Love Is Not A Four-Letter Word
It's an amalgamation of several things
It's the most complex of human emotions, usually taught from a very young age. It can cause you to lose your mind, or complete feats once impossible. It holds the power to put you on cloud nine, but also takes you to lows you never even knew existed.
I'm talking about love.
Love.
The definition we see most often says “to strongly like someone or something” but can a word with so much impact really be done justice by plain text? No. So what exactly does love mean anyway?
Well, in order to know that, let’s travel in our minds back to when we were young (and can remember). Childbirth always causes strong emotions. When a child is carried for nine months, the pregnant person has already gone through so much. Sickness, weight gain, hormone changes, just to name a few. They also get to feel their baby kicking and growing which naturally leads to a bond after some time.
Labor and delivery brings forth strong emotions as the pregnant person finally gets to hold their child. They fathom how they never thought they could love anyone so small, so much. I have seen partners who vow to change their toxic behaviors after their kids were born.
Simply put, love is when you put someone else’s needs before your own.
When you were a kid, everyone around you defined love for you in some way. Whether it was a stuffed bear with your mom’s last dime, or your favorite dinner after dad had paid the mortgage, your parents made sacrifices. They do these things not because they want to, but because they love you.
Not everyone grows up in a household like this. Maybe you were in the custody of a grandparent, aunt, or foster parents. Maybe you didn’t have a great childhood. This is often something that leads to emotional issues later on in life.
Maybe you don’t know exactly what love is, and that’s okay. Understanding it can be one hell of a mystery for even the smartest of people. I remember how my parents loved me as a child, and I’m happy that my younger years were mostly positive. But as I was getting to my adolescent years, I started to notice that I was more so loved for being their kid, not for all of my unique traits. So when it came to relationships, I heavily struggled with knowing what was loving and what wasn’t.
The first person I ever truly loved is a journey that began in 2013. I was 16 years old. The weather was a wintry mix as it was the middle of January. Honors band rehearsal had just finished and I was pretty hungry, so I stopped by at the local McDonald’s. A lot of my decisions with the highest impact often start out as an impulse, and today was no different. I decided to meet up with someone I had been talking with on an online app.
He was the most awkward person I had ever met, kind of dorky-looking, but he was very kind, even offering to pay for my food. Let’s say his name was Allen. I thought after that day I probably wouldn’t be seeing him anymore, but Allen would text me every day. He was very thoughtful, asking me how my day was, and continually telling me I was awesome. It was wonderful to hear this on a daily basis considering I had anxiety.
Allen very quickly became a good friend of mine as it turned out we had quite a few things in common. We watched the same tv shows, listened to the same music, and neither of us really cared for sports (something not very common where I grew up). I didn’t have too many friends who shared my interests, and so whenever I went places I would often contact Allen to join me. One time we even hung out just by walking around at a Big Lots.
As I got older, Allen stuck by my side through tough times. Every argument, every breakup, every bad thing that happened to me, he was always there. He was a very special friend. In my mind, that’s how I wanted it to stay. Our friendship was solid and I didn’t want to lose that.
I graduated high school and was beyond ready to move out of my parent’s house. It was about an hour drive from my parents’ to the new apartment and so I knew I needed help moving my things. I was dating someone at the time, but he was off at some retreat and so I asked Allen if he could help to which he happily agreed, even borrowing his mother’s van to help out. We stuffed my car, the van, and my parents’ car with my things and drove off.
Moving is always a daunting task and I have progressively liked it less and less each time I have done it. But this time was the easiest of them all. Once my belongings were inside the new apartment, I headed with my parents and Allen to Applebee’s to celebrate. We all bonded over dinner, and while we were all chatting and having a good time, I began to think about Allen. There were so many trials we had been through, countless times spent over the phone discussing whatever was going on in our lives. He was an incredibly good friend to me, but that day it felt like something more.
As I started college, Allen would come over weekly, often staying several days at a time. I had this tiny den-sized room that was only 9 by 16 feet, with a walk-in closet right outside of it. There wasn’t much space for me to work with. I had a twin-sized bed in one corner, trying to haphazardly organize my stuff with what little area I had left. At first I would have Allen sleep on the floor right next to me, being sure to provide many blankets. But somewhere along those lines I thought why the hell not, and let him sleep in my bed with me.
