How it makes feel sin

"Sounds are so close to popularity that for the average person, they're almost indistinguishable." David W. Augsburger

The five languages ​​of love - the framework for how we give and receive love made by psychologist Gary Chapman in 1992 - include high-quality time, gifts, ministry activities, words of confession, and physical gestures.

Since I like to receive all five shows of care, I often feel that my native language was not on this list.

My language of love is curiosity. I show others that I care about them by asking them questions, learning what happened to them, and being hungry for their content under a little talk and fun. I want to see who they are and know what makes them tick. And I, too, want to be loved in this way.

Like many entertaining people, I have spent most of my life focusing on the feelings and needs of others, accustomed to relationships where I did all the seeing but never felt seen.

While I know that entertaining people is often a form of obsession from childhood, I also know that my ability to want to know others is my greatest strength. No matter where it comes from, it is as much a part of me as the color of my eyes or my heritage.

This desire for a deeper understanding of others is the quality I love the most, something I do most for myself and for others.

Over the years, my curiosity has often led me to play the role of a secret and cheerleader in my relationships. Friends, partners and acquaintances say "I'm a great listener." And while I enjoyed their compliments, I often felt that people valued my relationship the way they would value a clean mirror - a smooth place where they could enjoy their appearance.

Now that I am older, I am no longer willing to be part of a one-sided relationship where I know others inside and out, but they regard me as a foreign language. I want someone who can put his ego aside and want to know. I am looking for someone who eagerly sets up my map, rolls up the hills, and runs through the rugged valleys of my legends, overturning the hidden stones below.

As someone who has spent a lifetime feeling invisible, I can see when someone is making an effort to see me.

I notice when people look me straight in the eye and ask, "But really - how are you feeling today?"

I can see when people share a story and pause to ask, "Have you ever had something like this before?"

I can see when others seem as comfortable holding space as they do space.

I see when people treat conversations as opportunities to build collaboratively instead of the foundations on which they should be preached.

I also notice when people ask meaningless questions and, after a while, look at their phones or look at the sky.

I can see when others use my stories as springboards to jump into their experiences.

I realize when I am repeatedly interrupted by someone who is so eager to talk that he can understand making room for someone else.

I realize when people use me as a sound board or healer without seeing good.

Over time, I have learned to leave this relationship behind. They forcefully dragged me out and, by participating in them, taught me that I did not deserve to go beyond that.

I vividly remember the friendship there, and every afternoon we spent together, my body longing to sleep for two hours. I remember one contact that left me feeling sanctified and immersed, like a shriveled plant that had not seen the sunlight in the churches.

Ultimately, it was my job to change this pattern and make a place in my life for healthy communication. I can still feel the pressure of a side relationship, or I can leave them behind and hope I deserve the best - and the best