It’s too easy to forget that good people still exist in this world, especially with all of the scary things we see, read and hear in real life and through news.

But they do. They’re everywhere. They’re as ubiquitous as everything that scares us.

I was reminded of this two days ago when I took my daughters to the zoo. My oldest wanted to go on the carousel. I didn’t think my struggling to keep both kids safe and happy was obvious, but I was—struggling.

It was the baby’s first time, and we chose to initially just try sitting on the peacock-shaped bench. My oldest thought the peacock was cool, but she was skeptical, especially as she saw the other kids swarm to their own wildly-colored animal seats, and not onto benches with their mom and baby sister.

The baby wouldn’t sit, and generally wasn’t having it at all, until the ride started, and her fine tousle of duckling hair blew gently in the carousel’s breeze.

After, the baby adamantly did not want to go back on, but my oldest—used to going on twice when we hit up this favorite treat at the zoo—wanted to go again. So I did a parent-override on the one child, and we bought two more wooden tokens at the little adjoining window.

It was during this second time—trying to figure out how to jostle the baby onto something to keep her still long enough for these few minutes we’d be on the ride, while jointly appeasing my oldest, and trying to decide whether to help my oldest onto an animal, or park us all once again on that peacock bench—that I was wrestling physically with the kids and also with what to do (before I started to sweat and my girls guessed that this was anything less than awesome, Mommy-and-me fun)—when this saint of a woman with pinkish-red spiked hair and a zoo uniform swooped in.

She’s a woman that we see basically every time we visit, which is often, even if she isn’t always there at the carousel. She asked me if my oldest would let her stand by her on her animal of choice. My social-butterfly, people-loving oldest child was ecstatic for our new friend—and, to me, this woman’s platinum blond highlights could not have made for a shinier halo.

I thanked her several times, as I stood in between my two girls, both on their own wildly-colored animals, for the very first time. I stood holding onto the baby, and our new friend was on the other side of my oldest. My oldest daughter had a smile that lit up my heart—one that I needed to see on her little-girl face after a difficult week.

The baby still didn’t like it. I had to snuggle right up next to her and repeatedly remind her that Mommy was right here, and I sang “up and down, up and down” to her to help her focus on my tightly-wrapped arms, and the simplicity of this brand-new sensation (of being on a carousel).

The woman whispered to me over my oldest’s head, “She’s beautiful,” and she had a smile of natural delight on her own face—one that nearly matched my daughter’s.

We got off, and I realized I couldn’t have done that—we could not possibly have had this same memory-created experience—without her help. I told her that it was the baby’s first time ever, and I thanked her from my heart. I told her that we had come that day pretty much to ride the carousel and then go home and that, because of her and her kindness, it had been magical.

I felt so filled with love—love for my girls, tenderness at seeing my bold, naturally aggressive baby frightened at something, and for my “big” girl’s little-girl excitement—and with love for this virtual stranger.

We went back to our stroller, stuffed with my diaper bag, and, apparently not enough snacks—which is why we were there for just this one special thing—because my oldest was hungry and wanted to go home to eat something familiar.

So we’re collecting our stuff, and beginning to walk away, and another little girl asked her mother, who then turned to me and asked, “Is it okay if we share our Goldfish crackers with your girls?”

I was inside of my own private mother-with-young-kids world—attempting to push my car-sized stroller, and watch my two daughters, as I also attempted to have them walk next to me (cue semi-insane laughter)—and I hadn’t been paying attention. I look up after this little girl’s mother has to repeat her question. Her daughter is holding a gigantic bag of Goldfish crackers, and with my gratitude and permission, her tiny fist held out two handfuls of yellow fish—one for my joyful oldest and one for the still-reluctantly happy baby.

We thanked them, and this got the baby to climb back into her stroller seat, and my oldest then sat down on the little bench on the back for bigger kids, and I pushed them as they munched on their crackers, and we headed out of the zoo.

