Having a Blue Valentine’s? I’ve been there

Valentine’s Day can feel like salt in a wound when you’re heartbroken. I remember the first one after my engagement ended—it was a day I’ll never forget.

A couple of months ago, I wrote about my worst Christmas ever. Now that it's Valentine's Day, I can't help but think about all the broken-hearted (or single) women and men struggling to get through this day. So here I go again…

Many people find it helpful to hear how I navigated the year after my broken engagement. I get it—you want to know you're not alone. As someone who's experienced more heartbreak than I ever thought possible, I have good news: if you're willing to do "the work," you can survive this heartbreak and turn it into an opportunity for authentic growth, emerge a happier person, and eventually find a more fulfilling relationship.

But first, you need to get through today. I hope that by sharing a bit of my own experience of my blue Valentine, you’ll feel a little less alone. And if you're looking for more ideas on how to take care of yourself, check out my Valentine's Day Guide for helpful resources.

Valentine's Day, 2011: The Last Goodbye

"Parting is all we need to know of hell." — Emily Dickinson

The first Valentine’s Day after my engagement ended was unforgettable. It was the final hurdle in the trilogy of winter holidays, and I was eager to put them behind me. Ironically, it also became the last time my ex-fiancé and I ever spoke.

Weeks after I had left, we started talking again, cautiously exploring the idea of reconciliation at some point in the future. For Valentine's Day, he wrote me a poem and read it aloud over Skype (it was 2011, after all!) as he was out of the country. As he spoke, my heart sank. The words were beautiful—but I knew they weren’t about me.

A wave of sadness and clarity hit me simultaneously.

In the three months since our ended engagement and breakup, I had started reclaiming the parts of myself I had abandoned during our relationship—my extroverted, feminine nature, my extensive social circle, my love of Tango.

At the expense of being together, we had sacrificed far too much of ourselves—something I know now never works in the long run. And I now understood a painful truth: you can compromise in love, but you can't compromise yourself.

I took a deep breath and thanked him for the poem before sharing my thoughts. As hard as it was to admit to myself, I painfully came to accept that at that very moment, he didn't really love me—he loved his idea of me. And that kind of love was conditional.

It was painful, but I was done betraying myself. Naturally, he was upset. And just like that, we said our last goodbye.

Letting go of the big "what if" was terrifying, but also wildly empowering.

I had chosen myself.

Alone Again, Naturally

That evening, I had no set plans, but I knew I needed some major self-care. My heart ached. I hadn't invested much in my friendships during our relationship (a major red flag in hindsight), so I didn’t have many people to call on.

The silence in my apartment felt deafening, so I put on my coat and went for a walk. I ended up at one of my favorite bookstores, where I found solace in the familiarity of the space and the quiet hum of life around me.

I bought a collection of Pablo Neruda’s poetry, and as I sat in the store’s café reading, someone started playing the grand piano nearby. I recall smiling to myself as I absorbed the duality of this perfect moment—the beauty and bittersweetness.

Later, I checked the movie listings and couldn’t believe my luck—my favorite indie theater was playing Amélie. My ex and I had loved that movie, but watching it alone felt cathartic. As a breakup coach, I now understand the importance of creating new memories as part of the healing process. That night, I started doing exactly that.

It was the perfect way to spend my blue Valentine’s Day of 2011.

Was I sad? Of course. Lonely? A little. But beneath it all, most importantly, I felt a sense of peace. Deep down, I knew this was the right decision—and that, in time, I would be okay.

I chose to trust that this heartbreak, like so many challenges before it, would make sense one day. And that, in time, it would shape me into a better person and a more loving partner.

Years later, married to my best friend and happier than ever, I know this to be true.

However You Spend Today…

Take good care of yourself and your tender heart. Remind yourself that you will be okay (because you will). Trust that your heart is being prepared for great love—including the love you have for yourself.

How are you choosing to take care of your heart today?

You've got this.

xo, Natalia