Still Love, Just a Little Different Now

by Monika Bevan February 3, 2026

In the lead up to Valentine’s Day, it can feel like love is being measured.

Measured in flowers, in reservations, in grand gestures and perfectly curated moments. Measured in what we see online and what we assume everyone else is doing better, louder, or more beautifully than us.

Marketing and social media have a way of narrowing the definition of love, turning it into something that feels performative, romanticised, and sometimes just out of reach. And without meaning to, we can be left feeling a little lacking if our version does not look the same.

So before we move any further, we wanted to pause.

To remind ourselves that love does not belong to one season, one gesture, or one chapter of life. It shifts. It softens. It deepens. It changes shape as we do.

This is an invitation to take a gentle walk through what love once looked like, what it looks like now, and why both are worthy. To sit with the idea that caring for ourselves is not selfish, especially when so many people are looking to us to care for them.

Because love has always existed in many forms.
And the version you are living right now is just as valid.

There was a time when Valentine’s Day looked a certain way.

Long stem roses.
Candlelit dinners.
Quiet conversations that lasted longer than the meal.
Chocolate shared without tiny hands reaching in.
Sleeping in or watching the sunrise (by choice)

And then life changed.

Not in a way that took love away.
In a way that multiplied it.

When you become a mum, love stops being something that is romanticised and starts becoming something that is lived. Daily. Loudly. Sometimes chaotically. Often beautifully.

It is still love.
Just a little different now.

Love looks like

long sleepless nights, not long stem roses.
uneaten lunch boxes instead of restaurant bookings.
cold coffee reheated twice and warm cuddles that last a lifetime.
carrying everyone else, physically and emotionally, even when you are tired yourself.
surprise wake ups at all hours of the night

And yet, the love is deeper than it ever was.

There is a kind of quiet strength that comes with motherhood. One that does not ask to be seen, but shows up anyway. In routines. In repetition. In the invisible work that holds families together.

We do tend to put ourselves second.
And with that often comes mum guilt.

It is a feeling almost every mum carries at some point, whether she speaks it aloud or not. And maybe it helps to remember this: guilt is not a sign you are failing. It is often a sign that you care deeply.

The guilt of not doing enough.
The guilt of doing too much.
The guilt of wanting rest.
The guilt of wanting more
The guilt of wanting 'me' time
The guilt of wanting to be me, not just wife or mum.

Motherhood teaches us that love is not always about big gestures. It is about small moments that land softly and stay.

A note tucked into a lunchbox, discovered halfway through the day.
A sandwich cut into a heart shape, just because.
A handful of red fruit added to a container for no reason other than it feels special.
A quiet reminder written on paper that says, “I love you”, when you cannot be there to say it out loud.
A favourite treat added to the lunch box, because you know it comes with a smile at the other end.

These moments might feel small, but to a child, they are everything.

They are warmth.
They are reassurance.
They are love, made tangible.

This season before Valentine’s Day does not have to be loud or performative. It can be gentle. Thoughtful. Rooted in care. It can be about creating little pauses in ordinary days that remind our children they are seen and held, even when life feels busy.

And in doing that, something else happens too.

We feel it.

That quiet warmth in our chest when we imagine them opening their lunchbox.
That soft smile when we picture them finding the message.
That sense of connection that reminds us why we do all of this in the first place.

Love changes shape as life grows.
It becomes less visible to the outside world, but more powerful in the places that matter most.

It is no longer about one day on the calendar.
It is about the days that follow.
The routines that hold meaning.
The rituals that become memories.