Lately I’ve been digging. Digging deep, not in the romantic sense, but in the “why can’t I say I love you without sounding like I’m confessing to a crime?” kind of way. I realized that I can’t say it out loud. Not to my parents, not to my friends, not even to my plants. Apparently, I can whisper it to a city, but even then it’s in this weird, baby-talk tone like, “oh I wuv you.” Which is… not the same thing.

I’ve tried practicing it in the mirror. “I love you.” Nope. My throat tightens. My face does this awkward twitch thing. It’s like my vocal cords are on strike.

I started to wonder, how many times have I heard that phrase growing up? Not that my parents or grandparents didn’t love each other. They did. They just expressed it in ways that didn’t require actual words. Like, “Here, I cut you some fruit.” Or, “You’re getting pale, eat more iron.” Apparently, our family tree has a generational allergy to saying “I love you.” Maybe it’s cultural. Maybe it’s trauma. Or maybe we just prefer our love medium-rare, served through acts of service, not syllables.

That tracks for me, though. Acts of service? My main love language. I show love by doing things. Cooking for someone. Listening to their existential crisis without checking my phone. Helping them pick an outfit that doesn’t scream midlife panic at 25. But sometimes that turns into overgiving, which I’m… still unlearning. Learning to say no without feeling like I’ve committed a felony. Learning to ask, “Can we meet at 6:30 instead of 7?” instead of martyring myself at a bar for half an hour writing blog drafts like this one.

Words of affirmation, though? That’s where things get tricky. I see people throw “I love you” around like confetti. Girls saying it to someone they met ten minutes ago: “I love your energy.” And I’m like: wow, that’s a bold move. I admire it, but I also needed a nine-month period before my “I love you”s left the mouth to the person I loved with all the cells in my body. No offence girl, but I think I need to complete my 3 years of getting to know you period before I get to say “I love you.” 

But maybe, just maybe, the real work isn’t about blurting it out. Maybe it’s about making peace with the feeling behind it. Letting love exist in whatever form it wants to, whether it’s a whispered “I love this city,” a packed lunch for someone you care about, or a silent I love you said internally because your voice still cracks when you try.

Because love isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s shy. Sometimes it’s clumsy. And sometimes it just needs a little practice before it comes out naturally, without the baby voice. And sometimes the people who don’t blurt it out, may be loving you the deepest, quietly.