Three Valentines

As a devoutly single person, I was not expecting to receive any Valentines this year. My Valentine is my dog and myself and that’s wonderful. (I also get wildly lonely and often fantasize about falling in love. However, other people (men) are exhausting and I’m happy to be focused entirely on my writing right now.)

A psychic medium once told me that I won’t meet my great love until after I’ve become who I am becoming and reached career success— and everything she predicted has come true so far, so I fucking trust it.

Not only did I receive one Valentine, but three! The first, a Valentine from my sister, Edna. It was on the shelf in her room, and made with the help of her caregivers at her day program. I am not sure how much she helped and that makes me sad — she used to be able to do so much, but I can’t dwell on that. Receiving this was like a hug.

The second, a card from my best friend/other sister/former roommate, a wild and loving woman by the name of Katierose Donohue Enriquez, who addressed the card to J + S (Sprout, my dog.) Adorable. Inside was a framed picture of me and my love, one of my favorite pictures of us. The sweetest!

J & S Forever

I am now obligated to reveal that I did not give a Valentine to Edna or Katierose and I am therefore, despicable.

The third was the tiniest Valentine from a complete stranger!

It was pressed into my hand upon my arrival to a Somatic Breathwork workshop, a gift from a new friend/incredible writer who also has a love and understanding of the “woo-woo.” Personally, I love “woo-woo” because it’s about embracing yourself/your needs and not conforming to society’s bullshit of shoving your feeling deep inside and acting like everything is fine when it most certainly isn’t.

“What’s this?” I asked the class helper, even though it was very clearly a tiny Valentine. I put it in my pocket and sat my ass down, because I was late. The instructor, a woman aptly named Kristina Joy, led us through a series of breathing exercises that eventually led to all of us either crying, screaming or laughing. We were laying down in the dark, so I had no idea who was doing what except for me, and I was sobbing. Fucking finally.

It felt so good to sob on my little meditation mat, covered in my blanket with my thighs elevated. (“Woo woo” is also comfy!) The woman on my left was also wailing. I wanted to hug her at the end, but she avoided eye contact with me entirely, which was her right. It’s a private experience, and yet communal. I love gatherings like this, because you realize how much people are carrying around you and that we’re all (barely surviving) together.

At the end, we sat cross legged (still in the dark) while we repeated a mantra, which was also the message inside the tiny Valentine.

“My presence is a gift.”

My presence is a gift.

Damn fucking right. But I haven’t always believed that. I am still trying to believe it. I am trying so hard!

I wish we were all taught this from a young age and reminded of it again and again, but some of us grew up in homes where we were taught to believe anything but. Or, shitty relationships and people tried to make us believe otherwise because they didn’t feel so themselves, obviously.

Our presence is a gift. We are all here and we all matter, even when we think we don’t. Especially when we think we don’t.

I am so grateful for these small — and yet huge!!! — reminders of love. Platonic love doesn’t get enough credit. To me, it’s everything.

It’s true.