These two—what felt like miraculous—acts of simple kindness made me feel like I was floating as we walked back through the parking lot to my silver Jetta.

I was reminded that there is kindness out there waiting for us, and we have only to gift it to one another.

The post In One Day Two Random Acts of Kindness Reminded Me That Good People Still Exist. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

For me, kindness is a practice.

I can have a sharp tongue and an aggressive demeanor and, frankly, when feeling insecure or overly emotional, it’s often unfortunately easy to lash out at others rather than take a good, solid look at myself.

When the world surrounding me, and my own special, tiny family, feels unusually harsh, and it seems there are so many terrible things happening that I can do little to tangibly help with, I turn to a slogan that was popular on bumper stickers when I was growing up. (And the older I get, the more I see its relevancy.)

I think globally, and act locally.

I create a better world by making my small world better.

When, expansively, we all crave more love and kindness and general softening, I ask myself how I can transplant these ideals back into the world, from where they already sit inside of my own, individual heart. Over and over again, I find that I can spread these qualities that I desperately want to see exist, for my children and their potential children, by starting with the family cuddled around me as I write this.

Because how we impact the people within our own small orbit—on our own small islands in this world—is a concrete way that I can make a change. I can change the world by changing my daily interactions.

So I do these 8 things:

1. Apologize.

When I find myself speaking too firmly at someone who doesn’t deserve it, I apologize.

I don’t apologize when I don’t need to, and I’m not a thoughtless I’m sorrier, but I do believe in apologies.

2. Practice yoga.

Practicing yoga won’t feed hungry children or bring world peace, but every single time I step onto my mat, I step off of it, after even the shortest, 20-minute practice, feeling softer and more generous, both with myself and with others.

I am reborn every time I practice, so I practice yoga on most days.

3. Sing.

Music is powerful. As I sit here writing this, my husband and two daughters are listening to music and dancing, singing and laughing.

Singing—regardless of how we sound—is absolutely a powerful way to both heal and find joy.

4. Cook.

Food is comfort. I’ve written extensively on my battle with an eating disorder, and I do not mean to undermine the intense connections between food and emotions, but I will offer up this: food tastes good because it’s meant to be enjoyed. It’s also best when shared.

Some days, I feel lonely or grumpy or insert any negative, brooding feeling, and my husband comes home from work and we start cooking. We start chopping and sauteing, and we talk as we move through our dinner making, and the world—or my own little section of it—seems so much lighter, easier and more tranquil.

5. Slow down.

When the world and my own head seem to be spinning at a rate that I can’t keep up with, I stop. Sometimes, I literally just sit down on the floor.

My children’s reaction when I do this is priceless. They love it. They climb into my lap, or they run up to me and grab my face and kiss it.

Sometimes, slowing down means that I drop things on my to-do list for that day. I realize I cannot accomplish all that I set out to do, so I start with the most necessary tasks and drop the rest. Ironically, when I relieve myself of this pressure, my mind clears, my body relaxes and I get more done.

6. Look at the moon.

My daughter has recently discovered the awe of rising in the morning to a still visible, lingering image of the moon in the sky.

At night, too, with the darkness drawing sooner as winter dawns, she’s taken to animatedly pointing out the moon as soon as it appears.

Looking up at the moon reminds me to feel grateful for the day that preceded it—to find genuine thankfulness where I can, and not a made-up, phony sense of happiness. My life and I are not perfect, but some parts—many parts—are truly wondrous.

Thank you, moon, for this reminder.

7. Smile.

When I smile, it almost feels as if my heart has adjoining corners that tilt upward along with the edges of my lips. The simplest smile given randomly makes me feel so much happier.

I’m not suggesting we all walk around like Stepford Wives with fake smiles plastered on, but, hey, sometimes you fake it before you make it.

8. Look outside of myself.

Being introspective is wonderful—necessary, actually, if we want to better ourselves and, by default, our world—but there does come a point where it can become self-absorbed.

When I feel stuck on an emotion or situation, instead of over-analyzing it, I become an observer.

