You know what's better than being loved? Being respected.
This may not be **exactly** true, but it’s a catchy title and the jaunty little phrase I keep hearing in my head. Let's talk it through.
hi!! you’ve found yourself at dialoguing, a newsletter where I bring what I know from my work as a psychotherapist into the rest of my life--parenting, marriage, friendships, identity, habits, the relationship to myself and my body--in the least clinical way possible. as the name suggests, I'm often quite conscious of how we talk. to oneself, to each other, about media.
one thing before we jump in, I show up very much as myself here. myself first, and all my other labels are secondary. if a therapist speaking candidly feels like too much to your system, that is absolutely is OK and this may not be the best particular newsletter for you.
A novel thought this is not. It is, however, a line of thinking that keeps knocking at my door. What follows here is me opening said door to see what lies inside.
I think a decent amount about what is love. Not the song by Haddaway, although I do think about that song a lot. I tend to consider the wondering about conditions that lead a human to feel loved—and I mean really, truly loved—to be a central part of my job. What sorts of interactions—with oneself and others—leave a person feeling seen, valued, connected?
Historically if I heard someone ruminating on being respected, I’d think, “Really? This is the hill you want to die on. OK, I guess.” or under harsher internal conditions perhaps it’d be, “Who cares?!” It felt to me like it was all about power over. A one-up position. Better than. Certainly not a prerequisite for love. Yuck.
If you look up any definition of respect you’ll see words like “admiration” or “politeness,” earned through someone’s achievements or status so perhaps my thinking wasn’t entirely off.
After a lifetime of turning my nose up at it, I’ve been wondering lately about a different type of respect and it’s value in my life.
I’m referring to the respect that is about honoring someone’s human complexity and inherent worthiness. Seeing someone not as their most or least competent moment, but as a whole person with a huge range of capacity in any one moment.
I mean respect in that our loved ones are certainly connected to us, but they are not us. They are separate beings with their own stories, values, fears, motivations, ambitions, and wants.
I mean respect in the way we don’t know anyone in our lives fully and we need to remain open to who they are in front of us and not who we think they are. Hearing people out, a leaning in to understand their experience just that little bit more clearly.
I mean respect in doing the complicated work of being honest AND kind in our encounters.
This all came to a head this week while I watched the first season of Couples Therapy (I know, I continue to have my finger on the pulse of pop culture). In one of the pairings, I watched a man say to his wife over and over again some form of, “Listen, I love you, I love you SO good. I love you SO, SO good,1 I should be able to be dismissive to you sometimes and you just need to be OK with that.”
Basically, I love you so much I should be able to disrespect you at will.
Watching him speak, I felt a coldness envelope my entire body. A concoction of confusion—feeling both shocked and not shocked at all. I shook a little as the unwanted familiarity with something harmful took hold.
Later that same night I was in a moment with my son where, after being barked at, I felt the urge to say, “Speak nicer to me, please.”
It wouldn’t have been a crime to phrase it that way, of course, but coming off watching that show, I caught myself. I wondered, do I want him to just do so because I tell him to? I mean, parts of me sorta do, but then I’m operating from a similar place as the aforementioned example. “Do this because I said so. I love you. I care for you so you’ll do what I say.” What I hope for even more way more than compliance is both of us growing our respect for each other (and ourselves).
I’m keenly aware the way I teach him respect is not by shouting RESPECT ME!!!!, but by extending the act of respect to him and myself. But what would that look like in practice?
Can I hold myself in high enough regard to say, “I sense you’re really upset. That is OK. (pause) It’s not OK to talk to me like that. It's hurtful. I’m right here and ready to listen when you’re able to speak to me with kindness.”
In that moment it occurred to me the two-directional thoughtfulness that could happen here if I let it. I could respect him enough not to dictate his language verbatim. He was having a big feeling (fair enough) and needed a moment (fair again).
If I just said, “Say that nicer.” I’d be discounting his experience. Missing him entirely.
If I say nothing and let him scream at me, I’m sending the message it’s OK to talk to me (and others) that way. Subtly suggesting that if you’re displeased you can talk to someone anyway you please. You’re entitled to inflict pain if you’re in pain, especially if you also love them.2
I could respect myself enough to state a boundary, an expectation for engagement.
“What the hell. Let’s give it a shot.” I thought.
So, I tried it. It was surprisingly quick, his recognition that we are both here—feeling, trying, existing, complex. He let out a deep frustrated exhale, shook his little body, and then made his request again with confidence and warmth.
It doesn’t always go this way, of course, but it’s life-affirming when it does. It feels like hope—things can be different. It feels like the clouds parting. The sun was always there, just waiting.
As a therapist, it’s not uncommon to hear versions of “I know they love me…” and what follows is always a but and something that doesn’t sound like love.
I see my clients (and friends, and myself) struggle with the bind of “knowing someone loves us” and also knowing something isn’t quite right.
Oh the people who have “loved” me.
The man who LOVED me (he always insisted this in all caps), but thought he had a say over what clothes I wore and thought if he was mad he could unleash on me. “But, but, but I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, KAITLYN. CAN’T YOU SEE?!”
