I’m really good at gift buying. I know that might sound like a strange thing to be proud of, but it’s true—I genuinely love it, and I like to think I’m pretty darn good at it.
I’m the one who listens when you casually mention that you want a corn hole set on a random February afternoon, then secretly tuck that away in my memory. And when your birthday comes around? I track down the perfect set, complete with your favorite sports team logo. I’m the one who sends a Willow Tree Father/Daughter figurine the moment I hear your dad has passed away, a small way to say, “I see your heart, and I feel this loss with you.” I’m the one who takes your grandmother’s handwriting and engraves it on a bracelet, so you always carry a piece of her with you.
I’m the one who sends you a bracelet with all your children’s birthstones—including the ones you lost to miscarriage—because every single one of them matters. I love finding the perfect shirt with your favorite band’s name. I love sending you postcards of the city you adore, completely at random, just to remind you I’m thinking of you. I love Door-Dashing your favorite chocolate cake when life feels heavy, or sending you wine through Drizly so we can raise a glass together across the miles after putting the kids to bed.
Gift-giving isn’t just a hobby for me; it’s my love language. And it extends to my kids as well. Birthdays and Christmases are months-long adventures in planning, thinking, imagining the exact moment their faces light up when they unwrap the thing I’ve been keeping secret. It brings me joy unlike anything else.
I put my heart into it. I scour the internet for weeks, saving links, making notes, hunting for hidden treasures. When I find that one perfect thing, I practically vibrate with excitement, tracking its journey across the country until it lands in the hands of the person I care about. There’s nothing quite like seeing someone feel deeply loved through something they might never have bought for themselves.
Meanwhile, my husband… he’s terrible at gift-giving. (Sorry, babe.) He freezes when it comes to choosing a gift. It stresses him out. But he’s incredible in other ways. He came from nothing and built a life that comfortably supports our family of six kids. He finds joy in cooking weekend breakfasts for us, in curling up on the couch together to watch his favorite childhood movies. His love language is quality time, and he expresses it beautifully.
For years, I resented his inability to surprise me with the “perfect” gift. Months of hints seemed to vanish into thin air, and I felt overlooked, unimportant. Then I discovered the five love languages, and it finally made sense. The hints grew louder, yes—but still, they fell on deaf ears. God bless him.
So I did something that feels socially unacceptable: I started buying my own gifts. It sounds selfish. Conceited. Narcissistic, some have said. And maybe they’re right. But we needed a solution. Every birthday and Christmas, I faced disappointment, weighed down by unmet expectations. I couldn’t blame my husband—he simply doesn’t know how to navigate this world of personalized, thoughtful surprises.
He sees the things I wish for: a coffee mug with cartoon versions of my kids, a silicon ring so I can safely work out at the gym, a bath salt set to soothe the exhaustion of motherhood. But he can’t figure out how to make them happen. He knows it would matter, but it’s outside his skill set. And that’s okay.
The Christmas after my dad died, I bought myself a necklace engraved with his handwriting. I still wear it every day. My husband often comments on how glad he is that I got it—it’s clearly meaningful to me, yet it never would have occurred to him to do something like that.
For us, buying my own gifts became the solution. Our budget for each other is modest—under $50—which turns gift-giving into a creative challenge I adore. I’ve learned that in marriage, you have to pick your battles, and this is one I fought for way too long.
We did try a year without buying gifts for each other, and we both hated it. He realized he actually looks forward to my creativity, and I realized how much joy gift-giving brings me. The next night, we went shopping for $10 gifts just so we could exchange something meaningful.
Sometimes I resent that gifting is my love language, because it exposes my vulnerabilities. But mostly, I love it. I love that we found a way to honor both of our needs, to solve a problem that could have divided us. I love that I can create joy for others in the way I know best, while he expresses love in his own beautiful, simple, heartfelt way. And in the end, that’s what matters most.
—Molly Schultz, Tried & True Mama
