self-esteem that swept over me.

So I think what I will do on Valentine’s Day for myself, to show myself some love, is to write. The piece I’ve been working on has been marinating inside me, but I think it’s time to bring it out in the open and see where it wants to go. (I might have to start by writing through a wave of low self-esteem again tomorrow, depending on what the tide brings in overnight!)