by Paula Spencer

from Woman's Day Magazine, February 2008

            “Hi Hon…that’s right, it’s the second driveway after the light. You’re almost here. I love you. Bye.”

            A second later, the cell phone of the guy sitting next to me in the bleachers rings again. “No...the second driveway on the left. You got it. Ok, see you in a sec. I love you, bye.”

            I’m startled--and vaguely embarrassed. That’s a lot of love over driving directions.

            There’s love in the air everywhere, it seems. You can hear “I love you”s traded at the movies, in restaurants, at sporting events. In particular, those three little words have become synonymous with “goodbye.”  Parents in the school drop-off lane say, “Have a good day at school Sally, Mommy loves you.” Friends part at lunch: “Love ya! See ya!”

            The declaration is supposed to make us feel warm and fuzzy. So why do I wince? Sure I love people. But the emotion feels too deeply personal to be bandied about in casual conversation. I just can’t do it.

A few years back, my parents began ending all our phone conversations with a cheery, “Love you!” It was as uncharacteristic as if they’d suddenly begun giving me stock tips (which is to say pretty darn strange). This signoff must’ve been an import from a sister- or brother-in-law, because my family certainly didn’t grow up laying verbal love on one another. Sometimes I manage, “Me too, ‘bye.” More often I hurriedly bring the conversation to an end before we get to the loves: “Well, there’s a pot boiling over on the stove/someone’s screaming bloody murder/I have to go pick up somebody from somewhere and I’m late so talk to you soon, bye.”

            Would it kill me to say “I love you, too?” Probably not. But it just doesn’t feel  natural.

            I don’t even write the word “love” as my closing in cards and letters. Instead I draw a little heart and write my name after it. I picked up this little symbol signature from my fourth grade teacher, when I corresponded with her from college. I remember even then being flooded with relief at this clever way of expressing affection without being bald or indiscriminate about it.

            Go ahead, psychoanalyze me. I fear rejection. I wasn’t hugged enough as a child. I must have grown up feeling insecure about love. I’ve been jilted and am still tender. I have “issues.” All wrong.

Truth is, when it comes to the intimacy of love, actions speak louder than words in my book. My parents know how I feel about them. Why else would I call punctually and hop on a plane overnight in a crisis?  My children know they’re adored, too, and I rub noses, give hugs and kisses, and support them accordingly. I do tell them I love them--and my husband, love of my life, too. Just not each and every day.

Some people say you can never hear “I love you” too often. I say the power of those words risks being diluted by mindless repetition. Hear something too often (a mother’s “be careful” comes to mind) and pretty soon you don’t hear it at all.

            “But what if that’s your last conversation?” a friend once asked me. She goes through an elaborate ritual in which she declares her love for her child every time they part. It’s true, something awful could happen at any unforeseen moment. The wife of the guy giving directions at the ball game might be struck by a semi as she makes that left turn. But I doubt he’d rest any easier for having reassured her of his love during his autopilot parting words. Because he wasn’t really professing his affection. He was just giving directions. At least that’s how it sounded to my tender ears.

I’m absolutely not knocking the habit, if it feels right to you. Most people, it seems, enjoy saying it and hearing it (and it’s certainly better than the opposite sentiment!). I’m just saying that it’s okay not to participate, even in our touchy-feely culture, if like me you’re in the minority for whom the words catch in the throat.

Valentine’s Day is handy for the reserved among us, when we can let red-and-pink cards, flowers, and candy do the talking. It’s a public nod on top of the other 355 days of the year we express our love through kind acts and unconditional support, through clean sheets and hot meals, through lunchbox notes and surprise balloons. Through being there. And yes--at the right moments--through whispering those three very big words, “I love you.”

MOMFIDENCE COLUMN, 17x/year
WOMAN’S DAY MAGAZINE

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