we don’t just get to love people how we want to

We don’t just get to love people how we want to. I learned this from my cat, and it stands for every single person I am lucky enough to love in this lifetime.

When I prioritize the ways in which I want to practice giving love, it inverts what love really is, making my giving to you, more about my giving. I love you so much I want to give you so many gifts. I love you so much that when you tell me my gifts don’t make you feel loved, I… get mad? Yikes. Bell Hooks would probably shiver at that thought.

When we over-emphasize our desire to show love, we might accidentally objectify others. You become a recipient of my love, rather than a living, growing person alongside me. And just because love is inherently beautiful doesn’t mean I can excuse that with my good intentions.

How do you love a cat? The cat tells you. It teaches you how it wants to be loved. You learn that while you want to kiss it a thousand times and shout all the cringy nicknames, doing that will hurt its sensitive little ears—very much the opposite of love.

You learn to gently stroke the ridge of its nose instead of squeezing it until its eyes pop out. It’s a process, a dance between all six legs of the two of you. And sometimes, when the cat can tell you're overwhelmed—with your engine light on, a mountain of to-do’s, and election day looming—they might gift you 30 extra seconds of cuddling. On those days, your intention to love seems to matter a little more, and you get more room to love them the way you want.

I think people do this too. When your grandmother gives you an itchy, butt-ugly sweater (though I can’t relate because my grandma is super fashionable), you still feel the love behind it. There’s more room in those scratchy threads to sense her intention. Love isn’t so cut and dry that your intentions are void of meaning. Hooks embraced the idea of both/and, asserting that love encompasses both intention and action.

Sometimes, we find ourselves returning over and over to the people we love, offering affection in ways that never seem to land, only to feel rejected. It’s like we’re stuck giving love in all the "wrong" ways, yet we can't seem to break the pattern. Maybe as children, you could never quite get it right either. You tried to show love or be seen, but it was misunderstood or unreceived. Your artwork was thrown out and hugs were pulled away from too soon. Now, as adults, you unconsciously recreate that same dynamic with friends, partners, and loved ones, hoping that this time, the love will finally be accepted. Maybe it feels comforting and familiar when the cat twists and turns in your arms, wriggling out of your loving embrace.

Love and relationality aren’t just about what we want to give—they’re about how we listen, how we adapt, and how we show up in ways that make others feel truly seen. When we let the people (and cats) we love teach us how to love them, we create space for a more genuine connection, one that’s fluid, responsive, and real. Love, at its best, is a practice of attunement, not control.

I hope, just as much as I love my cat, that you’re experiencing love in this way, and that you get to feel the magic of truly seeing others, often.