Kimmy Neal shares how Valentine’s Day feels since the loss of her partner Andy, and how the power of connection and understanding means you’re never truly alone.
Being young in this day and age means everything is shared. Our relationships, our milestones, our happiness are posted, filtered, and measured in likes. Valentine’s Day is no exception. It’s a day built for social media: couple photos, trendy videos, flowers, surprises, and captions about love. Before I lost my partner in January 2025, I loved it. I loved seeing the cute trends and sending them to Andy. I loved planning something small but meaningful for us. It felt exciting and full of promise.
Now, Valentine’s Day feels cruel
It is a glaring reminder of everything I have lost. And yet, the world keeps celebrating. People keep posting. Love keeps being shown loudly and proudly, without any awareness of the pain it can cause to someone like me. That doesn’t make them wrong, but it does make the day incredibly isolating. When you’re grieving a partner, especially at a young age, it can feel like you’ve been dropped into a completely different world while everyone else continues on exactly the same.
And the truth is, I wouldn’t have known either. Before losing Andy, I had no idea how painful days like this could be for someone else. Losing a partner this young is something no one expects. It’s something no one prepares for. It’s something that makes absolutely no sense. One moment, you’re planning a future, and the next, you’re trying to survive a present you never asked for.
Doing Valentine’s Day differently
Grief like this makes you feel deeply alone. It makes you scared. It makes you feel like no one your age could possibly understand what it’s like to lose the person you thought you’d grow old with. Losing Andy has changed me in ways I didn’t know were possible. It has separated me from my friends, not because they don’t care, but because our lives now look so different. While they celebrate love, I grieve it. While they post heart emojis and smiling photos, I mourn the Valentine’s Days we should have had. I replay the ones we did get and wish more than anything for just one more.
So this year, I’ve had to do Valentine’s Day differently.
There are no flowers. No chocolates. No Instagram posts. Instead, there are letters written to my late partner, tubs of ice cream, and a conscious decision to stay far away from social media. There is quiet. There are tears. There is missing him in ways that feel unbearable. It isn’t pretty, and it isn’t romantic.
Even in the loneliness of Valentine’s Day, I know I am not truly alone. Because there is no way I am the only young person in the world who has felt this kind of pain. Knowing that doesn’t fix anything, but it makes the day the tiniest bit easier. I hope that other young widows and widowers (married or not) can read my words and recognise themselves in them. I hope they know that what they’re feeling is valid, and that they don’t have to force themselves to participate in a holiday that hurts.
Surviving the hard holidays
Valentine’s Day can be incredibly triggering for young grievers, and that matters. It only takes one person to pause before posting, one person to check in, one person to sit beside us without trying to fix anything. Amidst the people who shy away from my grief or don’t know what to say, I have found a few wonderful humans who are willing to sit with me on this day, hand me tissues, and let me talk about my Andy. Those people are everything. They are the ones who make hard holidays survivable.
And if you are grieving on Valentine’s Day, especially the loss of a partner, I want you to know this: love doesn’t end because Valentine’s Day looks different now. The love you shared still exists. The bond is still real. You are allowed to grieve loudly or quietly, to avoid the day entirely or to mark it in your own way. Healing does not mean forgetting, and choosing to survive days like this is an act of love in itself.
Even on the hardest holidays, there is still connection, still understanding, still hope. Sometimes, it can be found in just one person, one shared story, or one reminder that you are not alone.
Kimmy Neal
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