Allen was not a small person by any means, so how we even both fit on a twin-size mattress boggles my mind to this day, but we made it work. Each day we were progressing more towards romance and then the topic of sex finally popped up. We both had this sure why not kind of attitude about it. We were both 18, we knew each other for a while, and we trusted one another.
Now let me tell you, losing your virginity is nowhere near what it’s painted out to be on TV. It isn’t seamless and perfect with rose petals all over the bed. It is probably one of the single most awkward experiences you will ever have. I didn’t feel the earth move, I didn’t feel fireworks, it was more like oh, so that’s what sex is, huh, neat. Of course, having discovered this new thing that I really like made me crave sex almost every day. I almost sucked the entire libido out of poor Allen.
I don’t know who said I love you first, but I do remember this being the very first time feeling that I genuinely cared about someone in more than just a friendly way. Allen and I had this incredible bond that formed slowly over time, beginning from a strong friendship. The foundation was there. But what made me realize I loved him was when I began wanting to tend to his needs regularly. Not in a motherly way, but in a way that made him feel like the most special man in the world.
We dated for a little over a year. We went on many trips and ate at several different cool restaurants. We went to concerts, waterparks, amusement parks, and local fairs. We had our own place together while I was in college. It was a very happy life. We were even engaged to be married, and our community of friends and family were very excited!
Unfortunately we broke up about a month after the engagement. I will never regret the times I spent with Allen, they were wonderful times. I was only 20 and really immature and so truthfully I was not ready for something so serious.
Eventually we rekindled our friendship and it remained like this for a couple more years, until he got another girlfriend. After that, we haven’t spoken since. But he will always be my first true love and for that I am grateful.
I’ve went on several dates since then of course, but most of them have not ended well. Or they would go well, but then only last for a couple weeks after that. Trying to date in 2015 versus 2021 are so vastly different as everyone’s views of relationships have completely shifted. With one shitty date right after the next, my quest for love seemed hopeless.
I have only loved one other person in my lifetime, but that story starts out in a more precarious position.
2018 was one hell of a year. I had a back injury in early September and two weeks later I went to the hospital for something totally different, sepsis. I was working in a factory at the time, and when I went to the restroom, I noticed my pelvis was red and swollen. This alarmed me, but I brushed it off with something like oh my pants are probably just too tight. The next day I wake up and am in an incredible amount of pain, every single movement of mine eliciting hurt.
My forehead felt like it was on fire and instantly I knew I had a fever. Off to urgent care I went. They examined my pelvis and they tried to drain some fluid out, where they were only mildly successful. I was sent home and told to come back two days later so they could check me. I felt awful for calling into work multiple days in a row, but I couldn’t move without being in so much pain. No amount of Tylenol or other over-the-counter medications helped me in the slightest.
Friday comes and I go back to the same urgent care clinic. Once I show the two nurses my pelvis, they both let out a gasp. I knew something wasn’t right when one of them pulled out a measuring tape. The first two sentences I heard out of their mouths were
“We can’t treat that here.”
“You need to go to the ER.”
I have never went to the ER in my entire life so I was scared. I drove to this ER clinic that was in a plaza. My mind was still underestimating what was going on. I figured I would get prescribed a pill and be able to go to work that same day. Goodness was I wrong.
Once I checked in, the nurse began administering me IV medications, took an x-ray, and ordered me a cat scan to figure out what the hell was going on inside my body. My mother, my one sister, and Allen were there in support. I remember my sister asking how bad it was, and when I lifted my gown her jaw hit the floor.
The nurse came back and told me it was time to get my CT scan. I got wheeled down the hail to this dimly lit room. I shimmied from my bed to this hard plastic bench that led into this giant, round, circular machine. The technician tells me to raise my arms like Superman, and then once I’m in there to hold my breath. I follow her instructions and the machine takes several photos of me. I hope I never have to do that again, but getting a CT scan was probably the most pleasant part of the whole experience.
The test results came back to reveal there was a pocket of pus deep in my pelvis that would require surgery to drain. I get transferred via ambulance to a nearby hospital, and I’m allowed just the tiniest amount of morphine while I await my surgery.
Finally by 5 pm that evening, it was my time. Dr. Guinn was his name. Very nice guy, humming along while I was laying in the operating room. I remember him asking me if I minded music, to which I said I didn’t. It was a nice send-off before he put the mask over my face.
