I used to be angry at my father for never saying “I love you.”
He showed up.
He provided.
He fixed things around the house.
He made sure I had what I needed.
But the words? Never. Not once.
I waited for them. I listened for them. They never came.
I carried that anger for years.
Then one day, I asked my grandmother if my father had ever said “I love you” to her.
She laughed. “Your father? He never said those words to anyone. His father didn’t either. It wasn’t something men in this family did.”
She said it like it was normal. Like love was something you did, not something you said. “They showed up. They provided. They fixed things. That was their way.”
That’s when I started to understand. My father wasn’t withholding love. He was giving what he was given. The pattern didn’t start with him. His father never said it. His father’s father never said it. The silence had been passed down for generations.
I wasn’t angry at him anymore. I was angry at something else. Something older. Something no one in my family had ever learned how to name.
1. They showed love through actions, not words
Your parents made sure you had a roof, food, clothes, school supplies. They worked hard so you wouldn’t struggle. But “I love you”? Those words never came. You grew up knowing you were cared for, but not sure if you were loved.
They didn’t hear it either. Their parents showed love through provision, not praise. They were repeating what they knew. Not withholding what you needed. Just giving what they were given.
I remember asking my mother once if her father ever told her he loved her. She paused. “He fixed my bike,” she said. “That was his way.” That answer explained everything. And nothing.
2. They criticized instead of encouraged
You brought home a report card with an A and a B. They asked about the B. You finished a project. They pointed out what could have been better. You tried something new. They warned you about what could go wrong.
They thought pointing out flaws would help you improve. They didn’t know that praise was a tool, not a luxury. In their minds, encouragement was for people who had already made it. You hadn’t made it yet. So they pushed. They prodded. They corrected.
They never got it either. Their parents used criticism as motivation. It was the only language they knew for “I want you to do better.”
3. They treated emotions like something to shut down
You cried. They said, “Stop crying.” You got angry. They shut it down. You were scared. They told you to be brave. You learned that feelings were dangerous. That showing emotion meant you were weak.
They learned the same lesson. Their parents didn’t know how to hold sadness or anger either. Tears were met with impatience. Fear was dismissed. They were just passing down what they received.
4. They didn’t know how to show physical affection
Hugs were rare. You were grateful for a handshake or a pat on the back. You can’t remember the last time they held you just because. Physical touch felt awkward, almost foreign.
You watched other families hug and wondered what was wrong with yours.
They weren’t taught that touch was part of love. Their parents didn’t hug them either. Affection was something other families did. Not theirs. Physical closeness felt uncomfortable. Embarrassing. Like something you weren’t supposed to want.
They didn’t know how to start. They didn’t know how to reach out. So they didn’t.
5. They only knew how to love you when you were performing
Good grades earned approval. Hard work earned warmth. Winning earned pride. You learned that love had to be earned. That achievement was the currency.
They learned the same math. Their parents only seemed proud when they succeeded. When they brought home the trophy, the certificate, the good news. Failure was met with disappointment. Or worse—silence. The cold silence that said more than words ever could.
So they learned to achieve. To produce. To prove. And they taught you to do the same.
The problem wasn’t that they didn’t love you. It was that they didn’t know how to love you when you weren’t performing. When you were just being. When you were sad, or scared, or struggling. Those versions of you didn’t get the same warmth. So you learned to hide those versions. To keep them locked away. To only show the parts that earned love.
6. They went silent instead of talking through hard things
Hard topics were avoided. Feelings were swept under the rug. Difficult conversations never happened. You learned that some things just weren’t talked about. That silence was how families stayed intact.
They were raised in homes where children were seen and not heard. Their parents didn’t know how to talk about hard things either. Silence wasn’t a choice. It was the only tool they had.
So when something was wrong, no one said anything. When someone was hurting, no one asked. When there was conflict, everyone pretended there wasn’t. The silence was thick. Heavy. You could feel it in the room.
7. They never learned to say sorry
“I’m sorry” wasn’t in their vocabulary. Mistakes were ignored. Or punished. But never repaired. You learned that wrongs went unacknowledged. That apologies were a sign of weakness.
No one ever apologized to them. Their parents didn’t say sorry either. Wrongdoings were swept under the rug. They didn’t know how to repair because no one ever repaired with them.
I waited years for an apology that never came. From my father. From my mother. From both of them. I wanted them to admit they’d hurt me. I wanted them to say the words. I wanted them to see. Then one day I realized: they didn’t know how. No one had ever taught them. That didn’t erase the hurt. But it helped me stop waiting for something they couldn’t give.
8. They didn’t know how to speak quietly or calmly
Everything was urgent. Or angry. Or loud. Even when no one was fighting, the volume was high. You learned that love sounded like yelling, even when no one was mad.
They grew up in houses where yelling was the only volume. Quiet conversations felt foreign. Calm felt like indifference. Loud meant someone cared enough to raise their voice. Loud meant someone noticed. Loud meant someone was paying attention.
So they yelled. Even when they weren’t angry. Even when they were happy. Even when they were trying to be loving. The volume was just… there. Part of the background. Part of the furniture. Part of who they were.
And you learned that love was loud. That caring sounded like chaos. That peace was suspicious.
9. They were in the room but never really there
Physically present. Mentally somewhere else. Worrying about work. Staring at the TV. Lost in their own heads. You learned that being in the same room wasn’t the same as being together.
They were raised by parents who were also absent. Distracted by survival. Lost in their own worries. Their parents didn’t know how to be present either. No one had ever been present with them.
So they sat in the same room, in the same house, every night. But they weren’t there. Not really. They were somewhere else. And you learned to be somewhere else, too. You learned that distance was normal. That absence was just how families worked.
I’ve since worked through my anger at my father, but it’s absolutely a generational curse that more people need to be aware of.
