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# oh, to be loved quietly
- URL: https://sincerelyskylar.co/oh-to-be-loved-quietly/
- Published: 2026-08-08T19:01:45.000Z
- Updated: 2026-08-08T19:01:45.000Z
- Author: Skylar Barron
- Tags: Essays

For a very long time, I was obsessed with the idea of being loved out loud. I wanted someone shouting it from the rooftops, declaring it constantly, posting it on social media — again and again and again.

Because when everyone sees it, it must be true, right?

In today’s world, we’ve formed this weird collective belief that if there is no visible, physical proof of someone’s love, then certainly, it doesn’t exist. 

No story for National Girlfriend Day? He must be a cheater. 

She posted a photo for his birthday, but the caption is quite short. Surely, they’re on the rocks. 

It’s asinine, really. I know it is, and you know it is.

Why should we care what other people — in most cases acquaintances, but often toeing the line of strangers — think of our relationships? 

Was social media really a form of showing love at all? Or was it just a stage — a performance? The perpetual hunt for validation, confirmation, that our relationship earned society’s stamp of approval.

It wasn’t until I met my husband, an incredibly introverted man, that I began to question things. 

When we first started dating, I was painfully insecure — not in myself, but in the strength of our relationship. Constantly afraid of a boogeyman, hiding behind the corner, threatening to rear its ugly head. And I had convinced myself that so long as he posted a picture of me on Instagram — one where I looked pretty, of course — that he would not leave me. 

If the world saw a tiny, little square that put my smiling face on display, then our relationship would work. It had to. 

But when one post didn’t cure me — I wanted more.

I was an addict.

I wanted stories, I wanted comments, I wanted society to grab me by the neck and whisper in my ear, *yes, dear. He loves you! Oh, how he loves you so!*

As time went on, my introverted boyfriend became increasingly more uncomfortable, stretching himself outside his comfort zone to provide me this form of validation I so desperately craved.

Somehow, I began to feel less desperate for it — less reliant on it. 

I began to feel… *content.* 

And oh, what a strange but wonderful feeling that was. 

It wasn’t because the posts on social media were fulfilling this deep-seated need for validation. 

It wasn’t because I’d had my fill of likes and comments. 

It was because I’d let my partner love me, quietly. 

I no longer needed people to witness my love. I just needed to experience it.

Slowly, his love seeped into the cracks and crevices of my fragile heart, my guarded ego. 

Slowly, he built something in me — an impenetrable force. 

*Love*.

Real, steady, quiet love. 

It was not the love that bragged and boasted and put me on display. It was the love that comforted and held and protected me — protected my heart. 

He was teaching me, loving me, in all the ways I needed. I just didn’t know it yet, not then. 

He loves me in the way he saves me all of the folded chips when we eat french onion dip, even though they are his favorites too. 

In the way he always leaves me the closer towel when he gets out of the shower, so I don’t have to reach as far when I take mine. 

In the way he avoids eating the giant chunks of chocolate in our moose tracks ice cream, so I can have them all to myself. 

In the way he stays up with me when my stomach hurts, no matter how tired he is.

In the way he samples all of my food for me, to confirm it is, in fact, gluten free. 

In the way he picks me up at the airport, any time of day or night, with flowers in hand.

He loves me in the ways that matter. The ways that last. 

And if you want proof — some tangible form of evidence — that I am a changed woman, then I will give you this. 

My husband, whom I married two months ago, has not posted a single thing about our wedding. 

And I couldn’t be happier. 

*Who would have thought?*