Today is Valentine’s Day! A day of celebration for romantic love. Some of us widen that celebration to include other types of love. Like, I include my children. For years, I thought of them as being my Valentines. But before that, there was James. I remember our first Valentine’s Day together. I was pregnant and we were already married. Back then, he felt so sincere and thoughtful. He bought me a generic box of chocolates and a heart-shaped box… Which the dog ate! (she was fine, BTW) I remember feeling so engulfed in love for this man! So blessed and lucky and safe. He was everything I thought I wanted. My heart had been launched into love, and nothing felt more perfect and deserved! At that time, he was the most beautiful man in the world.

I remember, feeling so engulfed in love for this man! So blessed and lucky and safe. He was everything I thought I wanted. My heart had been launched into love, and nothing felt more perfect and deserved! At that time, he was the most beautiful man in the world. Looking back feels bittersweet. I miss that feeling of intimacy, connection, and the freedom I felt I had to be myself with this man. Although I settled easily into commitment, it also felt like we were settling into assigned rules. Male, and female, it started to feel very 1950s, but also made sense. He got a job and each morning I kissed him goodbye as he walked out of our rented literal white picket fence. I would stand in the doorway, literally barefoot and pregnant, waving a greeting to our neighbor before going inside.

Pretty gross, I know, but I was happy there. And nothing mattered as long as I had his love.

That was then. It was a façade we wouldn’t be able to keep up. It was a slow erosion. In my eyes, he went from being this wonderful, beautiful man to an angry, wounded man, with immense potential to be phenomenal– if I could just get him back to happy. If I could just help him heal from his daddy issues. As the years rolled on, that angry wounded man, blamed and punished me, and our children for his unhappiness. I tried so desperately to help him, to protect my children from his abuse.

I was miserable. I saw my son struggle to please his father and remember the day he finally gave up. He realized long before I did that making this man happy was impossible The truth is, he didn’t want to be! Or, rather, he felt it was our job to create happiness inside of him. He spent his entire childhood learning this destructive side to love, this conditional love, this hurtful love, and became a master of self-preservation. He gave us the responsibility that we were sure to fail, and when we did, he blamed us and punished us and went surfing to lick his wounds. We walked on eggshells with tender feet when he was around, scared to even breathe too loudly.

Is this love? it certainly couldn’t be the sort of love celebrated on Valentine’s Day. But since his passing, I’ve questioned, what does it really mean to be in a healthy relationship with anyone? I speak more about this in my video at the top of the page and I invite you to check that out. But also, to answer the question in your own words, in your experience, what does a real, healthy, love-filled relationship look like? Is it even possible? Post your comments below.