On Valentine’s Day, and the Rituals our Children will Remember

Valentine’s Day has quietly become another performance - another day we feel we should do something: bake something pink, buy something heart-shaped, post something sweet, without always pausing to ask ourselves what we are actually trying to pass on.

But when I look back on my own childhood and really think about what stayed with me into adulthood, it was rarely the spectacle. Every year on Valentine’s Day, my father would leave a simple heart-shaped chocolate for me and my sisters, nothing elaborate - and yet that small, quiet act of love was everything. It was the repetition of it, the certainty, the tone it set, the steady signal that we were thought of and chosen, year after year, in ways that felt wholesome and deeply nourishing.

Rituals matter not because they are grand, but because they return. They quietly tell a child this is how love shows up here, not just once, but again and again, even when life is busy, even when we are tired, even when the world feels loud.

And Valentine’s Day, when stripped back, is a surprisingly powerful place to begin — not as a celebration of romance, but as an opportunity to model connection and gratitude, to show our children that love is something you practise deliberately, especially with the people who matter most.

A ritual can be as simple as a shared breakfast that happens every year, even if the morning is rushed. Heart-shaped toast. Cut fruit. The ritual isn’t the shape, it’s the pause, the quiet message that love is important enough to be given time before the day takes over.

Another ritual can be words. Not cards filled with clichés, but something spoken out loud, something specific and earned. Children don’t need poetry, they need truth. I love how you look after your sister. I love how brave you were this year. I love how you're always trying your best even at the things you don't enjoy doing. These sentences may feel small, but they are not. When they arrive consistently, year after year, they shape how a child learns to see themselves, how they learn to measure their own worth, how they internalise the feeling of being deeply known and fully accepted.

Some families choose acts of service - making something small together, packing something for someone else, doing something quietly kind without needing credit. This teaches children that love is not just something you feel or receive, but something you practise, something you show up for.

And perhaps the most underrated ritual of all is presence. Phones away. No rushing through. Just sitting with your child, even for ten minutes and letting them feel your full attention. In a world where everyone is half-elsewhere, this kind of presence is rare, and rarity gives it weight.

The truth is, our children are not watching how elaborate our celebrations are. They are watching what we prioritise, what repeats, what remains steady when everything else changes. Rituals don’t need perfection, they need consistency.

Long after the chocolates are gone and the crafts are forgotten, what stays is the emotional imprint: I was seen. I was chosen. I was loved - without conditions, without comparison, without question. And that, more than anything heart-shaped or store-bought, is what Valentine’s Day can offer our children. The knowing that we are their biggest cheerleaders, that our love does not fluctuate and that showing love, even in the simplest ways, is not optional, but essential.