Family who showed love through worry, control and criticism. “It’s just out of love, hun.”
Friends who have loved me, but didn’t seem to want to get to know me as I am and preferred the story they had fixed in their head about me. Or others who loved me for the emotional support I could provide, but didn’t seem to have space for my own nuances.
Let’s be clear. I’ve been guilty of most of these misdeeds myself. I’m not saying I’m above it.
However, I am saying it’s been helpful to decouple these tendencies from what I consider love.
Control is not love. Abuse is not love. And, despite what the most recent season of The Bear said repeatedly, worry is not love. Nor is self-obliteration.
They are these passed down ways of relating that don’t really feel like being loved.
And that’s the thing. I would argue we don't just want to be loved, we want to feel loved and respect is a part of that.
Maybe all of this is obvious to you, but when I watch that show or have a moment like that with my son, it occurs to me how much of my life I’ve sacrificed respect for the idea of being loved. Not only did I fail to consider respect as a necessary part of feeling loved, I somehow thought they were in conflict.
If I expect respect, set boundaries around that won’t that risk their affection toward me?
The source material of this framing has many faces.
Was I taught by society the quickest way to be liked was to be smaller, agreeable and of service?
Sure was.
Was I taught that if I expressed being hurt by someone it risked the attachment?
Yup.
Was I instructed to not be too much of anything because that could be intimidating to others?
Yes, again.
This is depressing as hell to say, but it’s true so here I go: I think my husband is the first man who has ever looked at me with respect I could feel.
Other men in my life have loved me, humored me, wanted me—my body, my labor, my time—reveled in the glow of my enthusiasm and attention. But he has shown that he respects my humanhood, my experience of the world. He is curious about the pieces of my mind and drive that have nothing to do with him.
Wholeness is the word that comes to mind.
When we inevitably have issues between us, it’s often because one or both of us have misplaced—not our love but—our respect for one another.
I share all of this because looking at it through this lens has helped clear up some of the confusion in my mind when I’m fumbling with the amorphous shape of love. When I hear myself start to hedge, “Well I know they love me…” I pause. But do I feel respected? Often the answer is no. Which in some ways isn’t all bad. At least, I have a clue of where to start in the hopeful act of repairing.
What I take from this is not to demand respect—for that would disrespect the human across from me—but instead, create and seek out the conditions with which it can be received from myself, from others.
I was wrong. In the end, for me, respect absolutely is a prerequisite for feeling loved.
As is often the case, after marinating on this thought, respect was everywhere. On the most recent episode of Good Hang, Amy used it to describe where the beauty lies in Andy Samberg’s relationship with his wife, Joanna Newsom.3 Every single client used it in session that following day. Opportunities to extend it and receive unfolding in front of me.
OK universe, I get it. Respect.
Questions to consider:
What falls under respect to you? How do you know someone respects you? Is it a feeling you have inside or something someone else does?
How, if at all, are respect and love related for you?
Think of someone that comes to mind when you think of the word respect. How do you know you respect someone? What feelings, thoughts, beliefs do you have toward that person?
How do you show respect toward yourself?
Coming up: A dialoguing on dialogue piece about the most recent season of The Bear, particularly around themes of shame and grandiosity. I’m excited about this one. I get to talk about one of the most useful relational tools I’ve come across!! Nerdin’ out over here.
Disclaiming: Therapy can be great. This ain’t therapy. You can find more info and my full disclaimer on my about page here. Abridged version: I’m a therapist, but not your therapist—even if you are a client of mine ~hi, dear one!~ this isn’t a session. I don’t think you could possibly confuse this newsletter with mental health treatment. Alas if that were to happen, let me say definitively, dialoguing is an entertainment and informational newsletter only, not a substitute for mental health treatment. To find a mental health provider, Psychology Today or Zencare can be a place to start. I am an affiliate of Bookshop.org—an organization that supports local independent bookstores. I may earn a small commission if you click through and make a purchase. The thoughts and feelings written here are all my own.
Come say hi! Any comments, questions, suggestions, please feel free to email me at dialoguingsubstack@gmail.com—or if you’re reading this via email you can hit reply and send me a message. Love hearing from you for any and all reasons!
ICYMI:
say more: June 2025—a round-up of TV, podcasts and lessons from the month.
what do you do after therapy?—questions to consider for therapy aftercare
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a monthly round-up series, say more, where I explore what I'm watching, reading, listening to, eating and moving to and what it made me feel. These newsletters are a labor of love and tend to be more personal in their own specific way—sometimes writing about things I’m grappling with in real time. They have been described as “epic.” One reader said she “devour[s] them like a giant dessert.
the entire archive of 80+ newsletters and counting. pieces like:
the awareness that you are keeping a little creative’s dream alive for another day <3
I must note, we have no evidence of this whatsoever other than his asserting of it.
See above example of man in Couples Therapy
Hearing him talk about her truly is a masterclass in respect.
I binged season 4 in 3 days (not sure I recommend) and this fantastic piece is def getting me to watch the previous seasons this weekend. Sorry to my friends!