Do you know how you wish to be loved?

Most people say they want love, yet few can clearly describe what that actually means for them. Fewer still know how the people closest to them want to receive it. The result is a steady drip of quiet disappointment: effort offered in one language, received (or not received) in another.

This is not a romantic problem. It is a practical one. Mis-matched love creates low-level resentment, drains energy, and keeps relationships in a low-drama but high-friction state. And friction is expensive when you are already trying to keep your own nervous system calm.

Here are three questions worth answering honestly — preferably in writing, not just in your head.

1. Who is standing in front of me, and how do I believe they want to be loved?
2. Who am I, and how do I actually want to be loved?
3. How can I train the people around me to love me in the way that works for me, while still respecting how they need to give and receive?

The third question is the most important. Love is not a feeling that magically appears. It is a set of behaviours that can be taught, adjusted and refined through consistent, honest interaction.

People want love in different currencies. Some want to be listened to without interruption or solution-giving. Some want protection or practical help. Some want to be enabled — given space and tools to do things themselves. Some need the words “I love you” spoken out loud. Others only trust actions. Some need physical contact; others find it overwhelming and prefer emotional presence or quiet companionship. Some need space. Some need frequent contact. Some feel loved through food, through shared adventure, through order in the home, or through being left alone with their thoughts. The list is long because people are different.

The common mistake is assuming that the way *you* feel loved is the way everyone else does. That assumption is the source of most relational friction.

A simple everyday example: a daughter arrives at her mother’s house and immediately says, “Let me make the coffee.” The mother replies, “No, no, I’ll do it.” Both women are trying to express care through service. One has to give way, and the chance for one of them to give love is lost. The higher-emotional-intelligence move is for the daughter to say, “Thank you, I’d love a coffee,” and simply receive it. Allowing the other person to give is itself a form of loving.

Another common mismatch: a man spends the afternoon making the garden perfect because he knows his partner likes it tidy. She comes home tired and wants to be held or listened to. His effort was real. It simply landed in the wrong currency. He was loving her in the language he prefers to speak, not the one she needed that day.

These moments are not disasters. They are data. Once you notice them, you can adjust.

The practical work is twofold. First, become clear about your own needs without apology. Second, communicate them calmly and specifically, then reinforce the behaviour you want through consistent response. If you want more listening and less problem-solving, say so. When someone does listen, thank them. When they jump straight to solutions, gently redirect. Over time their internal picture of “how to treat you” updates. This is the same principle I talk about with virtual reality stories in the mind: people treat you according to the programme you have allowed them to install. You can rewrite it.

None of this requires drama or lengthy emotional conversations. It requires honesty and the willingness to take responsibility for your own side of the exchange. You cannot force someone to love you the way you want. You can make it easy for them to succeed by being clear, and you can decide how much energy to keep investing if they repeatedly choose not to.

The same principle applies in the other direction. Loving someone well means learning their currency and using it, even when it is not your natural one. That is not self-sacrifice. It is skill. And skill reduces friction.

If you sit with the three questions for a few days, patterns usually become obvious. You start to see where you have been guessing, where you have been over-giving in the wrong currency, and where you have never actually told anyone what you need. Those realisations are useful. They let you stop wasting energy on approaches that never quite land, and start using it more precisely.

Love, at its most practical, is attention and behaviour aligned with the other person’s actual needs and your own. Everything else is noise.

The Calmness in Mind Process by John Glanvill guides you to live with more love, confidence and courage.