Letter from the Editor: February Is a Good Month to Come Back to Yourself

February 2026

Jan 15

February can feel like a month that’s constantly clearing its throat.

It’s short. It’s loud. It’s full of hearts and pink and messaging that assumes you have a “we” to celebrate. And if you’re in the middle of a divorce—or the tender, weird aftershocks of one—it can make you feel like you’re watching life through a window: everyone else paired up, everyone else certain, everyone else held.

So here’s what I want to offer you this month: you don’t have to “do” February the way the world tells you to.

You can make February about love, yes—but not the performative kind. Not the kind that’s measured in reservations or roses or proving you’re okay. I mean the quiet, private love. The “I’m learning myself again” love. The kind that isn’t a grand gesture so much as a daily practice of returning to your own life.

This is the month to investigate what you love.

Not in a self-help-y, pressure-filled way. In a curious way. Like you’re meeting yourself again after years of being in a role—partner, spouse, peacekeeper, manager of moods, keeper of the calendar—and you’re finally asking: what actually lights me up? What makes me feel like me? What’s mine?

Because divorce can take up so much emotional square footage. It crowds out your taste. It shrinks your appetite—for food, for music, for pleasure, for play, for beauty. Sometimes you don’t even realize you’ve been living at half-volume until you hear yourself laugh and think, Oh. There you are.

So let’s do something different. Let’s make February a field study.

A few gentle investigations to try this month

1) Follow the “tiny yes.” Not the big dramatic changes. The small ones. The I want to sit by the window with my coffee yes. The I want the good sheets on the bed even if no one’s coming over yes. The I’m going to listen to the song I love on repeat in the car yes. Your life doesn’t rebuild itself all at once. It rebuilds itself in hundreds of small permissions.

2) Make a “joy inventory,” not a to-do list. Grab a note in your phone and start a running list called Things That Make Me Feel Like Myself. Add anything: the smell of laundry warm from the dryer, walking with an audiobook, a certain lipstick, the first bite of salty popcorn, clean counters, dancing in the kitchen, a hot shower with the door locked. This isn’t frivolous. This is data. This is you collecting evidence that your nervous system can still feel safe and good.

3) Date your own tastes. When you’ve spent years accommodating someone else’s preferences—TV, restaurants, weekend plans, social rhythms—it can be surprisingly hard to know what you genuinely like. So try: one movie that’s your taste, one playlist that’s your mood, one meal that’s exactly what you want, one little purchase that makes your home feel more like yours (a candle, a plant, a new mug—small is perfect).

4) Practice love as care, not as performance. In February, the world sells love as a photo op. But real love is often boring in the best way. Real love is: booking the appointment, drinking water, putting the paperwork in one folder, taking the walk, going to bed earlier, texting the friend back, asking for help, choosing the calmer choice even when you’re tempted to spiral.

5) Find joy that doesn’t require a witness. This is a big one, especially after divorce: doing something just because it feels good, not because it proves anything to anyone. Joy that doesn’t need to be posted. Joy that doesn’t need to be explained. Joy that you’re allowed to have even if things are still messy.

If Valentine’s Day stings —

Let it sting. You’re human.

But please don’t confuse a tender day with a verdict on your worth. Valentine’s Day is not a report card. It’s a cultural moment—one that often ignores the full reality of love, partnership, caregiving, loneliness, grief, relief, and rebuilding.

If you need a plan for that day, here are a few options that count as love:

Spend the evening doing something that makes your body feel safe (bath, early bed, comfort show, long walk).
Make a “future me” gift: clean your space a bit, prep a cozy breakfast, set out tomorrow’s outfit, pay one bill, organize one drawer.
Have a “love date” with a friend—no romance required for connection.
Or opt out entirely. It’s allowed. You can treat it like any other Tuesday.

A reminder from me to you

You’re not behind.

You’re not failing at love because your marriage ended. You’re not “too much” because you want tenderness and consistency and care. You’re not asking for something unreasonable because you want a life that feels lighter in your body.

This month, let love be less about being chosen by someone else—and more about choosing yourself in small, believable ways.

Investigate what you love. Notice what brings you back to yourself. Follow the joy that feels quiet and honest. Build a life that doesn’t require you to shrink to fit it.

That is romance, too. That is devotion. That is a fresh start.

With love (the real kind),

Genevieve “Jenny” Dreizen | Editor in Chief, Divorce Guide Magazine