Learning to Love Me

I’ve known about the 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman for years. Like many, I grasped the general concept—different people give and receive love in different ways—but I never sat down to read the book. That changed when my coach, Michele Cope-Huntley, recommended it. What I didn’t expect was how this seemingly simple framework would become a mirror I didn’t know I needed.

Grief has a way of stripping you bare. It peels back the layers and reveals things you’ve been too busy—or too afraid—to look at. In the midst of grieving, I’ve started to see how this ache isn’t isolated to the loss I’m processing. It touches every corner of my life. And one of the most painful realizations is this: I haven’t been happy with myself for a long time.

There’s always been a gap between the person I want to be and the person I actually am. That tension is exhausting. It’s a quiet ache that lives under the surface, showing up in subtle ways—in my marriage, in parenting, in the way I show up (or don’t show up) for myself.

Reading The 5 Love Languages opened my eyes to something I hadn’t fully acknowledged: my primary love language isn’t words of affirmation, as I had assumed. It’s quality time.

That discovery hit me harder than I thought it would.

Because here’s the truth—I haven’t been giving myself the time I need. And it’s costing me.

Quality time isn’t just a preference. It’s a need. It’s the soil I grow from, the space where I refuel. When I neglect it, I begin to unravel. And without intentional structure and discipline in my schedule, I’ve fallen into a pattern of putting myself last. Always reacting, always responding, but rarely receiving.

Yes, I journal. It’s the one thing that keeps me anchored during the week, a way to process the chaos and hold on to the thread of who I am. But journaling is not the same as spending time with myself—quality time that is unhurried, gentle, and full of grace.

What I’ve come to realize is that loving myself requires more than pep talks. I don’t just need encouragement—I need companionship. My own. I need to sit with myself, learn to enjoy my own presence, and offer compassion when I fall short.

Because how can I truly love my husband and my children if I’m constantly pouring from an empty cup?

We often think love is a gift we give outward. But I’m learning that it starts within. Not in a self-centered way, but in a deeply spiritual and practical one. When I give myself the love I need—when I speak my own love language—I become more grounded, more joyful, more capable of loving others from a place of wholeness, not depletion.

So I’m choosing, little by little, to give more to me.

To carve out sacred time—not just for tasks or productivity—but for presence. To walk, to breathe, to reflect, to be. To extend grace for all the ways I’ve been surviving and celebrate the small ways I’m starting to thrive.

Because the most radical thing I can do in this season is love myself well. And in doing that, I make space to love others even better.