Gary Chapman is a well-known author, counselor, and radio talk show host on human relationships. According to him, there are five Love Languages. Each love language describes how we receive love from others. They are:
Words of Affirmation – Saying supportive things to your partner
Acts of Service – Doing helpful things for your partner
Receiving Gifts – Giving your partner gifts that tell them you were thinking about them
Quality Time – Spending meaningful time with your partner
Physical Touch – Being close to and caressed by your partner
While reading The 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman, he explains how the concept of love can be very confusing. We love activities, objects, animals, nature, and people. We even fall in love with love.
He points out that we sometimes use love to explain behavior.
“‘I did it because I love her,’ says a man who is involved in an adulterous relationship. God calls it sin, but he calls it love. The wife of an alcoholic picks up the pieces after her husband’s latest episode. The psychologist calls it co-dependency, but she calls it love. The parent indulges all the child’s wishes. The family therapist calls it irresponsible parenthood, but the parent calls it love.”
Now, I’m not, by any means, a psychologist, professor, clergywoman, or counselor. I am just an ordinary woman. I’m a wife, mother, daughter, sister, cousin, grandma, aunt, friend, neighbor, coworker, and recently a great-grandma.
But like many of us, I think we can sometimes speak the wrong love language. I definitely have.
In my youth, I did some stupid things out of “love” for a guy. Looking back, I wonder if what I was experiencing was, in part, unrequited love. I loved him, but I wanted him to love me in return. I thought, surely he would come around to my way of thinking. He would love me enough to change his behavior and better himself.
After all, hadn’t I bent over backward for him? Worshiped the ground he walked on? Become his doormat?
In order to gain his undivided attention, I forgot who I was.
In my teens, I covered my former husband’s transgressions. I hid his secrets, sin, and shame. My way of thinking was: This is why I exist, right? It’s my job, isn’t it?
His wish was my command. Barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen. If only I knew how to cook then!
My smile hid the pain in my heart, and makeup hid the bruises on my face. I hid the grocery money and emptied the liquor bottles, refilling them halfway with water, hoping he’d never notice. I’d call his boss to say he was sick in bed after another blackout episode.
I told myself: I protect my interests. I do it all in the name of “love.”
I was tired. Burned out.
But because I loved my children, I eventually allowed them the freedom of choice. They started listening to the “hip” music their friends were listening to and watching certain types of movies. Oh, sure, I just knew they were old enough and wise enough not to repeat negative behaviors.
And yes, I was inconsistent, worn-out, and haggard. I even practiced tough love. I attended church activities and adhered to rules and schedules.
Then I lost the victory in my own personal life.
I tossed responsibility to the wind. I got lazy. It became every person for himself. I started doing my own thing. I felt defeated. Cold-hearted. Bitter.
I had lost the battle as a wife.
For a moment, I forgot there was still a war to fight.
That war was called MOTHERHOOD.
That was many moons ago.
I have moved on. My children are adults, and I am in my second marriage, 31 years now. I continue to strive to communicate this language in a healthy manner. It is far from perfect, but I continue to improve.
I’ve learned that loving someone doesn’t mean losing yourself in the process. It doesn’t mean accepting everything they do, rescuing them from the consequences of their choices, or continually sacrificing yourself in the hope that they will finally love you the way you long to be loved.
Sometimes, we can misunderstand love so completely that we don’t recognize what we’ve become.
I aim for a way of loving that allows me to love, even from a distance, without being overly legalistic or losing sight of who I am.
These are my rambling thoughts as I reflect on Gary Chapman’s perspective on the language of love, and on how long it took me to understand what love is and what it isn’t.
What are your thoughts?
From Heart to Heritage
Reflections From the Heart 