In a little over a month, I’ll be turning 22-years-old. For the majority of those years, I’ve hated myself. I’ve spent countless hours picking myself apart -- looking in the mirror, tearing my body apart; thinking about all the things I wish I were and weren’t; criticizing my smarts, my skills, my hobbies. For the majority of those years, I’ve made myself miserable. I’ve been filled with hate. Not for others, but for myself. For the majority of those years, I’ve been my own worst enemy. I haven't known what self-love is.

So this year, when Valentine’s Day rolled around, I started thinking to myself: This is usually the holiday I hate most, for it symbolizes everything I want and yet don't have: a relationship, romance, love, etc. I thought it'd be just another February 14th spent bashing on myself for not having a boyfriend, for being alone, for being pathetic. And then I realized: it didn't have to be that way. I had the power to direct the way my Valentine’s Day was going to go.

So I made a promise to myself that this year, I’d be my own Valentine. I would spend the day doing things I wanted to do, things that made me happy. I wouldn't berate myself for being alone on the holiday, because I wasn’t. I had myself! And the more time I actually spent with myself, the more I realized, Hey, maybe I’m not such bad company after all. So this Valentine’s Day, I was my own Valentine. I dedicated the day to myself. I decided not to talk meanly to myself, not to make myself miserable, and to simply celebrate the person I am as I stand here today. Not the person I wish I were or the person I hope to be when I grow up, but the person I am right here, right now.

This Valentine’s Day, I was my own Valentine. And you know what? It was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve had.