I am Valuable.

Tonight I was listening to a podcast called Death, Sex & Money. The episode featured filmmaker Celine Song, who recently released a film called Materialists—a story about a matchmaker in New York City. Celine herself had worked as a matchmaker for six months, so she knew the inner workings of the industry.

She and host Anna Sale talked about how modern dating has become a numbers game. People are looking for “stats”: height, income, lifestyle. Love has turned into a search for a product. Instead of seeking a beautiful soul or an open heart, people are scanning for a package that checks their materialistic boxes.

And at the bottom of the dating market?

The dreamers.

The artists.

The ones following their hearts instead of a five-year financial plan.

The podcast hit a sore spot.

The main reason I was recently dumped was because of what he called “the elephant in the room.”

Which was basically the fact that I’m one of these heart-led dream-following people.

I had to turn the podcast off.

It wasn’t just making me sad about the state of dating.

It was making me feel bad about myself.

So I’m writing this to counter that.

I'm asking myself:

What makes me valuable as a partner?

Here’s what I know to be true:

When I love someone, I am devoted to their happiness as much as my own.

I become their ally, their champion, their confidant in the pursuit of a rich and meaningful life.

I am loyal. My love is steady.

They will never have to guess if I’m there—they will know.

We can have healthy independence, but my romantic energy won’t be scattered or diluted. My presence will feel like a sanctuary. They will be my priority—right after my relationship with myself.

I welcome hard conversations.

I meet them with self-responsibility, tenderness, and a deep desire to understand. I don’t just “get through” conflict—I treat it as sacred ground, where intimacy deepens and mutual growth is born.

I am soft. I am open.

I don’t weaponize my pain. I process my feelings and come to the table with calm clarity. I don’t aim to wound—I aim to heal.

I am a nurturer.

I care—intentionally and attentively—for the people, spaces, creatures, and commitments in my life. And I extend that care to the people my partner loves. I do not withhold the warmth of my heart.

I know how to tend to myself.

I identify my needs, speak them clearly, and take responsibility for meeting them. I don’t look to my partner to rescue me—but I do expect to be loved well. With kindness. With consistency. With reverence.

And in holding that expectation, I invite my partner to rise into their own fullness.

To love better.

To be better.

Because love is a rising—not a reduction.

I am valuable.

I am valuable.

I am valuable.