Yesterday, I was talking about my parents and love. It’s taken for granted that parents love their children, but it’s always been obvious to me that this was not necessarily true. When I was in my mid-to-late twenties and fended off questions about me procreating, one of the things I heard was, “It’s different when it’s your children” when I said that I didn’t like children. (I want to note that I don’t dislike children, either. I just don’t like them particluarly.)
The implication was that I would love my own children because, well, they’re your children! Of course you will love them. I looked at them, but said nothing. I wanted to tell them that it was clearly not true. Millions of parents neglected and/or abused their children. It was such an ignorant statement, I had to struggle not to tell them off.
I just assumed my mother loved me throughout my twenties and thirties.
Side note: I was messaging with an online friend about this, saying I got so much push back from people when I said my parents didn’t love me. She wrote, “It doesn’t matter if they do love you; they are harming you, anyway.”
That really resonated within me. I get caught up in trynig to convince people of my point of view, and she reminded me that intent is not magic. Whether my parents love me or not, their behavior is harmful. That’s the important thing.
Yes, it sounds trite. Actions matter more than words. Intent is not magic. And it’s something I should have thought of myself, but I was focusing on the fact that my parents don’t love me instead.
My friend is right in that it doesn’t matter if they love me or not (as a feeling). Love is a verb. It’s very easy to bleat out that you love someone–it’s much harder to show it in a way that the receiever actually feels it.