How People Feel Loved

This week, my eldest turns 24.

I remember the day he was born like it was yesterday. Sixteen hours of labour, with hours and hours of pushing until I couldn’t push anymore.

Then the doctor just… suctioned him out. (Honestly? I’m still wondering why she didn’t do that 16 hours earlier.)

But the moment the nurse placed my newborn son in my arms, I felt a love I didn’t know existed. A love that made every second of pain worth it. A love that instantly rewrote what I thought I knew about my own capacity to feel.

And lying there, exhausted, I wondered: Did my parents feel this way when I was born?

You see, for the first two years of my life, I was given to the neighbourhood grandma to raise. My parents already had three kids under five when I arrived.

Then they had two more after me. Six kids total in 10 years. No money. Dad working constantly just to keep everyone fed. Mom exhausted from taking care of 6 kids by herself.

There were no birthday celebrations. No gifts. No “you’re so special” moments.

As a kid, I didn’t understand this.

But now, as an adult with my own children, I understand.

They weren’t withholding love—they were drowning. Trying to survive. And I have nothing but compassion for them. They did the absolute best they could with what they had.

But here’s what I realized: Most of us are walking around starving for words our parents never had the bandwidth to say or actions they didn’t know to take.

And then we repeat the pattern.

We think our partners know we love them. We assume our kids feel appreciated. We believe our friends understand how much they matter.

But do they? Really?

We save the good stuff for funerals.

We write beautiful eulogies about how someone changed our life, how they made us better, how we couldn’t imagine our world without them.

We stand at podiums with tears streaming down our faces, wishing we’d said these things when they could still hear them.

So when my kids were young, my husband and I started something different.

On each person’s birthday, we gather around the table. And one by one, we tell the birthday person what we love and appreciate about them. Specific things. Real things. Things that make them know they are cherished, they are one of a kind.

Over the years, this has become a tradition we all look forward to. Remembering the gift that we are to each other.

We learned that being seen—truly seen for who you are—is one of the most powerful gifts you can give another human being.

Because here’s the thing, we all want to feel loved, special, and known. And the best way for people to know this is when we tell them directly and show them examples of how they’ve been a blessing in our lives.

So do the people you love know that they matter to you? If you notice them? If you see all the ways they show up and make you feel loved?

If not, today is the day to tell them. They’re waiting to hear it from you.

Not at their funeral. Not in some crisis moment when everything’s falling apart. Not when it’s too late to let it land and change something between you.

Now.

This is the work that actually transforms relationships. Not the big romantic gestures. Not the expensive gifts. Not even the apologies after fights.

It’s the consistent, vulnerable practice of saying the quiet part out loud.

“I see you.”
“I appreciate you.”
“My life is better because you’re in it.”

My goal this year? I’m telling every person who matters to me exactly what they mean to me. While they can still hear it.

And here’s my question for you: Who needs to hear from you today?

What words are you saving for a eulogy that someone desperately needs to hear right now?