Speak Love

To believe that a person can carry trauma around simply saying “I love you” sits in my soul like a lead weight.

 I grew up with my mom’s two oldest children, my half-siblings, L and D. I’m ten years younger, which shaped everything about the way we connected. When I was little, I didn’t understand the weight they were carrying. I just knew I loved them. I admired their intelligence, their talents, the way they moved through the world.

But L seemed to hate us. She would yell, scream, tell us how horrible we were, how we had ruined her life. And somehow, she taught D to believe it too. He would say we weren’t really his sisters. If we told him “I love you,” he would answer, “I love me too.”

And as kids, that’s all we really want, isn’t it? To love, and to have that love returned.

So I started to believe them. I believed they hated me.

But even then, I never stopped loving them.

I remember worrying about them, hurting when they cried, feeling guilty if I wasn’t there to help. So I found other ways to show it. I memorized their favorite colors, how they liked their food, the small details. Quiet proof. Steady love.

 

Love without words.

 

Even in silence, love found a way through me.

 

Because words… words stung when they came back empty.

 

The first time D told me he loved me, he was in Iraq. An IED had hit the convoy he was in. And suddenly, the words were there.

 

I cried so hard.

 

It feels almost cruel that it took him almost dying to say it out loud.

My oldest sister and I had already worked through our pain by then. We had said it to each other, and meant it. But hearing it from him… it landed differently.

 

It carried years inside of it.

 

Now, when I say “I love you,” it isn’t something I give lightly. It means I love you to the ends of the earth. It means that even if life pulls us apart, even if we barely speak, that love remains. It means that if you ever need me, you only have to call.

 

And yes… it still hurts when people don’t say it back.

 

But I don’t let that stop me anymore.

 

Because this is what I’ve learned:

 

I did not become someone who withholds love just because it was once withheld from me. I became someone who gives it anyway.

 

I remind myself that I said it.

 

If they never wake up tomorrow, they will have heard it. They will have known.

 

The words feel heavier as I get older. Not heavier in a bad way, but fuller. Like they carry truth, intention, and something close to forever.

 

I’ve had to learn that not everyone says love out loud. Some people speak it in actions, in presence, in quiet consistency. I’ve learned to recognize those languages, even when the words don’t come.

 

But I also chose this: I will not let silence be what I pass on.

So say the words.

Say them even if your voice shakes.

Say them even if they don’t come back the way you hoped.

Say them even if you were taught not to.

Don’t let fear silence something that was meant to be spoken. Don’t let old wounds decide how you love.

Say it first. Say it anyway.

 

Because love deserves a voice. 

 

I love you. 💛