How do you know if your husband loves you truly and deeply?
07.06.2025 13:58
How do I know my husband loves me? He immediately went back to the temp agencies and didn’t miss a day of work. Eventually he landed a real IT job, working remotely. My Christmas gift to him that year was the key to my ghetto shack.
How do I know he loves me? He asked Mom to pay for nicotine patches and he quit smoking the cigarettes I refused to continue to buy. He stopped drinking cold-turkey and attended AA meetings and actually participated instead of just going through the motions. His Christmas gift from his parents was a computer textbook he asked for that he memorized and the price of the certification exam he took. With the new IT credential, he was able to sign up with technical temporary agencies and he worked shit jobs to gain experience and take advantage of free classes. Eventually he landed a full-time shit job in a warehouse wiping and refurbishing PCs for resale. He hated it and it was a toxic bullying environment but he kept at it because it was permanent with benefits. He petitioned to come home.
How do I know my husband loves me? He knows I’m sensitive about my weight, and when I’m feeling fat and ugly and insecure, he tells me how much he loves my ass. He brushes my hair and made me promise to never cut it. He tells me I’m beautiful every day. He notices if I’m wearing a different perfume. I get foot rubs every night.
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I broke my arm not long after he moved in. I was completely incapacitated. The pain was enormous. I couldn’t roll over in the bed without help, much less dress, drive, go to work, wash dishes or cook or feed my cats. I discussed moving in with his mother temporarily so she could help. He wouldn’t hear of it.
I said no. He’d proven to me a dozen times he was capable of charming his way through an interview to a job offer. He needed to show me he could keep a job.
Anyone familiar with my other Quora content knows that I married a spoiled-rotten lazy unemployed only-child man-boy who more than filled my own co-dependency. My husband is in many ways someone I will have to take care of for the rest of my life, but since I had no intention of ever having children, dealing with a man who never cooked or paid a bill in his life didn’t seem too bad.
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At the one-year mark the toxicity at work had escalated to threats of bodily harm. He phoned me in tears: what do you do when your bullies at work are your team lead, your supervisor, and your manager? But how do I know he loves me? He put up with it to prove to me he could keep a job. Horrified, I gave him permission to quit, and the owner of the warehouse wanted to know why he was leaving. Hey, Mr Bossman, how many layers of management do we have to go through with reports of harassment before we give up? Guy is lucky we couldn’t afford a lawyer to sue.
We bought a home in Florida based on his salary alone and I became a full-time semi-retired housewife. How do I know my husband loves me? Despite my lack of employment, he is content to support me, continues to be hands-off about our finances, thanks me for handling the bills so he doesn’t have to worry about it, never bitches when I make a not-necessary discretionary purchase. When I complain and express my guilt over my new lack of financial independence, he reminds me that I supported him for years through his alcoholism and tells me my new shoes are cute. He never complains if I bring home another kitten, and agrees to pay massive veterinary bills rather than to more cheaply euthanize one of my precious babies.
How do I know my husband loves me? He gave up being a wayward alcoholic spendthrift and cut ties with his overbearing mother to become a functional adult rather than lose me, we are the happiest we have ever been, and apparently he tells it to everyone we meet. Lol sometimes I picture him doing the Tom Cruise sofa bounce at Oprah’s. He worships me. I can’t ask for more than that.
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We lost the house to foreclosure and I moved out to a ghetto address I could afford on my own. He was dumbfounded when he learned he was not welcome to come with me. He moved in with his parents.
How do I know my husband loves me? Over the course of our 22-year marriage, my husband will occasionally meet a tradesperson before I do. Bank tellers, loan officers, rental agents, auto mechanics, insurance salesmen, lawn maintenance guys. I don’t know what my husband says to these people, but when I meet them, they say:
How do I know my husband loves me? He moved into my ghetto shack where I had been paying the bills on my own for three years, and he turned his paycheck 100% over to me. He trusted me to handle our finances completely. I gave him weekly pocket money and I put gas in his car, but other than that we banked his entire paycheck while I continued to use my paycheck to pay the bills. Together we worked to reestablish our finances with the goal to secure a mortgage and move out of the ghetto.
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How do I know he loves me? I’d told him that once he was employed and sober, he could come home. After about six weeks of living with his pathological mother, he realized that this wasn’t just Susan having another temper tantrum. He had no key to my house and he had to phone to arrange a visit that did not include an overnight stay. He realized that despite all the arguing and stress, living with me had been better than living with Mom, and that if he didn’t straighten up, I would eventually save up the price of a divorce lawyer. Susan ain’t playin’ this time.
How do I know my husband loves me? When the finances and circumstances said it was time to pull the trigger, my husband secured a realtor and a mortgage and a moving service while I was at work.
Especially since I feel the same way.
”Oh, you’re Mrs. Smith? Wow, your husband really loves you!” They shake my hand, tell me how lucky I am, then hold out the contract to explain so I can sign.
Then, the 2008 Great Recession. Through no fault of his own, he was laid off from the bank job we depended on to pay our mortgage. The banks were not hiring and after a year without even an interview, he officially gave up. Angry, depressed, in despair, the problem drinking became full-blown alcoholism.
Wow. This one is hard to verbalize. TLDR warning. But I will try:
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I spent a lot of time dragging him kicking and screaming into adulthood: I had to teach him that we had a budget. Three dollars for a hot dog and a Big Gulp is okay; fifteen hot dogs and Big Gulps in a month fucks the books. Having never had to worry about a roof over his head or keeping the lights on, he tolerated little frustration and quit jobs at the drop of a hat. He seemed to think the gasoline tank was bottomless and that soap just magically appeared in the bath and dishes just magically disappeared out of the dishwasher.
I had never seen this man so much as put a knife in a jar of peanut butter to make himself a sandwich. How do I know he loves me? He stepped up. For ten weeks he made scrambled eggs and mac ‘n cheese and frozen pizza, and reheated casseroles the relatives sent. He helped me dress and bathe and shampoo. He did the housework and kept up with my meds and fed the cats. He did everything I didn’t know he even knew how to do, and when he didn’t know, he wasn’t too proud to not ask questions.