I was having a conversation with one of my daughters recently about love.
It wasn’t one of those conversations where you sit down intentionally and say, “Let’s talk about love.” It was just one of those conversations that happens between a mother and daughter—one thought leads to another, and before you know it, you’re sitting with a statement that makes you stop and think.
She said something that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
She said, in essence:
“How can someone show you they love you when showing love isn’t a natural part of who they are?”
Read more: When Love Isn’t Natural, Can Someone Still Learn How to Love You?And I had to sit with that.
Because how can someone consistently demonstrate something they don’t understand how to demonstrate?
We often assume that if someone loves us, they will automatically know how to show us that love. We think love should naturally produce certain behaviors—affection, communication, consideration, reassurance, sacrifice, tenderness, attentiveness, consistency.
But what if those things were never modeled for them?
What if showing love was never a natural part of their environment?
What if they grew up in a home where people provided for one another but didn’t say “I love you”?
What if affection wasn’t expressed?
What if emotions weren’t discussed?
What if love was present, but it was never demonstrated in a way that taught them what love was supposed to look like?
Then perhaps my daughter’s question is exactly the question we need to ask:
How can someone give you an expression of love they were never taught how to give?
That thought challenged something I’ve believed for a long time.
Because we often talk about love as though it is primarily a feeling.
I love you.
I feel love for you.
I fell in love with you.
But love is more than a feeling.
Love is also an action.
Love has to eventually become something we can see, hear, experience, and feel from another person.
And that’s where relationships can become complicated.
Because a person may genuinely have feelings for you and still not know how to express those feelings in a healthy way.
They may say, “But I love you.”
And you may believe them.
But you may still be sitting there thinking:
“Then why don’t I feel loved?”
That’s a hard question.
And it becomes even harder when you’ve explained what you need.
You’ve communicated it.
You’ve talked about it.
You’ve cried about it.
You’ve asked for it.
You’ve given examples.
You’ve waited.
You’ve hoped.
And still, nothing changes.
That’s where my original question comes in:
If a person continuously shows you—through their actions—that they are unwilling to learn how to love you in a way that you can receive, can you eventually determine that they just don’t care?
I don’t think the answer is as simple as yes or no.
Maybe they care.
Maybe they have feelings.
Maybe they love you in the only way they know how.
Maybe they don’t have the emotional tools to give you what you’re asking for.
But here’s the part that I believe matters most:
Not knowing how to love someone is different from being unwilling to learn.
There is grace in saying, “I don’t know how.”
There is room for patience when someone says, “This is difficult for me, but I want to understand.”
There is hope when someone says, “I wasn’t taught this, but I want to learn because you matter to me.”
Because love can be learned.
Communication can be learned.
Affection can be learned.
Vulnerability can be learned.
Listening can be learned.
Consideration can be learned.
You don’t have to have grown up knowing how to do these things perfectly.
But at some point, love asks us to become students of the person we say we love.
“What makes you feel loved?”
“What do you need from me?”
“What have I been doing that makes you feel disconnected from me?”
And then comes the most important part:
“What am I willing to do differently?”
Because if I tell you that I love you, but I have no interest in learning how to make you feel loved, what does my love mean to you?
That’s the question.
And perhaps that’s what I was really trying to understand during that conversation with my daughter.
Maybe the issue isn’t always whether someone loves you.
Maybe the issue is whether the love they are capable of giving is compatible with what you need to receive.
Because someone can love you and still hurt you.
Someone can love you and still neglect your emotional needs.
Someone can love you and still be emotionally unavailable.
Someone can love you and still refuse to grow.
And someone can sincerely believe they are loving you while you are experiencing the relationship as loneliness.
That’s a difficult truth.
But it is an important one.
Eventually, we have to stop trying to determine what is happening inside another person’s heart and start paying attention to what is happening in the relationship.
What are their actions telling you?
Are they trying?
Are they listening?
Are they learning?
Are they making adjustments?
Are they acknowledging the ways they are hurting you?
Are they willing to step outside of what is comfortable for them because the relationship matters?
Or have they essentially said, through their actions:
“This is just who I am. Take it or leave it.”
Because there is a significant difference between “I don’t know how” and “I don’t care enough to learn.”
The first one may require patience.
The second one requires a decision.
And sometimes we spend years trying to answer the question:
“Does this person love me?”
Maybe there is another question we should be asking.
“Is this person willing to learn how to love me?”
Because I can acknowledge that you love me and still recognize that the way you love me is not healthy for me.
I can believe that you care about me and still admit that I am not receiving the kind of love I need.
I can understand your history, your upbringing, your wounds, your limitations, and your inability to express yourself—and still decide that I cannot continue living without the things I need in a relationship.
Understanding someone does not require abandoning yourself.
And compassion does not require accepting a lifetime of emotional deprivation.
My daughter’s statement made me think about how often we judge people for not expressing love the way we do.
Maybe some people truly don’t know how.
Maybe they were never taught.
Maybe love was never demonstrated to them.
But that doesn’t mean they are incapable of learning.
And if someone truly values you, perhaps they don’t have to know how on day one.
They just have to be willing to learn.
Because love isn’t simply about what you feel in your heart.
Love is what you are willing to do with what you feel.
And sometimes the most revealing thing isn’t what a person says about love.
It’s what they are willing—or unwilling—to do because of it.
That conversation with my daughter started with a simple question about love.
But it left me with a much bigger one:
If someone knows what you need to feel loved and chooses not to learn how to give it to you, how long can you continue calling that love enough?
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