My Personal Sixth Love Language

I want all things related to my brain to fit neatly into one box, column, or category. Life would be so much easier that way. I guess, to some extent, this is how many of us feel — it’s why people will stretch their realities to make horoscopes fit their lives. It’s why we adore reading pages that break us down into our Myers-Briggs categories, or why we like to find out which type of potato chip we are.

I want to be fully understood on all levels, and it seems like a more reasonable goal if I can hand my psyche over in one neatly-wrapped package and say, “See here? This is me.” Take it or leave it or save the gift receipt, but just please understand me. In turn, I feel dedicated to understanding the people I love (though jfc do I fail at that in spectacularly selfish ways sometimes). I’m sure my need to be understood is fed from a longing to be accepted for exactly who I am, running counter to a deep fear that I won’t be — but that’s a different blog post, I think.

Nearly 15 years ago, in the months leading up to my wedding, we had to meet with the minister at my mom’s church before we could be married there. To my areligious self, it felt like simple practicality; it was something to check off the to-do list. I don’t remember a whole lot about the two meetings we had, other than the feeling of lying that always follows me into churches. There was some sort of assessment that we both did — at the end of which he said, “communication is a big potential problem for you guys.”

Ha. Hahaha.

He also recommended we read the book The 5 Loves Languages. This was before it was all the rage, before there were a thousand online quizzes professing to tell you exactly how you love and want to be loved. The book itself was way too religion-based for me, but the concept at its core felt like a revelation. Over the years, as the book became ubiquitous, I watched everyone clearly name their place in the languages of love.

I tried. But just like Meyers-Briggs never fits me fully (infp with a big slice of infj, if you’re curious) it never quite felt right. For a long time, if the subject came up, I would say that Acts of Service was my love language. Or maybe it was Gift Giving. It definitely wasn’t Physical Touch. You’d think that Words of Affirmation and Quality Time would be way up there, but at the place where I stood in my marriage, they weren’t.

As I started dating, I decided my Love Language shifted according to the person I was with — both in romance and friendships. As a concept that felt kind of icky — like I was willing to squish down my identity to make room for others’. But in practice, that is never what it actually feels like.

I’ve told my boyfriend, at different times, that my love language is definitely Words of Affirmation and definitely Quality Time.

Have my needs in love really changed that drastically?

Finally, as I rambled on to him about it in Messenger, I realized that maybe Gary Chapman is not actually the all-knowing master of Love. Perhaps, just possibly, I need to stop taking things so literally. A concept does not have to be definitive to be useful.

Still, the idea that I just fit vaguely in various categories at various times didn’t sit well with me. Then I thought of that list of values I made and considered that maybe Love Languages and values are all intertwined. Just like my values are a list that all come back around to connection, my Love Language is actually the whole list coming back around to one central theme of thoughtfulness. That, in turn, fits just perfectly with overarching value of connection.

I like Thoughtfulness as a Love Language because it feels so much more fluid and malleable — and because we ultimately tend to give what we want to receive, it gives me lots of choices in how I show my love to others. I can give what I want to receive within the context of someone else’s Love Language and it all points me in the direction of my values. That’s pretty nifty, I think.

I know I have a tendency towards disbelieving other people’s object permanence for me. I figured that out right around the time my therapist went on maternity leave a year ago. I asked her to write me an email before she left to help me remember some of the things she’d like me to understand. The whole letter was lovely, but one sentence hit me harder than I expected. “And remember that you’re not forgotten when I’m not around.”

Essentially, I want to believe that I matter. I unabashedly want to feel important (ok, maybe a little abashedly). Thoughtfulness, by definition, means that someone was thinking of me; it could be an act of service, kind words, or any of the others. Buying me an expensive present doesn’t impress me nearly as much as heartfelt words, and generic words don’t mean nearly as much as a quarter-machine toy that reminded someone of me in a specific way.

You can be thoughtful to anyone in a big-picture sort of way — but the deeper, personalized, and more valued thoughtfulness comes from understanding. And with understanding comes connection. With connection comes thoughtfulness. And may that particular tangled circle remain unbroken.