Today I realized something about myself. I don’t just love people. I love actively.
I treat friendships the same way I treat a partnership. I show up, and I naturally expect the people I love to show up, too. If you’re my friend, I’m checking in. If your child has a birthday, I’m celebrating them. I love your children like they’re my own. There is very little I wouldn’t do for the people I care about. I don’t just tell people I love them. I show them.
Maybe that’s the neurodivergent part of me. I value fairness. Reciprocity. Effort.
I don’t keep score over who paid for dinner or who bought the birthday gift. I keep score in effort.
For a long time, I assumed everyone loved this way. I thought if I’d drive three hours to see you, you’d happily drive three hours to see me. If I rearranged my family’s schedule to make yours easier, I believed you’d do the same for us. If I poured into your cup, I assumed one day you’d notice when mine was empty.
But somewhere along the way, I realized something painful: not everyone loves actively. Some people express love through words. Some through texts. Some through quality time or gifts. And some simply don’t think about relationships the way I do. That doesn’t make them bad people. But it does mean I’ve spent a lot of my life expecting people to love me the way I naturally love them. That’s where my heart keeps getting hurt.
Lately, it feels like my family is always the one making the drive. Always the ones adjusting our schedule. Always the ones compromising. Why do we always have to come to you? Why are the playdates only convenient for your family? When we ask for a specific time because it works best for our schedule, why does it become a negotiation instead of a simple yes or no? Your child doesn’t like long car rides. Neither does mine.
This summer we’re travelling to another province on vacation, yet somehow we’re still expected to drive three or four hours out of our way to visit a friend.
Sometimes it feels like our family’s time is considered more flexible than everyone else’s. And I’m tired. Not because I regret being generous. I don’t. I’m tired because my cup is empty, yet I keep trying to pour from it.
For years, my parents wondered why I didn’t have lots of close friends. Maybe this is why. I don’t think I expect too much from people. I think I simply expect the same effort I would willingly give them.
I’m slowly learning those are not always the same thing. This isn’t a post about ending friendships. It’s about changing the way I show up in them. I’m still going to love actively. That’s who I am. I’m still going to be kind and generous. But I’m no longer going to mistake one-sided effort for a healthy relationship. Because healthy relationships don’t require one person to do all the travelling, all the compromising, or all the pouring.
Love doesn’t have to look identical. But after years of emptying my cup into everyone else’s, I’m learning that the healthiest relationships are the ones where someone eventually reaches over and fills yours, too.
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