#but mine is somehow problematic or some hint to something sad and wounded? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

musashi · 1 year

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been a few days and i’m still caught somewhere between heartbroken and steaming so here’s a post about it, i guess, i don’t know if this will be something anyone wants to reblog but here we go.

a person’s love language and how it manifests, how they navigate it, etc, is completely unique to them. i don’t understand how this became a topic of debate, i don’t know if it was this weird new wave of... tiktok psychology, or what, but. every single person has a unique relationship to their love language(s). you cannot just... paint every single one with a broad brush.

twice now i have seen posts condemning acts of service as some kind of “problematic” love language. one of them was a uquiz that asked me what my love language was. it proceeded to list all of them except acts of service, and claimed vaguely “break out of that toxic childhood mindset!” in a tone that i think was intended to be motivational. all it did was make me furious.

if your love language is something that is born out of trauma, you are not wrong or broken for that. you deserve a space to express that in. however, sometimes it is not that fucking deep.

my love language being acts of service is not originated by some deep wound or secret trauma. i saw another post just the other day claiming that acts of service bitches could not handle “being loved for who they are, rather than what they can do for others”

bro. it is not that fucking deep, and quite frankly i am... insulted. i do not give love because i am expecting love in return. my love is not... transactional? my love is not given with the expectation that it will... attach someone to me, or whatever the fuck the above means?

i want to cook for you. i want to clean for you. i want to have your favourite show on and dinner made when you get home, i want to draw you a bath. my cupboards are littered with hot drinks--cocoa, coffee, tea. i don’t drink them. my pantry is loaded with food--food i don’t eat, on my strict diet. the dream is that someone will come over. the dream is that i will feed them, and wrap them up in a soft blanket, and wash their dirty dishes for them. that is the end of the transaction. in many of these daydreams it is not a friend but a stranger. someone i will never see again. the JOY in these acts is nothing more than the smile on their face and the act of making it happen. it does not go further than that.

i make my friend soup. they are happy because the soup is good. i am happy because they are happy. end of fucking transaction.

there is no secret trauma behind this. i was not forced to take care of anyone in a traumatic way. growing up i was an incredibly narcissistic and selfish child who was mean and cruel and liked to get into fights and do a lot of drugs. there was not a single part of me that was nurturing, or forced to nurture.

when i am showing love, i am not sitting there subconsciously thinking “oh! i am doing a service for this person, they will find me useful and want to keep me around! they will HAVE to love me if i do things for them!” anyone who knows me knows i don’t give a single shit what anyone thinks about me. i literally just delight in moving my hands, and i also delight in making people happy. when combined this forms acts of service.

i like to tidy. i like to do tasks. i like to organize, and clean, and move my hands. i like to run errands. with my long distance friends, it took me a while to recognize what this love language looks like--but i like to beta their fic, and i like to make edits for them... sometimes my friends need something transparent, or a gif, so i do little long distance chores in photoshop.

sometimes when people say thank you, my response is “i live to serve.” this is because my ultimate fantasy is that i am a medieval knight venturing the countryside saving ladies from monsters. even when i was little, and all piss and vinegar, every once in a while i’d fall in love with a girl. and it made me furious to be in love, because it was so immolative in the way i felt my blood go alight. i didn’t know how to wax poetic, or buy her flowers, or explain what i felt. but i knew what i wanted to do: i wanted to save her from schoolyard bullies, blood on my knuckles. i wanted to carry her out of a burning building. i wanted to pull her into piggyback on a dark night and sprint down the streets of our small town, out of her stifling house where things got broken and people screamed. i wanted to move, i wanted to act.

it’s really hard to say, “hi. i love you. i want to slay a dragon in your name, i want my foot on its motionless chest and my sword buried in its throat while i stare lovingly at you across the divide,” to a girl when you like her. to a friend when you really connect with them. so, like, i do chores for them, instead.

as a rule it is fucking weird when strangers psychoanalyze you based on something completely arbitrary, but this one kinda fucking hurts? do not tell people, especially strangers, that their love is from a broken place. if your love is from somewhere dark, unpack that in private, i genuinely do hope you heal, i hope you feel better, i hope it passes through you painlessly and someday you are okay. but do not project that hurt onto others. there is nothing broken or wrong or secretly painful about the way i love.

if no one ever thinks of me twice, if no one ever loves me, then i will carry on as i always have. i already love myself more than any person walking this earth could love me. if no one ever loves me, i will act as i always have. i will love, as i always have.

i literally just want to make you some tea. there is nothing deeper. have some tea.

#wordy wendy #wendy rambles #wendy rants #it hurts man...#how come everyone else can have their love languages #but mine is somehow problematic or some hint to something sad and wounded?#its literally not dude. i just like it when people smile cause i did smth for em

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