Why love across cultures takes more than just translation…

When you marry someone from a different culture, you’re not just building a home together—you’re learning to speak new emotional languages. Love becomes more than affection; it becomes daily interpretation, constant curiosity, and quiet unlearning.

I’m Indonesian. My husband is Mexican. Our daughter is growing up in Spain, hearing three languages at home. But what we’ve learned is that words aren’t the only things that get lost in translation. Feelings can too.

The Culture Shock No One Warns You About

One of the biggest surprises in our marriage wasn’t language—it was family dynamics.

In my husband’s family, closeness is everything. Attendance at every family gathering is expected. You finish every meal served to you. You call your parents often, with long, affectionate conversations filled with “I love yous.” Their love is expressive and constant.

My upbringing, though, was quieter. I left home at 15. I saw my parents maybe once or twice a year during school breaks. When I studied in Europe, I didn’t see them for two full years. But when we’re together, the warmth is still there—unspoken, steady, effortless. We don’t say “I love you,” but we feel it.

When my husband met my family, they welcomed him like their own. My younger brothers call him Mas, a respectful Javanese term, and he calls my parents Papa and Mama. But when I met his family, I quickly realized that in-laws often remain outsiders in Mexican culture. I don’t carry their last name. I call my mother-in-law Señora. These might seem like small things, but they can feel like little reminders that you’re not fully “in.”

It made me realize—when it came to belonging, sometimes I only had him. And sometimes, that had to be enough.

What Saved Us: Mutual Respect, Not Perfect Harmony

From the beginning, our connection felt natural. We didn’t spend our early days bickering over dishes or laundry. Of course, we had cultural differences. He shows love through gestures—making coffee in the morning, surprising me with flowers. I feel most loved through late-night talks and someone just listening.

But none of those differences became battlegrounds. They became doorways—ways to learn how to love better.

What held us together was respect.
He never made me feel small when I wasn’t working.
I never judged him for not being “handy” when the sink leaked.
We don’t split things 50/50, but we do try to be fair. And fair doesn’t always mean equal—it means attuned.

The Quiet Weight We Don’t Talk About

As we moved countries, raised our daughter, and built a life far from both our families, I started to feel the invisible weight of emotional labor.

I sorted the items to pack. I set reminders for the appointments. I remembered the paperwork deadlines. I made sure everything kept moving.

Not because he didn’t care. But because we were raised with different ideas of what care looked like.

For him, care meant working hard, providing, solving problems.
For me, care was more relational—checking in, anticipating needs, being emotionally present.

Both are valid. But when they don’t match, it can feel like one of us is carrying more—until we talk about it.

Communication Isn’t Just What You Say—It’s What You Mean

In a multilingual home, people assume the hardest part is the language. But the real challenge? Emotional nuance.

When I say “I’m fine” with a tone, he sometimes takes it literally. When he stays silent in moments I want reassurance, I feel dismissed—even if that’s not what he meant.

We’ve had to learn what silence means in each other’s world.
What “give me a minute” looks like in Spanish might feel like distance in Indonesian.
What “I’m tired” sounds like in Indonesian might come off as cold in English.

Now, we try to check in more clearly:

• “Do you need a solution or just someone to listen?”
• “Are you venting or asking for help?”

These tiny clarifying questions have helped soften the sharp edges of misunderstanding.

Sharing the Load, Naming the Work

There were seasons—especially when we relocated—where I felt like I was the only one holding everything together. Not because I wanted control, but because someone had to hold the mental checklist. And honestly? It got heavy.

What helped was naming that weight. Talking about the invisible work. Learning to say thank you—for the coffee, for calling the landlord, for remembering the dentist appointment.

Tiny acknowledgments became acts of love.
Appreciation replaced assumption.
We started seeing each other more clearly.

This Is a Practice, Not a Perfect

We’re still figuring it out. Still translating. Still getting it wrong some days, and laughing about it the next.

But we’ve found a rhythm. We pause more. We speak with more care. We try again tomorrow.

Because building a life between cultures doesn’t just take love.
It takes patience.
It takes unlearning.
It takes grace.

If You’re in a Mixed Marriage…

Let this be your reminder: it’s okay that it’s hard sometimes.
It’s okay that love needs subtitles.
You’re not failing—you’re just doing the deeply human work of learning each other, over and over again.

Keep speaking.
Keep softening.
Keep naming the invisible.

Because your relationship isn’t just a cultural bridge—it’s a living, growing love story. And your story is valid, even when it doesn’t fit the script.