Why the 5 Love Languages Fail Us
And why it's time to level up our understanding of love, support, and relationship
Isn’t it time to level up?
Surely, we’re ready to outgrow the idea that “The Five Love Languages” is the gold standard (or even any standard) for how we give and receive love.
To me, it’s like watching a child place five shiny silver coins on the counter, believing they’ll be enough to buy a chocolate bar.
We think it’s adorable, we might even encourage them. Sometimes we let it happen because we want to support the learning process—the idea of exchange, of value, of participation.
But we don’t lie to that child, and we don’t mock them.
We also don’t say, “Yes, this is all there is to know about money.”
We gently and directly help them understand:
There’s more to it than that.
Not only that—they begin to see the reality of their dollars, cents, yen, peso—and how far what they have can be exchanged for.
That’s exactly how I feel about “The Five Love Languages.”
It’s a sweet, simplistic beginning—but it’s often treated as a destination, not a starting point. And for people who are disabled, neurodivergent, or deeply emotionally literate, it quickly becomes too shallow, too rigid, and far too limited to hold the richness and complexity of real relational experience.
The idea of five—or even eight or twelve—“languages of love” can actually do more harm than good when used as a foundational framework.
Yes, it’s helpful as a basic tool—a sort of “Relating 101”—for beginning to ask:
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What types of attention or care feel meaningful to me?
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What do I tend to offer more naturally?
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Where are we mismatched?
But beyond that, it becomes rigid, reductionist, and over-simplified to hold the complexity of real relational needs.
Saying someone’s love language is touch, or acts of service, or words of affirmation can begin to sound like a prescriptive demand, rather than an invitation to attune.
It risks becoming:
“This is what I like, so this is what you have to do.”
Instead of:
“Let’s stay in relationship, stay present, and find what fits in the moment.”
Or:
"My partner knows my love language is touch and refuses to give it to me,"
rather than:
"I enjoy hugs, and they help me feel accepted and connected, but I know my partner may not be able to offer physical contact if I haven’t shown emotional interest or listened to them."
For people with changing access needs, sensory processing differences, trauma histories, or deep emotional nuance, this model can feel more like a box than a bridge.
Imagine someone saying:
"When I’m upset, give me a hug."
But sometimes, when they’re upset, they need space, or to be asked a question, or just quiet companionship.
The right thing shifts with state, context, and emotional bandwidth—and we are allowed to be dynamic in both our expressions and our receptivity.
To reduce all relational expression to five categories is like saying we only need five hand signs to communicate:
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Yes / thumbs up
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No / thumbs down
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Pull me in
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Push me away
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Curl into a ball
Even that list holds more nuance than the “languages” model allows for.
We are allowed to grow. We are allowed to shift.
We are not required to serve a static version of ourselves,
or to demand that others serve us according to our most practiced gesture.
Why I Write About Topics That Aren’t Conventionally Exciting or “Up for Debate”
Some of the things I write about aren’t being loudly argued about.
They don’t always show up in polarising headlines or trending hashtags.
They usually show up through distress, resentment, or other forms of emotional pain or sorrow—and get bundled into the category of “dissatisfaction”, rather than where they really belong:
👉 The revealing of gaps and problems that need scaffolds, stages, and supports in order to nurture growth.
The problem with gradual growth—a bit like watching moss grow—is that it’s not fast enough to be exciting.
It doesn’t hold or demand attention.
So it’s hard to get the social buy-in that comes with fast-paced results.
But that’s part of the problem.
Too often, the only relationship conversations that reach the surface are the ones fuelled by heat, conflict, or shame.
We see people defending their pain, reacting to betrayal, or feeling disillusioned by the failure of a model they once trusted.
But what’s missing is the relational scaffolding—the language, the insights, the slow thoughtfulness—that helps people build something different before it breaks.
So if my putting words to my bewilderment about the popularity of “The Five Love Languages” helps even one person make sense of the niggle they’ve been carrying—great.
If someone’s quietly felt like the model doesn’t speak to them, or feels too formulaic, or leaves out the real work of relationships, then this is for them.
This isn’t about tearing something down.
It’s about contributing.
Because without options, without frameworks, without the confidence to speak aloud the things that don’t sit quite right—we’re left with only what we know.
And often, what we know is outdated, overused, or never designed for us in the first place.
So back to money.
As a result of exposure, gentle yet direct honesty, and information about money, some people learn to count their coins, go to work, and pay for their groceries.
Others may end up working across multiple currencies, engaging with stock markets, or building more for themselves and their families.
Of course, there will always be people who stay bound—or get tripped up—by the emotions that money stirs:
The fear, the excitement, the urgency.
And as a result, they may not use it well or effectively.
But the important part is that in society, most people are at least given the basics and some opportunity to build or manage—as they choose—with the understanding that while you might look for the easy path, it is usually hard work.
We need better options.
We need to be okay with the idea that there are five hundred and five languages—and counting—even if we don’t know them all.
We need to believe that creating new ones is part of our collective relational health.
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