How Brown Parents Say ‘I Love You’ Without Saying It

In brown families, you don’t always hear “I love you.”

You feel it — in the plate of sliced mango quietly placed next to you while you study.

In the reminder to eat meethi dahi before your big exam or interview, not because of logic, but because “it brings shubh vibes.”

In the way they cut your fruit, instead of cutting through their emotional walls.

I used to think I had to earn love by ticking boxes. Now I’m starting to unlearn that.

The Silent Rules of Being “Good”

Growing up in a South Asian household, especially as a girl, you feel it from early on — the quiet pressure to be good, be proper, be enough.


There’s no checklist written down, but you know what it says:

• Be smart, but not loud.
• Be pretty, but not too into yourself.
• Be slim. Be soft-spoken. Be well-dressed — but don’t look like you’re trying too hard.

There’s a version of you that seems more lovable. More approved. And you’re silently expected to perform for her, even if it means losing parts of yourself.

Body Talk That Sticks

When I was younger, I was a little chubbier than the “ideal” most people had in mind. And I heard about it — not in cruel ways, but in casual family commentary that didn’t feel casual to me.

Aunties would smile and say, “You’ve gotten healthy.”

Relatives would suggest skipping seconds, even if you were still hungry.

Sometimes the comments came dressed up as concern — “It’s just for your own good,” they’d say.


Other times, they were blunt. “You should lose a little before high school.”

It was constant — reminders that my body wasn’t quite right. That I had to shrink before I could be celebrated. And even if no one meant to hurt me, those words planted seeds. I started feeling insecure. Saying no to dessert not because I wanted to — but because I didn’t want to be talked about later.

It stays with you. That fear of being seen, and not being enough.

Hair, Body, and the Pressure to Conform

It wasn’t just the weight. My curly hair went through its own trial.

For the longest time, I straightened it — not because I hated my curls, but because I was told they looked “messy.” “Untamed.” “Not right for special occasions.”

So I straightened it for every big moment. School dances. Birthdays. Hangouts.

Like my weight, my hair became something to fix before I could be seen fully.

And I know I’m not alone in this. So many brown girls carry that quiet shame about how they look — because they were never told they were beautiful as they are. Only that they could be… with a few changes.

When “I’m Proud of You” Feels Like a Hug

We don’t really say “I love you” out loud in my family.

But I’ve heard “I’m proud of you” a few times — and those words feel like gold. Not because they’re dramatic or poetic, but because they’re rare. And real.

Our parents weren’t taught how to be emotionally open. Vulnerability didn’t sit at the table with us.
So love came through actions:

• Meethi dahi before an exam
• Staying up till you got home safe
• Watching you quietly across the room, pretending they weren’t watching

It’s love — just in a language that isn’t verbal. And sometimes, that makes it harder to believe.

Learning to Love Myself Loudly

I’m not claiming I’ve figured it all out.


I still feel that tug — straighten your hair, lose a few kilos, wear something flattering.


I still spiral. I still compare. I still want to be liked.

But I’ve also worn my curls out, unapologetically.
I’ve taken photos without sucking in my stomach.
I’ve let myself eat cake without guilt.

I’ve looked in the mirror and thought, this version of me is enough — even if just for a moment.

That’s not nothing. That’s GROWTH.

Love Doesn’t Have to Be Loud — But It Can Be

I’ve learned that we can hold two things at once:


We can appreciate the way our families show love — and still crave something softer.
We can understand their silence — and still choose to speak more freely.

Love doesn't always come with the words “I love you.” Sometimes it comes in the form of rituals, stares and being fed until you physically can’t move.


Love doesn’t always need to be said out loud. But that doesn’t mean we can’t say it — to ourselves, and to each other — a little more often.