Love as practice: How Gizhawenimin moves through us

We often speak about love as something we give outward. We love our families. We love our friends. We love our communities. We show up, we volunteer, we care, and we give. But we do not always pause to consider how love begins within us, or how deeply it shapes everything that flows from us. Love is not only a feeling. It is a practice. It is something we choose, return to, and carry forward.

I was reminded of this recently while emceeing an event where speakers and Elders spoke about love in the home. Not love as perfection, but love as presence. Love as patience. Love as showing up again and again, even when it is uncomfortable or tiring. What stood out to me most was how often self care and self respect were woven into these teachings. You cannot pour endlessly without replenishing yourself. You cannot teach love if you are denying it to yourself.

Showing up for yourself is not selfish. It is foundational.

There is an Ojibway phrase my mom teaches my son. Their way of saying “I love you.” The word is Gizhawenimin. Watching them exchange that word reminds me that love lives in language. It lives in repetition, in tone, and in the intention behind the words we choose. That single word carries tenderness, care, and connection. It also carries responsibility. It is love for one another, and love for where we come from.

Language itself is an act of love.

When we choose to speak our language, to teach it, or to learn it slowly and imperfectly, we are choosing to care for something precious. We are saying that our stories matter. That our ways of expressing love matter. That future generations deserve to inherit more than silence. Love for culture and language is not passive. It is active, deliberate, and often brave.

At that same event, I treated myself to a pair of earrings from an Indigenous crafter. They were made with shells shaped like hearts. I did not buy them for a milestone or celebration. I bought them as a quiet reminder. A reminder to care for myself with the same thoughtfulness I extend to others. For days afterward, I found myself wanting to radiate love. To soften my approach. To move through my days with more intention. To remember that loving myself is not separate from loving my community. It is part of it.

Self love does not always look like grand gestures. Sometimes it looks like rest. Sometimes it looks like boundaries. Sometimes it looks like forgiveness. Sometimes it looks like allowing yourself to receive beauty without justification.

When we love ourselves well, that love spills outward.

I see that reflected across our community in countless ways. Organizations like the Kenora Lake of the Woods Community Foundation exist because people care deeply. People give their time, their energy, and their resources because love moves them to action. That same spirit was present during the Festival of Trees. People come together to share stories, creativity, and pride, not for personal recognition, but out of love for community. Out of belief that this place matters.

People do not show up like that without love guiding them.

Love is also what brings people together during times of challenge and transition. It is what inspires volunteers, organizers, and leaders to keep going even when the work is heavy. It is what encourages people to check in on one another, to share food, to offer rides, to listen. Love shows itself in consistency. In generosity. In the quiet ways people keep choosing each other.

When we talk about love, it is important to move beyond idealized versions. Love is not always soft or easy. Sometimes love asks us to be honest. Sometimes it asks us to rest. Sometimes it asks us to change. Loving yourself may mean slowing down when the world tells you to keep pushing. Loving your community may mean holding space for discomfort so growth can happen.

At its core, love is about care. Care for self. Care for others. Care for culture. Care for the future.

The teachings shared by the Elders and event speakers reminded me that love in the home shapes everything beyond it. Children learn how to love themselves by watching how they are treated. They learn how to love others by observing how adults care for themselves. When we model gentleness, patience, and self respect, we give others permission to do the same.

Gizhawenimin is more than a word. It is a way of moving through the world. It is love spoken aloud. Love practiced daily. Love passed down.

When we pour love into ourselves, we strengthen our relationships. When we pour love into our communities, we build something that lasts. When we pour love into our language and culture, we ensure that future generations have words for care, connection, and belonging.

Love powers us. It sustains us. It quietly moves mountains without needing to announce itself.

And when we allow ourselves to live from that place, when we choose love as practice, we create communities of care, resilience, and hope.