I force myself to pay attention, for example, to the way a single leaf looks as it’s suspended from a near-empty branch. I fully take in the sound of my daughter’s voice as she reads a book. I watch my baby discover how the light hits her fingertips and then becomes a shadow on the cream-colored carpet.

In short, I fall in love with the world, and my people on it, all over again each day by practicing mindfulness and staying present in my life.

Sometimes, all we can do is take it minute by minute and stop thinking so far ahead. The easiest way I’ve found to do this is to pay better attention to the people and scenery I admire.

And, no, I won’t change the world by making butternut squash soup for dinner, practicing yoga after breakfast, or playing with my family. However—just maybe!—the ripple effect from creating a personal wake of kindness and generosity will make its way out to another family, and then another, and then another.

A stranger smiled at me yesterday when I was feeling frustrated while shopping with my two children. After, my shoulders dropped, my face softened and my voice became gentler as I spoke with my daughters.

A stranger’s smile extended to me an invitation to find kindness during my everyday difficulty—and I accepted it, gratefully.

The post 8 Ways to Really Make the World a Better Place. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I had the strangest day.

I’m not sure that I can even begin to go into it, really—it was so weird.

But I was standing at the counter in a chiropractor’s office—who isn’t my chiropractor—and this woman walked in, as I’m filling out paperwork, and she says sweetly after waiting several pauses, while I’m hogging up the whole countertop, that she is going to sign in but that she won’t disturb my baby, sleeping in her carseat at my feet.

She tells my oldest daughter what a good big sister she is.

They have a short interaction and the pain in my hip subsides because the warmth in my heart took over.

I stand there in these seconds of interaction, in awe of the human animal.

Complete awe.

I eventually get led into this other little room, where the doctor will do my much needed adjustment and we pass this same woman in an adjoining room and her eyes smile so kindly at me and it feels like a hug; she’s waiting patiently, obviously having had an appointment, whereas I had driven desperately there and just gone in.

I observe wordlessly that when we are in pain, the gentlest human touch has the most profound effect.

I am enriched by this exchange.

I am given a little boost of energy when I truly need it.

To me, these little moments of interaction are huge.

Later, I decided to go to my local open-air market after still not feeling well; after my oldest child was behaving hyperactively and my youngest—in hopefully what is a passing, teething haze—was actively just plain angry at her babyhood.

Because how in the hell is it only 4:30 in the afternoon?

So we go there, and I almost don’t stop. I almost keep driving, with the heated seat warmer driving on my back as I angstily maneuver my stick-shift car up hilly terrain along to thumping Rage Against the Machine—I almost keep on driving.

But I didn’t.

I stopped.

And, before I know it, my daughter is eating pretzel sticks and drinking the water I brought while we sit on a hexagon-shaped picnic bench; the baby in her stroller next to us, not happy, but happier to be in a sweetly blowing breeze and some diffused sunlight beneath the kind-of shade of a tree on a blue-sky day.

We’re sitting there with both of my girls looking all around at a few scattered people, at this intense blue above us and I’m pathetically doing boat poses, into low boat poses, into boat pose on this hexagonal bench because I’m pretty desperate to exercise.

And I don’t care how I look. Honestly, for one of the few times in my life, I don’t care how I look doing boat pose on a hexagon-shaped bench by a rather busy country road at an outdoor market.

And not in a look-at-me-I’m-20-and-angry-at-the-way-the-world-works kind of way. No, just an I-truly-don’t-give-a-damn-I’m-so-effing-uncomfortable-in-my-life-and-haven’t-had-enough-sleep way.

I see this farmer who I’ve seen every day that we’ve been going to this market, which is a lot, since I’ve frankly been up most nights with an unhappy baby and our visits provide momentary relief.

He waves.

He smiles.

Later, as we’re leaving—not happily, because my oldest daughter doesn’t want to leave and I, too, feel like I could spend the rest of my life there reading under the breeze of an inappropriately huge wooden swing, but we do because our baby is restless and, more, because it’s dinner-making time.