Next thing I remember is waking up and seeing my drained wound packed with gauze. I was only out for five minutes, so it wasn’t a big surgery at all, but I could not have imagined trying to get that pus drained out under local anesthesia. No way.
I was in that hospital for six days. After the surgery I felt completely fine, no more pain. But I still had to stay because I needed the IV antibiotics and we were waiting on blood cultures to come back to tell me whether or not the infection had spread.
The cultures eventually came back and they were completely clear. After discussing my aftercare and restrictions, I finally got to leave.
I stayed with my parents for the two weeks I was supposed to not go back to work, during which I began filing the paperwork for my short-term disability claim. I was extremely bored staying at my parents’ house as they live out in the middle of nowhere, and my apartment was in a decent-sized city.
Now I’m not sure what came over me, but after seeing an advertisement for Match I decided to create a profile and buy the 6-month membership. Almost immediately I found someone (let’s call him Lyle) who had piano music in common with me. Being that this was my college degree I used to go for, we immediately hit it off. We spent the next week getting to know each other over text, learning each others’ backgrounds.
Well as impulsive as I am, I decided to return a day early to my apartment. My parents didn’t know why just yet, but they had a suspicion. I really wanted to meet Lyle. I packed my things, hugged my parents, and went back home to my little 1-bedroom apartment in New Haven. Once I unloaded my stuff, I called up Lyle and we agreed to meet as his house in Fort Wayne.
Now, I strongly don’t recommend meeting up someone at a house for the very first time, but I was definitely not playing the dating game wisely these days and so I didn’t care. I grabbed McDonald’s on my way to his house at 11 and didn’t arrive until midnight. He was a nice guy, tall, skinny, and had on a guns n’ roses t-shirt.
We spent that night talking, laying on the couch and watching Futurama. Eventually we cuddled up together and fell asleep.
We woke up the very next day, and I won’t forget when I left his house. He stood in the doorway while I stood outside. We said our final goodbyes, and then as I began walking away, he said “wait a minute”. I turned back around and we kissed. It lasted about three seconds, but the way it happened was very sweet and I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.
Only two weeks into us dating, we were spending time at my place one night when out of my mouth came the words “I love you”. I may have said them too soon, maybe I was just emotional, but I strongly felt it and therefore told Lyle I loved him. Now he didn’t say it back, but he processed emotions differently than I, and by the end of the first month, we were both saying it to one another.
We dated for a year and a half. It was filled with arguments, sadly mostly arguments, but there was genuinely love and care tucked in there.
The nicest thing I ever did for him was when he started working at a factory called Trelleborg. I didn’t have a job quite yet, so he was the breadwinner for the time being. One night before he came home, I made sure he had pajamas waiting for him, some caesar salad (he really likes that dish), and a filled bowl (as he is a stoner), so that way he wouldn’t have to go upstairs and do it. Lyle and I both agreed that was probably the best sign of my love for him in our entire relationship.
Unfortunately it boiled down to us simply not being compatible, but the love was there. We cared for each other in a way words didn’t describe.
Since then, I haven’t even felt anything close to love. There have been some I’ve met since I moved that I like, but it doesn’t move beyond that. So for now, love is something I’m not entirely sure if and when I will feel. But I have felt it before and know what it looks like.
Love is not a four-letter word. On the surface it means to care for someone very deeply, but that is just the tip of an enormous iceberg. Love is despite your exhaustion from working 12 hours being sure to give your partner attention when you get home. Love is holding hands while waiting for the doctor to come back and give you test results. Love is riding in the car together, his right hand on your knee while he steers with his left. It means sacrificing sleep, time and sanity because you desire to fulfill someone else’s needs before your own.
And the best way to start, is by loving yourself, one step at a time. Now we’ve all heard the cliché “love yourself before you love someone else” which can grow annoying at times, but it holds validity. How can you love someone when you don’t even love yourself? You can't drink from an empty cup.
Loving yourself means fulfilling your needs at the expense of other situations. It means leaving a job that brings you nothing but grief. It means cutting people from your life that are toxic. Sometimes it can mean cancelling a date you really wanted to go on, because it’s something that isn’t good for you. Love means doing what is best for yourself, and not in the interest of others. When you truly love every part of yourself, only then will you be able to contribute that in a relationship.
About the Creator
Grace Linn
Just your neighborhood friendly nerd
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