How to Love a Tree
(More importantly, how I want to love the girl I married)
My wife Elizabeth and I bought our first Christmas tree today.
Well, not our first Christmas tree ever - but our first Christmas tree as a married couple.
Being newlywed is a strange season in life, because every mundane thing is infused with the magic of “first.” The first time we make a meal together as husband and wife. The first time we travel together.
The wedding throws a lot of firsts at you all at once (first kiss, first dance, first time going through the Taco Bell drive through in a wedding dress.1) But it’s the firsts that come after where you really feel the weight.
It’s weighty because each first is anchored in commitment. This first time we made a meal together was a reminder that we’ve chosen to share our table together for the rest of our lives. The first time I left for a speaking trip and came back to her was a promise that every journey I make will always end by returning home to her.
I felt that commitment as we chose our tree. We ended up spending a little extra on a more expensive tree, because she lit up with delight when she saw it. And so our first tree became a message about the value of joy in our lives together.
When we got home and set up the tree, I said that I loved the tree and I loved her.
I was lying.
Not about loving her, of course.
I was lying because I didn’t love the tree. I like the tree just fine. It’s beautiful, and it makes our home smell like Christmas.
But I don’t love the tree, and that’s obvious from my actions.
If I wanted to love a tree, I would bring it water and fertilizer. I would make sure it was planted in good soil, with the right amount of sunlight. I wouldn’t pay someone to cut it down and bring it to me.
The strange thing is, my unloving actions towards the tree were because of my positive feelings towards the tree. I bought the tree because I liked it (and because it made Elizabeth happy.) If I hadn’t liked it, I would have had no reason to cause it to be chopped down.
That’s often the way it goes, with tree love.2
We like a tree, and then we say we love the tree, and then we harm the tree.
Two teenagers share a first kiss under a willow, then plunge a knife into it to carve their initials.
A hiker in a state park sees a beautiful redwood and pries off a piece of bark to take home.
A newlywed psychologist3 buys a fir that had been chopped down and takes it home to slowly wither in his living room.
With tree love, harm isn’t the conscious goal. I didn’t want to chop down the Christmas tree. I just wanted the Christmas tree in my living room, and chopping down the tree was necessary to accomplish that.
Instead, the goal of tree love is to gain control over the tree. I want the Christmas tree in my living room, not the forest. The hiker wants the tree to be a souvenir, not a memory.
To be clear, I think tree love is perfectly fine when it comes to trees. It’s trashy to pull a piece of bark off a thousand-year old redwood, but nobody needs to apologize for buying a Christmas tree or breaking a stick off a tree to use as an imaginary sword.
The real danger is when we use “tree love” with other people.
We feel strongly towards another person. We even say that we love them.
But embedded in love is always the fear of loss. What if they leave? What if they turn away?
The more you love someone, the more you need them. The more you need someone, the more you fear losing them.
And when you’re desperately afraid of losing someone, you might do anything to pull them closer - even harm them.
As a psychologist, I have a cheat code when it comes to understanding controlling behavior. Our human desire for control stems from our need for safety. We grab for control when we feel afraid.
When a therapy client says, “I’m a control freak”, I hear “I’m afraid of something and trying desperately to prevent it.”
So in order to understand why someone is engaging in controlling behavior, I try to look beyond the control and into the deeper fear. What is the bad outcome they’re trying to prevent with their controlling behavior?
Sometimes, these fears relate to practical matters. For instance, a controlling boss might fear that their team won’t complete their tasks without micromanagement. A controlling parent might fear that their child will get into trouble without strict rules.
But most often, our deepest fears are relational. Our worst fears are often some variation of being alone, or abandoned. We are wired to need one another, and just about everyone is afraid of the people in their life turning away or leaving entirely.
And when these fears are triggered, that’s when real love can turn into tree love.
We nudge the other person to rely on us instead of building their independence - because if they need us, they’ll cling to us.
We lean too heavily on them instead of taking care of ourselves - because if we make them feel responsible for us, they’ll stick around.
We shut down heavy conversations - because if we brush the problems under the rug, we don’t have to fear our relationship buckling under the strain.
This can show up in any important relationship - family, friend, romantic partners. Anyone whose loss you fear can be someone who tempts you towards tree love.
But the thread pulls in the other direction, too. Anyone who you might be tempted to control is someone who is very important to you. And anyone who is very important to you is someone who you’re willing to fight for.
Even if the foe you’re fighting is inside yourself.
With Elizabeth, my “tree love” temptation is to avoid asking her for help. If I never need anything from her, then the scales are weighted in my direction. The part of me that fears her anger and disappointment feels protected, because how can she be mad at me if I do everything myself4?
At first glance, this might seem like real love - I’m doing so much for her!
But it’s tree love.
See, Elizabeth wants to help me. She wants to give to me, just as I want to give to her. Hiding my needs doesn’t protect her - it just takes control of the situation to prevent Elizabeth from making her own choices. That’s harmful.
The good news is that tree love is not inevitable. Nobody forced the teenagers to pick up their knife and carve those initials. Nobody is forcing me to hide my needs from Elizabeth. It’s something that I chose.
And even if you choose something once, it’s up to you whether you choose it again.
That’s what relationships are built on, after all. The trust that we’ll keep making the right choices, over and over again. Wedding vows are nice, but they’re given power by the choice to uphold the vows the next day, and the day after, and every day for a lifetime.
Relationships are also built on the trust that we’ll stop making the wrong choices. That even if my fear or hurt or selfishness causes me to take some steps on a bad path, I’ll pull back before it’s too late.
My first time coming home from a trip wasn’t just a promise that I’ll always make the choices that bring me home to her. It was a commitment that I’ll stop if I find myself making choices that lead me away from her.
In those moments where I feel a pull towards tree love with someone I care about, I have a choice.
I can control, or I can cherish.
I can take, or I can trust.
I can love them like a tree, or like a person.
You have the same choice.
Let’s both choose to love them like a person :)
Our wedding planner was fantastic and made sure we did have some time to eat at the wedding - which apparently isn’t common! But it was a big day and we were hungry afterwards :)
This hypothetical psychologist would probably really appreciate if you subscribed to his Substack. Hypothetically.
Obviously this is not how actual people work. But I called it the fearful part of myself, not the smart part of myself.
These are very profound words, Dr. Wendler. Thank you for sharing!