This farmer comes up and smiles at me, and talks to me—really talks to me. And I’m crazy in my I-haven’t-spoken-to-adults-enough-all-day way, but I can see in his eyes, and in his voice, that he gets it.

He says he has a three year old and a six year old and he gets needing to get out of the house all of a sudden before you go nuts, and he gets teething, and we discover that we each had one who teethed silently and without problem (our eldest) and ones that made us understand how insanity is equated with teething (our youngest).

And I realize, as I’m piling my children and the beets and carrots and pretzel sticks that we bought into the car, that these silent, subtle, could-have-been-missed glances of a stranger’s eyes have made my entire day both miraculous and wonderful in what was otherwise a pretty challenging day.

And I store away, for when I’ll  long to avoid a stranger’s eyes because it’s so much easier, that this might also be the thing that saves today.

Photo: Flickr/Smile.

The post How a Smile Saved My Life. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I gave birth six weeks ago and I’ve been a huge bitch ever since.

Pretty big bitch.

Possibly this is because I’m exhausted. Potentially it’s because I’m a milk machine. There’s also a good chance it’s because I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve gone to the bathroom alone since giving birth the first time over four years ago.

Because the life of a mother is awesome—it’s love, 24 hours a day; it’s joy like I never thought was possible; it’s built-in entertainment (which is great since my T.V. is still a big square box and I haven’t succumbed to cable, Direct TV or whatever).

Still, it’s also tears to laughter to tears to whining to hugs to following you to the bathroom. (That sentence, trust me, will make perfect sense to other mothers.)

But back to being a (big) bitch.

I had this epiphany the other day after my husband finally got fed-up with my post-postpartum, tired-mommy mood-swings—my life can be made challenging and even miserable by circumstance or by people, but I am the one in charge of letting this make me act like a bad person.

I guess it’s kind of similar to that whole “no one can hurt you with your permission” mindset, but I don’t actually agree with that statement that I just typed.

Because people can hurt us. A lot, in fact. But—big but—I finally had this “a ha” moment of clarity that how I act in return is where my power lies.

Because I can be hurt by a friend who stopped caring about me; I can be angered at another day with a squeezed-in yoga practice that doesn’t quite do the trick—but only I am responsible for turning my hurt into bitterness that, ultimately, becomes someone else’s hurt. Like my husband’s. Or my kids.

Do I want someone else’s rotten attitude to create my horrendous attitude which I then pass down to the people (who actually matter) that I spend most of my time with (my family)? No. Obviously, no.

So I can’t promise that I won’t be moody (because, truly, I am postpartum and tired). I can’t promise either that I won’t snap or say something snotty when all I really want to do is simply work out on my circa-1980-whatever Nordic Track (but I can’t because I’m cleaning up someone else’s poop for the five-hundredth time that day).

And my life is blessed. For sure. It’s also difficult at times—like everyone else’s.

We are all blessed and we are all challenged. Various places in our lives make one outweigh the other significantly before it’s brought back into balance again, but how we handle these imbalances is what makes us who we are.

It’s what makes us a good person—or not.

My life can be filled with total happiness and satisfaction—and that can make me callous to the suffering of others if I don’t remember that my life’s easiness could change at the drop of a hat; the whim of fate; the tipping of the human scales that we’re always seeking a reason for.

Similarly, my life can be filled with chaos or heartache or stress—and I have to remember that taking deep breaths, exercising to increase my positive-mood body-chemicals rather than drinking too much wine, and merely staying alert yet sympathetic to my difficulty is what will get me through this period as joyfully—and kindly—as possible.

Because, I’m discovering, it’s when I lose the kindness and sympathy towards myself that I become that big bitch.

I feel like a victim instead of the empowered person I really am and I give my power away to circumstance or to another person who hurt me when I react badly. But that’s just the problem—it’s a reaction.

So how do we change our reactions?

