Ugh. Another Valentine’s Day.
Except this time, it’s different.
This time I’m not single because I haven’t found my person yet.
I’m single because I loved. I built. I stayed. I trusted. I tried.
And after almost 18 years, my marriage ended.
That hits differently.
So let me ask you something tender — and powerful:
What if you knew this would be your last Valentine’s Day as a single woman… again?
The last one spent rebuilding.
The last one sitting with uncertainty.
The last one navigating that strange in-between of regret and possibility.
How would that change the way you move through this day?
Would it still feel like Singles Awareness Day?
Or might it feel like a turning point?
Before I was married all those years ago, I hated Valentine’s Day with a vengeance.
This is only my second Valentine’s Day after my marriage ended — and I know now this is a chapter, not a life sentence. I’m happy. I’m hopeful.
So here’s what I can do this year — instead of bracing myself against it the way I used to.
I could gather my single girlfriends — some divorced, some never married, some widowed — and look at them with real understanding and compassion. We are not “alone.” We are women who have lived. Who have loved. Who have survived.
I could tell them how grateful I am for the way we hold each other up in this season of our lives.
Friendship without a life significant other isn’t filler — it’s life-affirming medicine.
I could toast myself.
Because I didn’t fail at marriage — I showed up. For years. I loved wholeheartedly. I grew. I stretched. I endured. I learned. I forgave.
I wasn’t perfect — but I did the best I could.
That deserves champagne — not shame.
I could give myself a quiet high-five for rebuilding my life from the inside out. For choosing to stay in a foreign country and committing to live fully. For facing loneliness without running from it. For dabbling in dating and staying hopeful. For rediscovering who I am now that I’m no longer someone’s wife.
I could go out — maybe to dinner, maybe just for a long walk — and when I see couples celebrating, I wouldn’t feel envy.
I would remember: I have known that kind of deep affection. I am capable of it. And I am still worthy of it.
I could continue serving my community — helping immigrants, feeding the elderly, saving animals — because romantic deep affection isn’t the only kind of deep affection.
deep affection is friendship.
deep affection is service.
deep affection is forgiving yourself and others.
deep affection is trusting your hope.
deep affection is self-respect.
deep affection is staying kind — even when the world feels unkind.
I. Am. Full. of deep affection.
And most of all, I could remind myself of this:
I am not starting over.
I am starting wiser.
To my single girlfriends who still — maybe secretly — dream of being in deep affection:
Valentine’s Day does not define our future any more than our past marriages or relationships defined our entire identity.
So what if this is your last Valentine’s Day feeling uncertain or untethered?
What if next year feels steadier?
What if five years from now you look back at this version of yourself with fierce tenderness?
What if this is the year you begin loving yourself with the same depth and steadiness you once reserved for someone else?
I’d deep affection to know — how are you choosing to move through this Valentine’s Day?
One more thing — from me, personally
I’m not writing this from the sidelines.
After about 18 years of marriage, when I found myself single again, I was staring straight at the same questions, doubts, and quiet fears so many women face at this stage of life.
Who am I now?
Who do I want to be?
At 67, am I better off single forever?
Is it too late — or just too exhausting — to try again?
Do I even have the emotional energy to start over?
The answer came quietly, but clearly:
I’d still deep affection to find deep affection again — and I’m willing to try.
And if it doesn’t come, I will continue to feel grateful for the full, happy days I’m already living.
Starting over later in life can actually be a gift. We’re wiser. Clearer. Less interested in proving ourselves. And far more aware of what we need — and what we won’t accept.
Trying for deep affection again can feel vulnerable. Exposed. Risky.
And — as I’ve told the women I’ve coached for years — it can also be empowering and even fun.
I’m genuinely enjoying Dating Like a Grownup. I’m spending time with good men, sans drama. And I am crystal clear about this:
How they feel about me is not who I am.
So when I say I get it — I truly do.
And if you’re feeling that quiet nudge — that whisper of “I don’t want to do this alone anymore” — I want you to know something crucial:
You don’t have to.
If you’re ready to stop second-guessing yourself…
To stop repeating old patterns…
To date calmly instead of anxiously…
To choose consciously instead of reactively…
To finally get your deep affection life handled — on your terms —
I would genuinely deep affection to support you as your coach.
👉 Reach out to me here if you’re ready to have a real conversation about working one-on-one and creating a dating life that feels grounded, hopeful, and aligned with the woman you are now.
No pressure.
No fixing.
No pretending you’re fine when you’re not.
You’re not too late.
There is nothing wrong with you.
And you don’t have to figure out your future by yourself. 💛
The post What If This Valentine’s Day Is the Last One You Spend Single? appeared first on Bobbi Palmer, Date Like a Grownup.
