Dear Post-Divorce Me on Valentine’s Day

But he was. And he didn’t. 

That was unbearably hard. I know. It brought fresh meaning to Proverbs 13:12, how hope deferred makes the heart sick. 

You probably never thought you’d get to roll the irony around in your mind, then, of how his dad left his mom on Valentine's Day many years before that one. You never realized how deep a groove rejection can engrave on one’s weary heart…or how truly exhausting grief can be. You never knew eyes could shed that many tears and still somehow see to pour cereal the next morning. 

You certainly never expected to become a single mom at twenty-nine years old, celebrating Valentine’s Day with mascara-streaked cheeks while trying to keep a smile going for your daughter’s sake. Ripping open packages of fruit gummies and attending her school party, admiring her crafted paper heart as if your own weren’t ripping in two. Holding yourself together with coffee and a single Scripture verse and red high heels. 

Oh, how I know. 

You never thought you’d go on a date again...or go home and cry after because you weren’t ready. You never thought you’d be standing in line at the post office one February day, watching an affectionate couple all moony-eyed over each other, and wonder if that would ever be you. If love was ever going to come back around, if it would ever be your turn…and if it was, would it last this time? 

You sure tried to hate Valentine's Day during that post-divorce season. Even if you were dating someone when the pink and red holiday rolled around, it never really hit the mark. Never filled the ache. The gift was late, or forgotten. The relationship, toxic. The holiday tarnished. It was easier, if not better, to convince yourself you didn’t care, anyway. 

But deep inside, you did care. You still wished for the Hallmark movie moment, for the red roses and the ribbon-tied box of chocolates. Friends sent V-Day gifts over the years for you—such generous gestures. Flowers and candy and hand-written notes. You were seen. Held. You were never, not once, forgotten. But it wasn’t the same as romantic love, and you felt guilty that it wasn’t enough. 

You never fully realized how loved you were in those moments because you were clouded by the haze of what could be…instead of clearly seeing what was. 

But now you know. 

You also didn’t realize at the time that being single is hard, being divorced is hard, and being remarried is hard. You didn’t know that we pick our hard and sometimes it picks us, but that love bears all things. That love is worth hoping for, even when we hold that hope so tightly it pricks our palms. That your Savior loved you so much He willingly scarred His own hands for all eternity. He came, lived, died, and rose again. 

For you.

In those days, you were so desperate for a hero you never saw the One right there before you, showing you His love in black print on white pages, in royal sunsets and gentle breezes, and heart-shaped rocks on the ground. 

You didn’t want to hear this back then, but now you know the beauty found in the richness of Isaiah 54:5. You fully realize and cherish that the Lord your Maker is your husband. And you remember how on days when the other side of the bed was cold and you were taking out your own trash and dining at a table set for one, you were never alone. Never forsaken. Never forgotten. 

Back then, you never knew there was hope just around the corner. You couldn’t see that light defeats the darkness of despair, every single time. And even on the nights when you soaked your pillowcase or made horrible rebound decisions, God was working. Even when heaven felt so painfully quiet, joy was always on its way to you. 

And that one time, joy manifested in a new relationship, a generous gift from God. That joy looked just like a handsome, single-dad drummer liking your Facebook post and taking you for coffee that turned into pizza that turned into an engagement. 

And boy, you really never expected to be remarried several Valentines later, did you? Celebrating in a black crop jacket, sitting at a candlelit table across from your new husband, grinning over a bowl of pasta, the stuffed bear he got you nestled in your purse. You never realized you could feel safe again. 

For a minute, anyway, until anxiety knocked. Because the enemy of our hearts doesn’t take holidays off. 

You won’t want to remember this, either, but you sure didn’t see those trust issues coming. Sorry about that. Angry black swirls of smoke, like a hurricane, met a fire and kept on spinning. You had no idea how hard those first remarried years were going to be to walk through, imagining betrayal and rejection lurking around every corner like a villain in a movie. Never realizing it was actually you who was allowing fear to turn you into a monster. To rob your blessings as you grasped for control that didn’t even exist.  

You never realized how hard trusting could be until you finally surrendered and put all that trust in your Savior. When you acknowledged that men fail, as do women. That earthly love shifts and cracks, even on its best days. But that God never changes, and His love is eternal. He can’t fail, lie, or manipulate. He doesn’t change His mind, walk out, or give up. 

The good news is you’re married now to a great man who loves the Lord. Loves you. But he’ll mess up a few times, and that’s okay. Because the best news is that the Lord your Maker is still your husband. And that’s a foundation you can stand on this upcoming Valentine’s Day and any other.

You never thought, back on that first painful Valentine's Day, that you would eventually find your greatest joy in encouraging other women walking the same thorny path. That you would, one day, get to comfort with the comfort you had received, just as 2 Corinthians 1:4 promised. 

And if the Holy Spirit was there for you, He’ll be there for other women, too. Loving them, holding them, reminding them of the riches of His presence. Granting them gifts of mercy and forgiveness and fresh starts. Gifts far sweeter than chocolates and more fragrant than any bouquet. 

Happy Valentine's Day, Post-Divorce Me. 

Love, 

A Little Older, A Little Wiser 

Photo Credit: ©Getty Images/PhotoProdra

Betsy St. Amant Haddox is the author of over twenty romance novels and novellas. She resides in north Louisiana with her hubby, two daughters, an impressive stash of coffee mugs, and one furry Schnauzer-toddler. Betsy has a B.A. in Communications and a deep-rooted passion for seeing women restored to truth. When she’s not composing her next book or trying to prove unicorns are real, Betsy can be found somewhere in the vicinity of an iced coffee. She is a regular contributor to iBelieve.com and offers author coaching and editorial services via Storyside LLC.