Well, I’ve been working on this for years. Years. Because, for whatever explanation, I tend to react coldly, angrily and harshly when I’m hurt, be it by person or environment. But I want to react with love.

I want to cry not scream when I’m hurt.

I want to say easily, “I’m exhausted. I need more help than this,” when I’m tired and hot-nerve frazzled.

I want to be the sort of woman who shows her children that life isn’t always easy, but that I can always be kind, whatever circumstance is presented.

And that’s where the challenge of being a person lies—in being kind in the face of hurt, rage, fear and all of these uncomfortable emotions that inhabit human life with us.

And I don’t have all the answers—if I did, I’d be making large-sum deposits in the bank. But, I can share this: living a kind, generous-towards-others life involves a lot of deep breaths (a lot), a pretty good amount of “I’m sorry’s” and, most likely, a lot of hugs too. It also means surrounding ourselves with people who act a lot like the person we’re trying to best be.

Because much of life is entirely about choices.

I can choose to be empowered and not a victim (even when I feel victimized, I can still find my power). I can choose, also, to keep people who seek love (and deep breaths) close to my heart and close to the heart of my life. (I can’t pick assholes for friends and partners and wonder why I’m unhappy.) More, though, I have to recognize that my circumstances are often brought on by many previous choices.

I’m not talking about karma either.

I’m talking about the reality that I want to be a mom. And, not shockingly, this generally tends to mean that I’ll be dog-tired for a few years, that I’ll clean up a lot of poo and that I’ll have bathroom fellows even when I might want five minutes alone.

But I have to find my power and consider all of the many wonderful things that also came out of making this choice to have children: love like you wouldn’t believe, tears from laughing so much at cuteness and loads of free hugs.

And it’s only 9:30 in the morning as I write this—I have an entire day ahead full of choices and challenges and triumphs—and I think I’ll need more than luck to live as that person I want to be.

It will take owning my mistakes, forging ahead when I feel beaten, and moving, again and again, towards love.

Because love is a choice.

And, over and over again, I choose it.

Photo: Author’s own; Flickr/Jesslee Cuizon.

The post How to Choose Love (& Be a Good Person). first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

Yeah—I guess I should have expected to be a little bit upset.

Actually, though, I wasn’t just a little bit upset—I cried so much that my eyes are still puffy today.

I felt…despair. I felt…tired on a deep, deep level. And, sure, I guess it could be a touch of the post-baby blues or, more, just the sheer lack of sleep making my insides feel like a hot, frayed nerve, but, equally, life isn’t always easy.

There are periods of life that we just move through, all the while enjoying the process as much as possible, but, simultaneously, knowing that there are better, less challenging times waiting ahead.

I don’t like to fast-forward through my life, even these less than stellar moments, but sometimes I do need to feel that hidden spark of hope. Of light. However small.

And then I get back on social media after a day of not caring or being physically able to care and I see so much, from both sides, about Ferguson. No matter where you stand, this is a historic moment in our country, but, being an empathetic feeler, I see this as a pivotal moment—a crucial moment—when the universe is asking us, will we stand together in our sheer common humanity or will we divide?

Will we be Republicans or Democrats?

Will we be black or white?

Rich or poor?

Or will we be mothers?

Will we be siblings and sons and daughters?

Will we just be people who all, generally, want the same things?

I told my sister recently that the reason many parents aim for their children to get married and have kids of their own is because there’s a built in safety net of love that comes with having a small, loving family to call your own. At the same time, there, really, are no safety nets in life.

Marriages fail. Children…die.

Life is not simple, because people aren’t.

But we all have days of projectile vomiting. We all have days when we want to curl up in the fetal position in our beds sobbing violently (or we do, like I did yesterday). And we all have those little sparks of hope. Of compassion. Of change.

So, as I scroll through my social media newsfeed, I become less interested in people’s black-and-white, cut-and-dry, intellectual responses to this groundbreaking moment in our country’s life and more interested in how we humanly respond.

