One night in high school, my mom and I got into it bad. I don’t remember what it was about, or if I cried, or who raised their voice. We likely said harsh things, each leaning into our argumentative tendencies–my own a product of hers. I don’t remember how it ended, but there was no resolution. I sat on our old leather couch as she fussed in the kitchen. It was late, and she was closing up downstairs, soon to go to bed. As she walked toward the stairs, she told me she had left a bottle of gummies on the kitchen counter in case I was constipated. I thought to myself she had real nerve talking to me like nothing happened and suggesting I take some supplement. It wasn’t until much later I looked back at the moment and laughed, realizing this was my mom’s way of expressing her care.
Now that I’m in college, I forget to text my parents most days. We’ve never established a call schedule, as some of my friends have, and I find myself forgetting to inform them of life events altogether. It has become more common that our texts are random and unprompted, such as an 11 pm text from my mom about the full moon or a picture of the new Galaxie 500 album my dad bought. As simple as they are, each text acts as a push for connection, which is undeniably an act of love. I am reminded of the nights spent driving out to the rural parts of Illinois and stargazing with my mom or days playing my favorite bands in the car with my dad. Often, they text about our shared interests, but there is also an abundance of links to neighborhood news stories or blurbs about recent happenings that say far more about my parent’s interests than mine. These are no less an expression of love.
It is frequently said that to be loved is to be known. While I agree, I would argue the opposite can also be true – to receive love is to know. To know my mom nags because she cares. To know my dad gets a kick out of sending me articles, that he thinks of me when he reads them on the train to work. To know my boyfriend will always offer me the snacks I don’t like in hopes one day I will try them. To know my roommate chooses to tell me about her teammate drama. Even if I don’t go to office hours as my mom advises, read the articles my dad sends, try the Trader Joe’s rice medley, or truly care about these random people, I never want them to stop. Receiving this love isn’t about how my loved ones cater to me, but how I can understand their intentions beneath small acts. Relationships are a two-way street, and if you only feel loved when it’s all about you, you’re destined to miss out.
It is surprisingly difficult to notice these acts of love. They hide in the mundane and become habitual. What was once a kind act becomes expected. Making your partner coffee starts as romantic before becoming routine. It is far more interesting to hear about the life of a new friend than an old one. With time and comfort, we lose appreciation. I want to be more cognizant of the love I receive daily. I want to enhance the already overwhelming gratitude I feel toward the people in my life. I know I am loved. It takes knowing to receive love.
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