My parents and I never said 'I love you' when I was growing up. Now I say it to my friends every chance I get.

• Growing up, my parents and I never said "I love you" to each other.
• They showed me love through their actions instead of words, but I felt their love was conditional.

"You know that she's going to die, right?"

Four years ago, a doctor assigned to my mother's case and I were watching her through the glass door of the intensive-care unit. He was right. She had been injured in a fire; a few days later, she passed away.

A few months before her death, she had asked me, "Why do you never say 'I love you' to me?" I had shrugged off the question; my Indian parents and I had never made a habit of saying "I love you" — or "ami tomake bhalobashi," in Bengali — to each other.

The evening we cremated her, my aunt told me, "Your father loved her very much" — or "Khub bhalobashto" — which was incredibly strange to hear because they had never said it aloud to each other, either; at least not in my presence.

The phrase has always held a lot of weight for me

I have always been unable to say "I love you." The thought of uttering the phrase made my skin crawl and my voice revolt against it. If it's a declaration of truth — "ami tomake bhalobashi" — I feared my love would not be able to measure up to the sentiment. If a day came that I grew out of that love or my actions were inadequate, I worried I wouldn't be able to take it back.

I never felt that my parents expected me to say it to them, and in turn, I was never told I was loved as a child. I knew their love existed; I saw it in their labor, such as clothing, feeding, and educating me. But I recognize as an adult that it has been conditional; in my family, our love is made of burdens and obligations.

I grew up not in the absence of love, but feeling as though I was not loved enough. In turn, this made me believe that I was not enough and that the love I offered others wouldn't be either.

Though I devoured the greatest love confessions in books and movies, I also believed that my own admissions of love were likely to pale in comparison. I assumed that my love was frivolous and insincere.

I wanted to break the pattern as an adult

Recently, I looked up the words "love you" in my messages. My search results told a sad tale — even when my friends said it, I rarely said it back to them.

Every "love you" was met with silence, a "thank you," or a heart emoji, when I really meant: "Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being my friend. I want to say it back but I don't know how to."

Over the past four years, through my grief after my mother's death and then the pandemic, I have been surprised by how easily the words have rolled off my tongue when talking to my dearest friends that I met online. It started to feel as though if I didn't tell my friends that I loved them right away — truthfully and urgently — I might wither away, and our relationships would go with me.

"I love you. I'm proud of you."

"I love you. You look beautiful."

"I love you. You're working so hard."

My real-life friends — people who've known me longer — have heard this sort of proclamation far less often. I haven't figured out why it is easier to say "I love you" to those across oceans and borders, only that I need to tell them as much as I can for as long as I can.

I've learned my love language is words of affirmation

I love hearing that I am loved and I am enough as much as I now love saying it. I'm desperate to tell my friends that I love them to make up for what I longed to hear in my familial relationships — that I am good enough. I've learned through my friendships that these things are true.

So, to my friends, I say "I love you" over and over without expectations because I want them to know. I tell them how I feel without worrying if my love is enough, without worrying if we'll still be friends a month from now. I say it because I worry that all the love I have for them cannot be contained in these three words, but I still want to try to express it while I have the chance.

I cannot remember my mother's last words. She died without hearing that I loved her.

But to my friends: I don't know how I lived two decades of my life without saying these words, and now I don't want to stop.

"I love you, I love you": If these are my last words, I hope my love survives.