Why is unfamiliar love so hard to recognize?
Unlearning our expectations of how care should look so we can receive it as it is.
Last week,
I was out for lunch with a friend and as we were wrapping up,
She mentioned a book she was reading that she thought I would enjoy.
As we left the restaurant,
She promised,
I'll send you the details of the book.
If it had been me making the promise,
I imagine I would have sent the details within a few hours or perhaps a day.
My friend though,
Sent them five days later.
During those five days,
My mind quietly spun stories about why I hadn't heard from her.
Did she not enjoy our conversation?
Had something happened on her way home?
Was our time together less meaningful to her than it was to me?
My thoughts circled around all the possible reasons for the delay.
Yet,
In the end,
She sent the details as promised and even suggested we find a time for our next lunch together.
We often assume the way we experience love and care is universal.
The behaviors that make us feel valued,
Remembered,
Prioritized,
Reassured,
Or safe become the behaviors we instinctively offer to others.
And when those same behaviors are absent,
We can begin to question whether love is present at all.
This tension between the love we need to actively see and the love that simply exists in closeness is as old as human relationships themselves.
There is an old story of a man traveling through town who was invited to stay at the house of one of his best friends.
His friend had two sisters,
And while he was at their house,
The one sister took great pride in making sure everything was just right,
Cleaning the house,
Preparing the food,
And attending to the needs of the guest.
The second sister,
On the other hand,
Chose to sit with the guest to talk.
She wanted to know more about his travels and stories,
Giving the guest her attention and presence.
Eventually,
However,
The sister who was busy with housework became resentful of her sister and called it out.
Why does she get to just sit there while I do all the work?
The guest,
Who was a very wise man,
Responded,
You have chosen to be busy with many things,
But little is needed.
Your sister has chosen differently,
And it will not be taken from her.
As I reflect on this story,
I tend to relate more to the first sister,
Who feels she has to perform her love,
Whereas I aspire to be the sister who is comfortable offering her presence.
I realize that somewhere along the way,
I learned to associate monitoring and responsiveness with safety and care.
Just as she managed her anxiety by managing the household,
I learned to attune to others' needs before my own,
Offering help before it was even asked for,
As though love needed to be performed,
Rather than simply lived.
This is the way I've learned to move through the world.
When others move through relationships differently,
I notice how easily I interpret that difference as distance.
Sometimes,
I find myself quietly interpreting these differences through my own assumptions about what care should look like.
But gradually,
I am beginning to see that beneath my generosity was an unspoken hope.
I respond to you,
And you respond to me.
I anticipate your needs,
And you anticipate mine.
I noticed how often I longed to be loved in the very way that I offer love.
Perhaps one of the quiet griefs of adulthood is discovering that people can care for us deeply,
Even as they love us in ways that are different from what we hoped for.
Each of us carries our own rhythms,
Capacities,
And ways of expressing care.
When my friend took five days to send the details,
It was not because I did not matter to her,
Nor because she had forgotten.
She was simply moving at her own pace,
Honouring her own rhythm.
When her message arrived,
It was just as warm and connecting as it would have been on the first day.
I began to see that my friend's delay was painful,
Not because she had failed me,
But because her way of caring did not soothe my particular fears.
While I often long for immediate responses and frequent connection,
Others move through relationships with less urgency.
Some people trust that the connection can endure without constant tending.
Some express love through practical acts rather than words.
Others carry their care quietly,
Assuming it is already understood.
I am beginning to realize how often I have mistaken unfamiliar love for the absence of love altogether.
We all hope to be seen in the love we offer,
And to be met in our vulnerability and care.
Yet I am learning that loving others well may also mean allowing them to love in ways that are different from my own.
Perhaps love has always been arriving in more forms than I knew how to recognize.
With warmth and gratitude,
Brooke
