What I learned from a Marshmallow…

In my twenties, I believed finding love required effort, creativity, and maybe a little desperation.
So I tried everything — bars, speed dating, reality TV auditions… even marshmallows with my phone number tucked inside.

What I didn’t realize then was that the greatest lesson wouldn’t be about finding someone else — it would be about finding myself.

My best friend’s name is Grace.

When Grace and I were in our twenties—and very single—we were on a full-time mission to meet our future husbands. And when I say mission, I mean boots on the ground, creativity engaged, dignity occasionally optional.

We tried everything.

Bars. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

8 on a Date—that’s dinner with us, two other women, and four men.
Speed dating—five minutes to decide if someone might be your forever… or just your free appetizer.

We even auditioned for a reality TV show and actually thought, this might work.

One day, we decided to think outside the box. We made a list of unconventional ways to meet men.

One of my favorites? Handing out water bottles—with our phone numbers taped to them—to cyclists along the Sierra Madre Boulevard bike path.

But our crowning achievement?

Throwing marshmallows at random men—with our phone numbers rolled up inside like a diploma and tied with a little red ribbon and the words below it that said, “Congradulations. You’ve earned a date with me.”

We called these outings Marshmallow Missions.

And we proudly referred to ourselves as “Marshmallows Looking for Fellows.”

Grace eventually married a guy she was interning with while collecting hours for her psychology licensure. At her wedding, instead of rice, we threw mini marshmallows.

Very on brand.

As for me?
I stayed single. And I stopped dating—for a long time.

Fast forward twenty years.

I decided to try again. I joined Match.com. I met someone I really liked. We talked. We texted. We connected. It felt promising… until I sent him a more recent photo of myself.

That’s when he told me I was “too fat.”

And that I hadn’t accurately represented who I really was.

He had never met me.

Never seen me in person.

That conversation ended at the McDonald’s drive-thru—where I cried into my Happy Meal and wondered, Will I ever be good enough for someone to love?

I’m sensitive—so that experience took me out of the dating world for another two years. On top of the twenty-year break I had already taken.

I tried again. One man rejected me because I didn’t have a master’s degree, without the knowledge that I was considering going back to school to get my Ph.D.

Eventually, I found myself in my therapist’s office, talking about this feeling of not enough-ness. That deep belief that my flaws somehow outweighed my worth.

He asked me to try an exercise.

He said, “Make a list of everything that makes you… you.”

So I did.

And that list became my dating profile.

But something unexpected happened when I read it back.

My inadequacy softened.

My inner critic got quieter.

Like my best friend’s name, I gave myself grace.

And I remember thinking… Wow. She’s kind of amazing.

Not because of a number on a scale.
Not because of a degree or a title.
But because I saw my kindness. My depth. My humor. My resilience.

Heck—I wanted to date myself.

I think sometimes we date with our eyes only, as my friend Samantha says. But there is so much more to a person than what we can immediately see.

When we peel away the labels—weight, age, status, wealth—and truly see someone for who they are, not what they are… love becomes possible.

So what did I learn?

I learned I no longer want to waste time on shallow people—or on being unkind to myself. Because the truth is this:

Someone can only love you at the level you love yourself.

And if Justin Bieber—who sings “Love Yourself”—and Hailee Steinfeld—who sings “Love Myself”—weren’t already married…

I’d absolutely suggest they go grab a drink together.

Cheers. 🥂

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Someone can only love you
at the level you love yourself.

And maybe that’s why Valentine’s Day looks different for me now.

It’s not about waiting for flowers.
It’s about putting them on my own table.

Raspberries.
A mug that says LOVE.
A scarf tied just because I feel like celebrating.

There was a time I threw marshmallows hoping someone would choose me.

Now?

I choose me.

Valentine’s Day isn’t a measuring stick anymore.
It’s a reminder.

I am already enough.