I was holding my daughter before I put her in bed last night and, after such a rough day, it felt physically painful to love her so much. To need her so much. But that same love also inspires me to be a mother to everyone I meet—and I want those who come into contact with me to remember that, some days, I’m just a little girl crying on her pink and turquoise bed.

So, yes, some days—some periods—of life are full of challenges—and full of opportunities to share our hearts, our empathy—our kindness.

I’m taking my terrible fall yesterday as a mother and a wife—trust me, I was not pretty to be around; again, probably the projectile vomiting—to remind myself of why, most days, I try so hard to simply be nice. To smile. To speak gently. To remember that not everyone is like me—that, truly, no one is—but that this doesn’t mean we can’t share respect. And hope. And generosity of heart.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

Photo: Flickr/Gustavo Medde.

The post “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.” first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

Your happy to-do list.

Yesterday I was such a grump. I told my husband that my body felt like dog poo.

All week long my yoga practice had been ho-hum, my runs were inconsistent, and I was feeling just plain yucky.

This morning, however, I decided that it was high time to turn my mood around—so I took my tiny lady and her jogging stroller out for a run on my favorite trail.

The sunshine peeked through the trees, not quite sure if it was ready to be awake yet. (I can relate.)

The grass and foliage were lush and green thanks to all the rain we’ve had here in Ohio.

My body moved, and as it did the tightness drained, not only from my muscles, but from my mind and heart as well.

Aaaah, this is life.

Way too often I get caught up in the cerebral part of being human and forget to just move and breathe and be an animal—which led me to ponder those days that start out great (like today) and are wonderfully serene and happy throughout, right up until my head hits my pillow.

What is it about these days that make them so fantastic and joyful?

So I came up with this list of things to do if you want to enjoy simply being alive.

1. Move your body. Do something that gives your body a little bit of exercise every single day. You don’t have to hit the gym or go to the yoga studio or even dedicate a full hour—just do something, anything really.

A few of my preferred mood-boosting body moves are: dancing in the kitchen with my daughter while making dinner, taking a short walk in nature and breaking out five minutes worth of yoga core moves in the middle of the day (talk about quick energy).

2. Drink water. I love water—obsessively and adoringly. I know that some people find water to be a boring drink, but your body needs it, so drink up anyway. (After all, dehydration can lead to a serious case of the crankies, you know.)

3. Laugh. Find small ways to add laughter into your day.

Whether you call a friend who always cracks you up or you watch a stupid SNL skit you love on youtube, it doesn’t matter.

Better still, lighten up in general, and notice the humor that exists in your every, ordinary day that you often completely ignore. (If you’re really at a loss then watch a child—they find delight in those little, tiny moments that we adults sadly stopped noticing years ago.)

4. Be authentic. There’s nothing more unhappy than being phony. Try as hard as you can to let down your guard and just be the real you regardless of your setting. Easier said than done, I know, but it’s well worth the effort because putting on different masks for different people is exhausting.

Consider being open to the possibility that you are wonderful exactly as you are.

5. Eat healthy food. Ugh, eating crappy, processed food is sure to make your entire system feel lousy.

Fill up everyday on fresh fruits and vegetables—and pay attention to how good it makes you feel.

6. Yet still allow treats. I absolutely believe in eating dark chocolate and drinking wine and hoppy beer—in moderation.

One of my favorite ways to complete a good day is to break out one of my teensy, pretty chocolate plates along with a couple squares of the good stuff.

7. Do your chores. I sincerely do not like housework. I don’t like doing the dishes. I have a severe disdain for laundry. And you know what? Too bad. I have to do it anyway—and I always feel better after I do.

8. Reach out and touch someone. People are made to be social creatures. We need affection and good ol’ fashioned touching. Spend time cuddling with someone special and I promise you’ll feel amazing afterwards.

9. Remember tomorrow. When I felt horrible yesterday, I knew that I would feel better today. Sometimes the best thing you can do for yourself when you’re feeling down or things aren’t going exactly as you’d like is to remember that, thankfully, life is an ever moving ocean filled with changing tides.

