Something to know about me is that I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. Ever since I read Pride and Prejudice at 13, I’ve been looking for a great and powerful love. That summer, I devoured romance novels like candy and dreamt of finding my own Mr. Right. Jane Austen’s heroines became my role models—especially Elizabeth Bennet. In her love of books, sharp tongue, and unshakeable self-worth, I found a kindred spirit. Seeing her find Mr. Darcy taught me that smart girls with big personalities could find love too.
But real life isn’t a Jane Austen novel.
By my 20s, my love for love had started to dwindle. I’d gone through my first big breakup—the kind that feels like the world is ending. You can’t eat, you can’t sleep, and no one in your life could possibly understand the magnitude of your heartbreak. (At least, that’s what you tell yourself in the moment.) That breakup shattered me, but it also built the cornerstone for who I would become.
In the midst of the heartache, a friend handed me a book: It’s Called a Breakup Because It’s Broken: The Smart Girl’s Breakup Buddy. And let me tell you, it saved me. I’ll never forget this line: “A breakup is not the end of your story; it’s just one chapter. The best is yet to come.” That, plus Pride and Prejudice on repeat (yes, the Keira Knightley version—don’t judge me. I was born in the 90s!), helped me come up for air. I slowly began to figure out who I was, what I wanted, and how I would make it happen. It was a defining chapter in my story.
When I moved to Washington, D.C., I was determined to find the love I deserved. Dating practically became a second job. I wanted to meet someone amazing, but I also refused to settle. In hindsight, I wish I’d enjoyed the journey instead of constantly wondering whether every swipe right would lead to someone who ardently admired and loved me. (See what I did there?)
By my late 20s, after countless dates that went nowhere, my inner romantic was long gone. I became cynical about love, and Valentine’s Day felt like an annual reminder of what I hadn’t found yet. I even declared my forever singlehood. I was determined to focus on myself—my career, my happiness, my own story. I stopped re-reading Pride and Prejudice every summer, and my new favorite book became All the Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of an Independent Nation. Ironically, I was re-reading that very book when I met my now-husband, David. (Fun fact: He loves to tell people how he saw that book in my bag on one of our first dates.)
When I first fell in love with Pride and Prejudice, I didn’t fully grasp that Jane Austen’s novels aren’t just about romance. They’re about self-worth. Elizabeth Bennet taught me that knowing your value is the first step toward living—and loving—well. Austen’s stories taught me to embrace who I am, to seek out authentic connections, and to never settle for less than what I deserve.
Many people dismiss romance novels as unrealistic, as fairy tales that set us up for disappointment. I believe the opposite. Romance stories like Austen’s, and even contemporary novels from authors like Sarah J. Maas, remind us that we are the authors of our own lives. We get to decide who plays a role in our story. We can settle for a Mr. Collins, wait for a Mr. Darcy, or choose to focus on ourselves. Above all, we get to write our own happy endings.
So, as Valentine’s Day approaches, let it be a celebration of love in all its forms: the love we give, the love we receive, and—most importantly—the love we have for ourselves. This season, let’s honor the resilience we carry and the beauty we create from within.
And yes, for those wondering, David is my Mr. Darcy… but even better. Even Jane Austen herself couldn’t have imagined someone like him.
