What We Actually Want (And Need) This Valentine's Day

There’s a reason Valentine’s Day can feel slightly stressful, even when everything looks beautiful. For most of us, romance didn’t start with real life. It started with fiction. We grew up on fairytales: princes, princesses, grand rescues, one perfect kiss and a neat ‘happily ever after’. Love, we were told, was effortless. Desire was constant. And intimacy happened naturally, without logistics, awkwardness or tired bodies.

The modern version isn’t that different. Now, it’s Instagram instead of storybooks. Candlelit tables instead of castles. Lingerie campaigns instead of ball gowns. But the message is the same: if your relationship is healthy, it should look magical.

Valentine’s has become a curated aesthetic — roses, hotel nights, champagne, perfectly styled bedrooms — a commercialised fantasy of how intimacy is supposed to look. And yet, most people’s real experiences of closeness look nothing like that. They look ordinary.

Long workdays. Stress. Kids. Hormones. Screens. Mismatched energy levels. Bodies that sometimes need more care and more time than we’d like to admit. Which raises an uncomfortable question: if we’re all trying to recreate a fantasy, are we missing what we actually need?

The Performance Problem

The issue isn’t romance itself. It’s the pressure surrounding it. There’s pressure to plan the perfect night. To feel sexy on demand. To want the same thing at the same time. To prove that your relationship is exciting enough. But pressure and desire rarely coexist.

Talk to anyone working closely with intimacy, and you’ll hear a similar pattern: most people aren’t asking for more excitement. They’re asking how to feel more comfortable. This message comes up again and again in conversations with customers of my own intimacy-wellness brand, Sitre. The questions are practical, not cinematic:

How do I feel more relaxed in my body?
How do we reconnect after burnout?
How do we slow things down?
How do we make intimacy feel safe again?

Because when you’re tense, rushed or self-conscious, your body doesn’t respond to romance. It shuts down. Stress is one of the biggest libido killers we have — and Valentine’s Day often adds more of it.

Redefining What “Romantic” Actually Means

Strip away the expectations and intimacy is often much simpler than we’ve been taught. It’s not grand gestures. It’s regulation: feeling warm, feeling safe, feeling unhurried.

Research around desire increasingly points to responsive desire — especially common among women and people under stress. Instead of feeling turned on first and then connecting, the order is reversed: you relax first, and desire follows. Which means the foundation of intimacy isn’t fireworks. It’s comfort.

So instead of asking how to make Valentine’s Day bigger, it can be more useful to ask: what would actually feel good? If you’re unsure where to start, small, sensory rituals tend to work better than grand plans.

A Few Ways To Make Intimacy Feel More Real (Not Rehearsed)

1. Start with warmth and touch
Touch doesn’t have to lead anywhere. A slow massage is often more effective than trying to jump straight into sex. Heat helps muscles relax and signals safety to the nervous system, which a massage candle can help with.

2. Turn the shower into self-care
The shower is often the only moment alone and offline during the day. Use it as a check-in. Notice where you feel tight or tired. Spend a few extra minutes there. Massage your shoulders, your feet, your stomach. Small pauses like this build body awareness, which is often the first step toward feeling desire again.

3. Choose comfort over pretending
We’ve learned about sex from films where everything just works. Real bodies usually need more time. Lubrication isn’t a fix — it’s support. It reduces friction and makes everything feel better, helping you stay present instead of distracted. Remember, the goal isn’t performance; it’s ease. When the body feels comfortable, confidence follows.

4. Don’t forget solo connection
Intimacy isn’t only partnered. Sometimes what you actually need is time alone — skincare, stretching, rest, self-touch. Feeling connected to your own body often makes connection with someone else much easier.

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None of these suggestions are dramatic, and that’s the point. Real intimacy rarely looks like a movie scene. It looks like people slowing down enough to ask a simple question: what would feel good right now?

Maybe that’s less spectacle and more softness. Not happily ever after. Just something that feels honest — and actually yours.