Is Your Love Language Shaped by a Wound?

Sometimes, when we’re explaining attachment to someone who hasn’t heard of it before, they’ll ask, “Is that like your love language?”

I (Amy) think Gary Chapman’s observation is accurate—that people tend to give and desire to receive love through the five primary ways of physical touch, quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service, and giving gifts.

But are these simply preferences we’re born with that others need to adjust around in order for us to feel loved and fulfilled? Or could there be something underneath the surface that shaped the ways we most want to give and receive love?

I believe our “love languages” can be deeply influenced by our attachment imprints—the experiences that taught us how to get love, what felt safe, what we longed for because we didn’t receive enough of it, and even how we learned to calm our relational anxiety.

I can see this in my own life.

My mom would tell me she loved me. She said it over and over, and I believe she loved me as much as she knew how.

But her lifestyle made it difficult for her to show up in the ways any child would long for. I didn’t necessarily understand that growing up. I just knew I was left longing for more.

After my dad died when I was seven, she checked out with drugs, alcohol, and relationships with men.

By the time I turned eighteen, my longing to be deeply known and chosen by someone was so strong that when a boyfriend painted a beautiful picture of what our life could be together, I believed the dream.

I married him and had a baby by the time I was twenty-one—not that uncommon for a Midwest girl at that age.

But when the dream didn’t become reality, and he cheated on me and left, the disappointment wasn’t only about a marriage that hadn’t turned out the way I expected.

It touched something much deeper.

I had already spent years longing for someone to choose me. Someone to spend time with me. Someone to hold me. Someone to make me feel cherished.

And when it all came crashing down, I was devastated.

So when I eventually learned about the love languages, it’s not difficult to understand why I identified quality time and physical touch as mine.

While I appreciate words of affirmation, a thoughtful gift, and having someone do something for me, what I craved most was presence and touch.

Looking back, I can see that my love language preferences were connected to a an emotional wound.

Like many Vacillators, physical presence through quality time and touch helped calm my abandonment anxiety. If the person I loved was close, available, and reaching for me, I knew I wasn’t being abandoned—at least not in that moment.

Unfortunately, there were times I sought physical touch and connection in places that weren’t safe for me—and instead of filling the emptiness, those experiences left me feeling even more abandoned.

That’s hard to admit.

But I think there are a lot of women who can relate.

Sometimes a little girl grows up without the consistent presence of a father to hold her, cherish her, spend time with her, and make her feel deeply treasured.

And when that little girl becomes a woman, the longing doesn’t necessarily disappear.

That’s how our imprints can shape the type of romantic partner we seek without us even realizing it.

For example, Vacillators are often drawn to Avoiders. Avoiders can initially feel consistent and reliable, and during the honeymoon phase, when sexual attraction is strong, there may be plenty of physical affection and time together.

But when the honeymoon phase fades and two people begin struggling to get their needs met, the Avoider’s tendency to create distance can feel like abandonment to the Vacillator.

Pleasers can also gravitate toward physical touch and quality time because they may carry fears of abandonment. But words of affirmation can be especially powerful for a Pleaser because affirmation communicates approval: We’re okay. You’re not upset with me. I haven’t done something wrong.

The Pleaser style often develops through learning to predict others’ needs, keep people happy, calm others down, or avoid conflict.

Avoiders, on the other hand, often grew up without much emotional closeness, tender words, or physical affection. Many became accustomed to being alone and doing things for themselves. Acts of service or giving gifts can feel safer than the rest of the ways to an Avoider because this can allow them to show or receive love without requiring as much emotional vulnerability or without getting too close.

I don’t mean for this to sound absolute. I recognize that there are other aspects of our personalities and preferences that may be uniquely hard-coded into us, naturally causing us to lean toward certain ways of giving and receiving love more than others.

But there are also others who spend their whole adult lives trying to fill the hole that was left by a parent wound when they were young.

Maybe your love language isn’t only about what you like.

Maybe it’s connected to what makes you feel safe.

Maybe it’s connected to what you missed.

Maybe it’s connected to what you learned to associate with love.

And understanding that may help us stop expecting our spouse to repair something they didn’t break.

Because our spouse can’t fill every deficit from our childhood.

But they can get curious about us.

They can learn our story—and we can learn theirs.

And when we can understand why showing love in a particular way matters so much to the other person, together we can learn how to help one another heal, so we can love from a place of greater security and wholeness, rather than from a place of deficit.

—Amy