a love note to tender times
Cupid dropped in to say hi... so thought I'd send a kiss back from the other side of "trying"
Feb 14th, 2025
I was going to opt out of my annual corny valentines post, but then cupid fell from the sky and smashed into a million pieces at my feet (literally) and i have decided to honour his dramatic little stunt, and take it as a good omen.
I cannot afford 7 years of bad sex or bad luck or whatever superstition a broken mirror carries… tbh, in this economy, not one of us can. So I hereby declare this a good omen. For myself; for all of us. Lord knows in this economy, we need something (someone?) to keep our hearts beating.
Cupids arrow promises to hit hard and soft.
Last year was such a rollercoaster of emotions as we had our egg retrieval on valentines. I have since moved away from ivf, as after 6 attempts, we still hadn’t managed to collect any eggs. This was our last try and being a hopeless romantic, I felt sure that the fact this was happening on lovers day was going to bring us luck. I lit a valentines card for my little egg Marvin ~probs shouldn’t have named the tosser, but the hormones were hitting (or crashing idk… iykyk) and we only got the one, so immediately became attached to the idea of it being THE one. I burned with emotion, and hope and longing.
I found the card at the bottom of a box, completely by chance, this afternoon as was doing some clearing; as I re-read my little love note, I realised that most of my sadness has dissipated. I could hold this moment in my heart without feeling broken, as I did for so long. I had to get help btw: I want to be clear and not glamorise the toll ivf takes on your body and soul, it’s been very hard and things dont just magically get better when you quit (— thank god for sertraline). Today, the whole ordeal feels almost like a bad dream; like the nightmare you want to tell your friend about, but the memory is just out of reach (my mom friends tell me this is not unlike the way your brain sort of forgets how horrendous giving birth feels).
Marvin is in heggven now. RIP mini Marvs.
Stepping away from actively/medically “trying” (or whatever you want to call it) was the best decision for me; for both of us. I’m sharing this because I am so grateful to have reached a place where I can appreciate the good.
Joy is the best remedy.
After losing her house in the LA fires Heidi Montag put it really beautifully (I collect my nuggets of hope high and low) and I was finally able to articulate my feelings: it is sad and devastating, but my home is Francois, that’s where my joy and confidence and happiness is. That’s what we all deserve to find, a person you can call home (btw, that isn’t necessarily a lover). That’s what am putting into the universe for everyone this valentines…
Find your person, your people, & hold them tight.
🏹🤍
"The female doesn't want a rich man, or a handsome man, or even a poet.
She wants a man
who understands her eyes if she gets sad, and points to his chest and says,
'Here is your home country.
- Nizar Qabbani
This is more than a love note. It’s a declaration of survival - of tenderness reclaimed, of heartbreak dignified by humour and light. What you’ve written isn’t about loss, it’s about re-entry into a softer orbit, where even broken arrows and failed timelines are gently folded into a new kind of mythology - one where joy is the true fertility.
You’re right. In this economy, none of us can afford bad omens. So we reframe them. We make shrines out of the shards. And we don’t apologise for the corny, the hopeful, the wildly romantic belief that maybe - just maybe - something good is still inbound.
To name the egg was holy. To stop trying was heroic. And to write this? A gift. May everyone find their Francois. Or their own heartbeat. Whichever comes first.
you are an incredible writer!!!! you have such a sweet and unique personal voice I would love to read a whole book of this!!!