Dear Friends,

Let me introduce you to the concept of love languages—also known as “the moment I realized my husband and I were both loving each other…incorrectly.”

I was introduced to love languages during what I like to call a character-building season in our marriage. You might call it a rough patch. Same thing, just with more tears and less dignity.

My husband genuinely believed that going to work, providing for the family, and keeping the lights on was the full job description. And honestly? That’s what he saw growing up. His dad worked, paid the bills, and loved his family deeply—he just couldn’t have told you what school his kids went to or what they were allergic to if his life depended on it. Different generation. Different playbook.

After much prayer, guidance, and probably divine intervention, my husband brought home The Five Love Languages book. I thought, oh good, another thing to tell me I’m right.
Plot twist: I was not right.

Turns out my love language was smothering. Not hugging. Smothering.
I met that man at the door like a golden retriever with unresolved issues. The second he walked in—BOOM—problems of the day, emotional downloads, and sometimes I was physically Velcroed to him because I missed him. My husband works out of town a lot, so I felt like I had weeks of talking to make up for in the first 30 seconds.

He, on the other hand, kept saying things like, “I just need a minute to decompress.”
Which I translated as, you don’t love me.
What he actually meant was, I need to sit quietly in the bathroom and stare at the wall like a man in witness protection.

After reading the book together—through tears, apologies, and some humbling conversations—we did something revolutionary.

We asked each other:
“What do you actually need from me?”

I don’t think we had ever asked that before. We just assumed. And assumptions are the fast lane to resentment.

I learned my love languages are quality time and touch. I want him near me. Talking. Sitting. Existing in the same room while I make the bed. Riding his bike while I train for my marathon just to keep me company. And my favorite—this man reads to me at night until I fall asleep. I love the sound of his voice. It shuts my brain off better than melatonin.

He learned his love languages were acts of service and words of affirmation.

Meaning:
• Let him walk in the door and breathe.
• Tell him he’s appreciated.
• Stop assuming hotel sleep equals emotional refreshment.

He confessed that while I thought he had it easy being away, he felt like he was failing as a father—missing football games, science club, leaving basketball games early. He had to hear about the bumps and bruises instead of being there for them. That broke my heart, because while I was busy fussing through my day, I took my front-row seat for granted.

Acts of service for him looked like a clean house, kids cared for, food cooked or prepped.
And in return, he mows the yard, fills my gas tank, takes out the trash, and handles my oil changes like a grown man with a mission.

Suddenly, I wasn’t just married to him—I understood him.

And when I started giving him space to decompress, something magical happened. He showed up for me. Flowers. Cards. Surprise dates. Presence. Not because I demanded it—but because he felt seen.

Here’s the lesson I learned the hard way:
Love isn’t obvious.
Healthy relationships don’t just happen.
And effort doesn’t look the same to everyone.

When you remove yourself from the equation and ask, “What can I do for you?”—clarity comes. Not perfection. Not ease. But health.

After 21 years of stumbling, we finally recognize when the other needs space, a hug, or just quiet companionship in the same room.

Scripture puts it better than I ever could:

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. - ”Philippians 2:3–4

I won’t say it’s easy.
But I will say—it’s worth it.

Love isn’t found.
It’s learned.
And then relearned…usually after a bathroom decompression break.

With love, laughter, and I am still Velcroed on him and he likes it.

Note: And before anyone sends me a strongly worded message, let me clarify this part—I work a full-time job too. A real one. With deadlines. And emails. And pants I don’t want to wear. Having a job does not elevate either of us out of our responsibilities at home. We’re both tired. Bone tired. Spiritually fatigued. But adulthood doesn’t offer a “you worked today, so you’re excused” clause. Love still requires showing up. Marriage isn’t a competition of who’s more exhausted—it’s two people saying, “I know you’re tired, but I’m still here.” Some nights that looks like teamwork, some nights that looks like survival, and some nights that looks like cereal for dinner and calling it a win.

FYI: Here are the Five Love Languages for your future conversations.

Important truth:
Most people have one or two primary love languages, not all five. And your love language can change with seasons of life.

From Your, Friend It’s Me Lorie