I show love by taking care of everything. It was exhausting and nearly ruined my 15-year marriage.

• I show my love by doing things for other people. It became exhausting.
• While I was busy performing acts of service and feeling invisible, my husband felt rejected.
• We needed to meet in the middle and adjust how we show up for one another to make our marriage work.

A few years ago, I found myself standing in the middle of my kitchen, holding a spatula in one hand, a laundry basket in the other, and a mental list of 47 or so unfinished tasks swirling in my brain. The kids were yelling for snacks, my husband was peacefully scrolling on his phone, and I was one unloaded dishwasher away from a full-blown meltdown. It wasn't just that I was doing everything — it was that no one else seemed to notice I was doing everything.

I was showing love. Acts of service were my thing, my so-called love language. I didn't just say "I love you." I did things. For more than a decade, I made sure my husband's favorite snacks were stocked, I kept the house running, I remembered every little detail so he didn't have to. I figured the more I did, the more he'd feel loved.

The only problem? His love language wasn't acts of service. It was physical touch. Which meant that while I was busy doing, he was feeling neglected in the one way that actually mattered to him. I was one unappreciated load of laundry away from losing my mind. He felt rejected. I felt invisible. And neither of us knew how to say it until we were hanging on by a thread.

In our marriage, we spoke different love languages

For years, I believed that love was best expressed through actions. If I loved you, I took care of you. And in my mind, my husband should have been thrilled to be on the receiving end of my endless to-do list. I was working so hard to make his life easier, to make our home a peaceful, well-run haven. But instead of feeling adored, he just felt disconnected.

Because, for him, love wasn't in a perfectly cleaned house or a thoughtfully packed lunch. Instead, it was in hand-holding, hugs, and sitting close on the couch. But instead of recognizing that, I just kept doing more, assuming that at some point, he'd look around at our well-organized life and say, "Wow, I feel so deeply loved." Spoiler: that moment never came. He felt rejected when I was too busy to cuddle, and I felt unappreciated when he still wasn't gushing over my acts of devotion. We were both trying, but in completely different languages.

I was doing this to myself

The breaking point came when I realized that my exhaustion was self-inflicted. No one had asked me to be in a constant state of productivity. I was wearing myself out voluntarily and then getting mad that my husband wasn't rewarding me for it. Meanwhile, he was craving closeness, and I was too busy folding towels to notice.

We finally had the uncomfortable conversation — the one where we finally acknowledged that we were missing each other. And honestly? It was a wake-up call. I had to accept that my never-ending to-do list wasn't the only way to show love in our 15-year marriage. And he had to understand that I wasn't intentionally ignoring his needs — I was just really bad at slowing down.

I shifted my priorities

I decided to make some changes. Instead of assuming love meant checking off every task, I started pausing when my husband pulled me in for a hug instead of brushing him off with a "Just one second!"

Instead of collapsing into bed completely drained every night, I made space for small, meaningful moments of connection. And wouldn't you know? It actually worked. He noticed the shift and met me there. He started pointing out the things I did, thanking me for the invisible labor I had carried for years. He even got good at spotting when I was on the verge of a full-blown meltdown — usually somewhere between refereeing sibling arguments and stepping on a rogue LEGO — and would jump in before I could unravel completely. Sometimes that meant tackling the chaos himself; other times, it meant handing me the car keys and telling me to disappear for an hour like he was handing me a golden ticket. For the first time in a long time, I felt seen, not just for what I did, but for who I was.

Now, things are better

These days, I still express love through acts of service. I'm never going to be the person who doesn't notice that the sink is full or that the kids' shoes are too small. But I no longer let it consume me. I've learned that love isn't just about doing, it's about being.

When my husband reaches for my hand, I take it. When he pulls me in for a hug, I let myself be present instead of mentally listing all the things I could be getting done. And you know what? I'm happier, he's happier, and — best of all — I finally get to sit down before midnight.

If you're an acts of service type like me, always trying to do love instead of feel it, maybe it's time to put down the to-do list and lean into the moment—literally.