The view of the Green Mountains from our front window in Vermont
I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving this year. I haven’t spent that holiday with my family since 2015, which some days seems a bit hard to believe. But flights are expensive, family is complicated, and I’ve made do with some version of found family over the last seven years.
This November, I went to Vermont, specifically an Airbnb in the Green Mountains, with a bunch of friends from college. When I pitched my rather hair-brained scheme earlier in the year, I didn’t expect many takers. After all, we’ve now scattered to the four winds, making our homes from Colorado to Maine to Kentucky. But to my delight, eight people said yes, so we booked a place, made a monster grocery list, and scrambled to find new transportation when record Thundersnow in Buffalo changed everyone’s travel plans.
The place we stayed was perfect—an old farm house with a formal sitting room, a kitchen complete with a full kitchen table and a wood burning stove, expansive views of the mountains, and a floor I can only describe as undulating. Our time together was short but sweet, for a number of reasons. People came as schedules allowed—some a few days late, some leaving early, some foiled by the snowstorm and unable to come at all. But the scant time we had together, in the same space, snuggled by the fire, sharing meals, swapping stories, and just being together somehow at once cast us back to our days at school together and painted a stark picture of how we’ve grown and changed in the last six years.
For some reason this year, more than any other time together, we spent much of our time talking about relationships. Friends, family, love interests, communication styles and dysfunction and missing home. It was good. It felt important.
One morning, talking about dating apps and “types” over fresh cinnamon rolls and frittata, we brought up love languages. Quickly it became clear that not all of us put stock in the classic five love languages (words of affirmation, acts of service, physical touch, quality time, and gifts, if you’re unfamiliar), so we pivoted to a new question which became a center point of our week.
What behaviors and actions from people around you make you feel loved, seen, and cared for?
Now, a key element at the heart of the question is what things hit all three—what behaviors fall in the center of the loved/seen/cared-for Venn diagram? What, for you, is the trifecta, the triple-whammy, the trinity, if you will, of actions from your people?
Because you could be loved and seen, but not cared for—maybe by a well-intentioned friend who is just not equipped to give you the support you need. You could be loved and cared for, but not seen—maybe with tough love from a parent who is trying their best but just can’t seem to get to know you. Or, you could be seen and cared for—maybe by a passing stranger who hands you a tissue on a day your level of overwhelm leaves you crying in a coffee shop.
But checking all three boxes is difficult. This became clear as we sat in uncertain silence, thinking if there were any behaviors that encompassed loved, seen, and cared for. In the end, our lists were each very short and required much contemplation to assemble at all.
For some, it was engaging in witty banter and meaningful dialogue. For others, goofy gifts from family or listening to the details of the latest hyperfixation. Some said understanding when and what kind of physical affection was acceptable, some wanted to be affirmed for the parts of themselves they keep under the radar.
For me, my whole list is just two things: anticipating my needs then doing something about it, and holding me close in quiet companionship.
Always fearing I’m never enough, it’s often hard for me to feel loved. Compartmentalizing my emotions and deflecting real conversation for decades as a coping mechanism, it takes a long time for anyone to be able to really see me. As a hyper-independent recovering workaholic, it’s no secret that I can sometimes make myself hard to care for.
It was easy to see that few of us have relationships that do all three things—which isn’t inherently bad, to be sure. Not everyone is everything to everybody. But it was interesting to realize that none of us had really given much thought to what we truly want and need from our relationships. In many cases we didn’t even realize we could ask for all three, let alone believe that we could really ever expect to be loved, seen, and cared for all at once.
But my conversations with these friends of half a decade, who all love me, see me, and care for me in their own ways, ticking their own special combination of the three boxes, made me start to think the trifecta isn’t so unattainable after all.
I wonder too, after all the times we revisited that question over the course of the week, if we shouldn’t take more time to quiet our thoughts and be honest and thoughtful with ourselves. And maybe (eventually, if you’re emotionally unavailable like me) be honest and thoughtful with the people around us too. Maybe we can unbury the secret hope of the triple-whammy and start, little by little, to be truly loved, seen, and cared for in the ways we deserve.
Lillie grew up on a forty-acre hay farm in Central Oregon, making the trek to Michigan to study mechanical engineering and sustainability. After graduating in 2020, she moved to Rochester, NY, where her day job as an engineer for the local gas utility funds her outdoor adventures, love of books, various craft projects, and investment in her new community.
