Cabin Fever: the failing love languages

​Cabin Fever: the failing love languages

Note: “The five love languages provide a great framework for understanding your relationship(s) and each other, but they don’t necessarily represent exactly how everyone wants to give and show love” (HealthLine, 2025).

“Can’t we just stay here?” I asked, although I already knew it wasn’t that simple of a question.

Silence.

A very long silence, in between my question and the answer you did not want to give.

“You know, I’ve thought about it dozens of ways, but in one way or another, the result will just be the same” you sighed.

“But what if I–” I began.

“No…I thought of that, not worth it”.

“Well okay, but what if instead, I–”

“You tried that before.”

Shut down again, at every suggestion it seems.

The perfect balance of the five love languages, was it really so hard? I pondered, more times than I’d care to admit to you, and to myself.

This little home we made, this cabin. There were so many firsts here and I couldn’t accept that it would be time to move out of this space.

But we made a promise, to each other and ourselves– once the five love languages could no longer be balanced harmoniously, despite our best efforts to align them, we would move out of this cabin–

separately, and alone.

Alone.

I didn’t want to picture the journey outside of here without you. This home we built was by no means perfect: we ran out of firewood regularly, the pot for the tea had begun to leak, and the bed we shared had begun to feel smaller over time.

The once balanced system was starting to fail us here in this once safe place, one language at a time. As the silence began between us again, I let my mind drift one final time into the details of this failing home.

Hopefully there is some solace before the reality of this cabin fever hits.

Physical Touch–

“I don’t come from an affectionate family” and it was true.

I was a hugger and you were not.

I gave touches of comfort as a means to feel closer to where your mind would consume you. Gradually you embraced my touch, you let me in.

I made you feel loved and you made me feel wanted.

We’ve grown to hold each other less like we used to, it doesn’t feel out of desire anymore, it feels out of habit, out of comfort.

Eventually I began to question every little missed sign: you didn’t pull me close in a crowd as you used to…I didn’t rub the back of your neck when you drove us home like I normally would…we didn’t feel the need to sit on the same side of the booth at our favorite restaurant.

I do not recall the day that our bodies subconsciously decided we wanted each other out of comfort instead of desire.

Words of Affirmation–

“You are my best friend”

“I want us, I don’t want to try with anyone else”

​​ “I don’t think you comprehend how much I love you”

It all starts off as it should. Little compliments that build into bonds.

I assumed the bonds would remain as strong and confident as the words that came out of our lips.

But just as love is formed through words, so is resentment.

“It’s not that big of a deal, it was a mistake”

​ “You were never bothered by it before”

​​ “I love you…but I hate you”

I truly feel words have the power to stick around a lot longer than the person who spoke them, although I can’t comprehend how

our sweet wine of syllables turned into a poisonous elixir of phrases.

​​​

Gift Giving–

I am a giver, I do it out of the genuine look on your face when I craft a poem written just for you or spend the last of my paycheck on something from your favorite movie as a kid.

I didn’t see the fault in the giving: treat others how you want to be treated, my mother would say. So I treated, and you did too.

But I look back at the transactions of our love

and how they changed, I can’t quite explain it but–

I wanted to give you what I couldn’t give to myself, no matter the price.

But I paid in time.

I was willing to pay to change your mistakes, and you were willing to pay so I would forget them. We both were short-changed.

Please don’t misinterpret me, I am not a materialistic person, but I cannot understand a new home without all the physical mementos of us.

Acts of Service–

You had a long day, I rubbed your back.

I didn’t get the job, you made me my favorite meal.

Sometimes the most thoughtless language, it just happened.

I wanted to show you that you mattered, I didn’t overthink this part of us.

I overthought so much as we built this home, but the smallest gestures always reminded me that we both cared, that we both invested.

We were both thoughtful when we wanted to be, weren't we?

But there were times when we both were selfish as well.

There are no regrets on the acts of effort on my end, until I realized I started losing how to do them for myself.

Which brings us to our last failed language, but one that will always remain my favorite.

Quality Time–

I could go nowhere, do nothing, but there was always you.

As much as I am grateful for any new experiences we shared, new landscapes, new foods, new adventures.

I made the time, you made the time. Days multiplied without care, and soon the kids we once were became adults.

I grew to love this cabin more than anywhere else we could be.

And maybe that is the problem.

I hoped the quality of our time would never run thin, but here we are,

fighting the cabin fever before it sets in too heavy.

Conclusion–

I’m gonna be honest there is not one language here that has not failed us in time.

Our need for touch has turned from desire to familiarity.

Our words have evolved from endearing to passive.

Our giving was once genuine and now is transactional.

Our acts towards each other have drained us from taking care of ourselves.

Our time that was once plentiful has pushed us into wanting out of this little cabin.

“I agree, we’ll start packing in the morning” I say, now letting myself accept the fever setting in.