The Birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli, Painting

What’s Your Love Language?

Have you thought about your love language? Maybe you need ‘hold me’ or ‘praise me’ or ‘buy things for me’ or ‘show me.’ They are so nuanced, these things we need; these ways in which we feel held and cared for. But far more nuanced are the ways in which we show people that we care. Perhaps this is why we are all so easily misunderstood. All of the below come from a place of love. An odd place of love. But still a place of love:

My love language is sometimes…

…to cook a slightly complicated dinner for a load of people, all the while screaming at them to please get out of the kitchen, so that I can be on my own then repeatedly proclaiming that the food is NOT MY BEST and then waiting for compliments. Lots of compliments.

…to panic so extensively about a birthday present (because I really care but also because I want to look good and thoughtful and splendid) that I buy nothing for you. Year after year. That’s how much I love you.

…to tell an old friend that I miss them and desperately want to see them and to pressure them into a dinner for two so that we can have quality time but feel so tired and full of dread that I cancel last minute with a cowardly text and then turn my phone off. Only because I want to give the best of myself and I have only the worst of myself to give right now.

…to book a holiday with a group of people and to either become excessively and aggressively controlling (see how much I care about everyone having a good time – also I don’t trust anyone) OR to refuse to engage with the restaurant/villa/flights/car hire Whatsapp group because I trust everyone to make the right decisions – also I can in no way be arsed with the small print.

…to offer to help with decorating/party preparation/moving house/cot building but then seething inwardly because I REALLY NEEDED THIS SATURDAY to lie in a darkened room stare at the wall and manifest love and light into my life while rejecting all offers of company, love and also light.

…to lend someone a posh dress I haven’t worn in ten years then then spend the next two weeks paralysed with panic and fury that there will be a stain on it even though I don’t like it, it doesn’t fit and I told the borrower to ‘go wild don’t worry for a nano-second about the frock.’

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