Valentine's Day with rejection sensitivity

Valentine's Day has everything my rejection sensitivity runs on: sky-high expectations, a partner's face to read like the weather, and a full day of chances to get it wrong.

One year I spent ninety euros on flowers and still went to bed convinced I had ruined everything, because her smile at dinner looked a degree off. Nothing had gone wrong — my brain simply does not accept that as a possible outcome on a day this loaded.

RSD turns ambiguous signals into verdicts. And a holiday built on gestures is a festival of ambiguous signals.

For anyone who has not lived it, here is how fast it goes. It is fast, it is total, and it feels like observation rather than invention.

• 18:04 — she checks her phone during dinner. My translation: she is bored of me.
• 18:40 — the gift reaction seems one degree too cool. Translation: I got it wrong again.
• 23:15 — I am quiet and withdrawn, which is what actually sours the evening.

The rejection I feared never arrived. The one I manufactured nearly did, and that difference took me years to see.

Now we plan the day together, in advance, out loud. No surprises, no tests, no guessing whether a gesture landed.

It sounds unromantic until you compare it with the alternative: two people performing spontaneity while one of them quietly detonates.

• We agree on the shape of the day about a week early.
• Gifts have a stated budget and an actual wishlist.
• Either of us can call a timeout, no questions asked.

The romance survived the planning just fine. What would not have survived much longer was the annual guessing game.

When I feel the spiral starting, I say it out loud: “My brain is telling me you're disappointed. Is that true?”

Nine times out of ten, the answer is no, and hearing it from her kills the story in seconds. The tenth time, we get to talk about something real instead of something I invented.

It is an unglamorous script. It has also saved three Valentine's Days in a row.