I’m pretty good at learning languages, but I am not great at reading other people’s love languages. As I talk too much, and write a lot, I think people tend to assume the way to my heart is through words. It is not however, for me, I see love in effort.
So, if my son tries hard to make the living room look nice when I get home from work, or the man in my life makes me a vegetarian version of food while he cooks his own meat-eater version. These things speak to me more than words can.
When a person I love hurts me – for whatever reason – I don’t want to hear sorry. I want to hear, I cooked dinner/made you a coffee/Got you that wine that you like. Then no more words. Words do not ease my pain, but you finding something that can make me happy – lighting the fire, finding the book I want to read, or taking me to the ocean – these things can.
An apology of words is only letters on a page.
An apology that tenderly heals my hurt… this counts to me.