Love: From the Perspective of the Unromantic

When reduced down to stereotypes, I've noticed that there is a harsh gender line regarding experiences of love and romance. Women are expected to have a stronger connection to and capacity for love. Love seems to play a more central role in a woman's expected life's narrative (i.e., fall in love, get married, have children). For men, love seems more often regarded as a secondary aspect to the narrative (i.e., achieve an aspiration, secure a wife along the way). I think this is part of the reason why girlhood gets lumped with romanticism in a way that boyhood never seems to be.

I don't want to denounce the beauty of girlhood and romanticism: there are wonderful aspects of this communion of love. I can still smile at a group of giggling girls with blushed cheeks and bashful glances across the school yard. There's a certain exceptional closeness that seems to arise in the aftermath of a breakup, three movies in and a pint of ice cream down.

But when we conflate gender roles and romanticism, there's bound to be folks who feel tertiary to the experience of love, whether that means they feel too romantic or not romantic enough compared to how they are "supposed to feel." So although I don't believe there's anything wrong with young girls bubbling over boy bands and future wedding plans, the stereotypes left me feeling a bit misplaced as a young girl who had no interest in romance.

I was chronically unromantic, and if I had been a boy, this would have perhaps been left alone. However, since I grew up as a girl, I found myself playing pretend a lot when it came to the passions of love. Even in elementary school, I understood that there was an expectation of how I was suppose to act about boys. When talking about girlhood crushes, I found myself picking out someone with nice hair or a soft personality, but feeling rather indifferent to them otherwise. I learned how to participate in conversations about future weddings and the woes of not having a boyfriend. As I grew older, I listened to my friends regale me of their latest passions, and in kindness, they eventually picked up on my penchant for avoiding rom-coms and boyfriend questions. I thought that maybe I was a late bloomer and that when I "grew-up" I would be seized by the wonderful rollercoaster of womanhood and dating and romance.

But that never happened.

I'm married now, though.

(Did you expect that?)

Being unromantic does not mean I was incapable of loving someone.

But I thought it did for a while. There was a time I sat on the bathroom floor and apologized to my (future) husband that I would never be able to love him in the way I thought that he deserved. I've always struggled to express affection in words, I avoided holding hands or public displays of affection, and I pushed back on many gestures of romance. He rubbed my back and laughed away my concerns.

"But you bring me snacks during the workday."

And in those words, a certain truth began to peek through. Love was not a culmination of grand gestures or sunset walks. Love was not a blushing crush across the schoolyard. Love was not rose petals and candlelight.

Love looks different for so many people, and for me, love was putting out afternoon snacks. Love was the quiet evenings we spent reading separate books. Love was the way I teased him and the way we laughed. This love was so much quieter than what I expected, and it bloomed from bringing someone else joy and being brought joy in return.

I'm still horribly and chronically unromantic. I often avoid writing about love, and I still don't have any interest in rom-coms. I still wiggle my hand out from my husband's hand - but we laugh about it now. He loves me despite my bluntness and candor. I love him, despite my tongue's apparent inability to say the words, "I love you," often enough.

Marriage for me, was not a rose-colored concept, but a practical realization that this person meant a hell of a lot to me, and I wanted to legally be able to support and protect him (And hey, tax benefits are nice). I often get a bit shy about admitting to this, as I never wanted to sound like I was devaluing my own relationship. Because the truth is that in him, I've found a certain comfort and acceptance in continual companionship. He makes me laugh, and I enjoy having him around. I find joy in cultivating and maintaining deep friendships and relationships. I've found someone who I can be myself with - even my unromantic self.

I am unromantic, but I am not without the capacity to love.

My love just looks a little different than the love I imagined as a little girl.

But I think she would like my version better.