His Love, Her Language
I’ve always been expressive — quick to hug, quick to lean in. Physical touch is my default. It’s how I show love.
So when I reached in for him and felt his shoulders stiffen, it caught me off guard. Not because he did anything wrong… but because I briefly interpreted it as rejection.
Old instincts are loud. They whisper things like, Did I misread this? Did I ask for too much?
But the truth was simpler.
He’s just not a hugger. Not all the time.
And that doesn’t mean anything is broken.
It still stung a little. And I did what many of us do when we misinterpret a moment — I went quiet in my head.
In my past, if someone didn’t speak my language fluently, I saw it as a reason to leave. I didn’t understand that love could exist in the silence.
But then, he came to find me.
He reminded me how happy we are. He teased me about wanting to hug all day, telling me that just because he doesn’t, it doesn’t mean anything is wrong. “Get out of your head,” he said. “We’re ok.”
I shot him a sharp glance, but then I looked at his face. I saw the reach of his hand for mine.
I realized that ignoring his way of loving just because it’s different than what I want isn’t fair. His love language is just as important as mine. In my past, I thought love had to be a constant fire—big gestures and always getting exactly what I needed. But I’ve learned that a slow, steady hand-hold is just as powerful.
The lesson I’ve learned in these three years is that a “language gap” isn’t a sign of a failing marriage; it’s an opportunity for a deeper translation. When I stopped looking for the fire and started valuing his way of showing up, the room became happy. The walls became peaceful.
I understand now.
He loves me in his language.
I’ve learned how to hear it.
— India Vanease
Marriage, Men, and Me 