10. Practice kindness. I’m telling you this from personal experience—being a jerk will not make you feel good. Rather, smile and extend your kindest you out into the world—because it’s entirely true that the love you take is equal to the love you make.

I think I’ll stop here for now—because the thing about happiness is that it’s not complex.

Happiness is noticing and then hanging onto those little things in life—hugs, sunshine on your skin, the after-effects of a great workout—that we too easily let slip past us.

“Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions.” ~Dalai Lama.

 

Photo credit: ClickFlashPhotos /Nicki Varkevisser/Flickr.

 

This article was first published by elephant journal.

The post 10 Things Your Happiest Self Wants You to Do Every Day first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I began dating my husband even before I began high school. We had celebrated our tenth anniversary and made our first cross-country move before we said “I do.”

With our seventh wedding anniversary recently behind us and our eighteenth dating anniversary right around the corner, I began to ponder the secret to such a long-lasting relationship.

For us, a huge part of it has been learning to say “I love you” without ever opening our mouths.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a word person—the kind of person that thinks the card is equally important to the gift. Yet many of us are not “word” people, and learning how the people in your life express love—and hope to have it returned—is hugely important to both relationship success and happiness.

Here are eight ways to say “I love you” without words.

 1. Make contact—eye contact that is. 

Looking the person you love in the eyes says so much—without actually saying anything. How often do you take the time to stare into your partner’s eyes? It’s not just something newly infatuated people should do. Looking people in the eyes allows them to see what’s in yours too, and there’s almost nothing more wonderful than being gazed at adoringly. So take time to really look at the people you love.

2. Be practical. 

Some people show their love by changing your oil or cooking your favorite meal. Taking care of those closest to us is a basic way to say “I love you.” It expresses concern for your daily well-being—and if that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is.

3. Spend time together. 

My husband and I realized long ago that we fight when we don’t spend enough time together. I understand that not every couple is like this, but I personally think spending quality time together is critical to the success of a relationship. Even if that together time is simply sitting down to dinner or spending 30 minutes reading together on the sofa before bed, make sure to make time for the ones you love.

4. Get physical. 

Hugging, kissing, cuddling—these are all easy ways to show someone you love them. Some people respond more to physical affection than anything else, and part of the joy of the human experience is being in a relationship and getting to experience that closeness with another person. Sometimes those little tender touches are all it takes to say “I love you” without words.

5. Give a little. 

Little presents for no reason are so special. I’m not talking about spending a lot of money either. It’s those small, thoughtful gifts that show you’re really listening to your partner that count.

6. Do you hear what I hear? 

Miscommunication is, unfortunately, also a part of the human experience. Take the time to really listen to what your partner is saying—and make sure you understand them. Sometimes our thoughts don’t come out the way that we want them to. Learning to communicate effectively with the people you love is hugely rewarding.

7. Flip side. 

I often say that our best and worst qualities are the flip side of the same coin. So you’re passionate and temperamental? You’re reliable and stubborn? Don’t use your partner’s flaws against them if you can help it. Sure, the best relationships encourage us to be our best selves, but at the same time knowing someone so well that you know them inside and out and for better or for worse is so special. After all, if anyone deserves some slack, isn’t it the people you love the most? Which brings us to…

8. Be kind. 

How do you treat someone you’ve just met for the first time and how do you treat the people you love and see every day? I’m personally guilty of easily having a sharp tongue or snotty tone of voice. Keeping this in check and treating the people you love the way they deserve to be treated—with kindness—is perhaps the best way to guarantee relationship bliss.

Relationships take time and effort, but almost nothing worth having comes easily. Saying “I love you” is definitely important. However, I think that actions do speak louder than words. Show the people you love the most in this world that you care, and when those three little words do come out, they’ll mean even more.

Photo credit: Super Awesome/Flickr.

The post 8 Ways to Say ‘I Love You’ Without Words. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.