Limerence and the Fear of Love

The state of limerence is most obviously a fantasy, defined by psychologist Dorothy Tennov as the romantic fixation on an idealized version of an individual and marked by an inability to focus on one’s life, attempts at resolving the uncertainty about whether the romanticized individual feels the same, and extreme distress when considering the possibility of being rejected by the object of affection. Less evident is the state’s purpose. 

Limerence acts to prevent insight while propping up a grand self-image. The obsessed unconsciously wishes to conceal the limerent object’s humanity and, more importantly, to conceal themself; they prefer to remain in their fantasy, where everyone is perfect. To evade that reality, the obsessive persuades themself that they’re in love.

As a manifestation of obsessive-compulsive disorder, marked by intrusive thinking and the extreme distress underlying frantic attempts to silence it, limerence isn’t really about anyone else, and it’s certainly not about love. It has several predictable courses. 

When the goal is romantic reciprocity, the expectation is of complete mutuality. Obsession needs to be perfectly mirrored for the romantic connection to feel real. 

So, the most desirable resolution is one where the limerent object informs their infatuated counterpart that they feel the exact same way, believing the both of them to be soulmates. If full reciprocity is achieved, limerence inevitably fades. 

Sometimes, it fades instantly because what’s owned is often less valuable than what’s pursued, failing to make the obsessive feel valuable because they devalue the union. At others, it fades when the others’ needs and flaws break through the veneer of perfection, when maintaining the relationship feels like extreme pressure.

Additionally, limerence may be resolved with an outright rejection, when the infatuated individual discovers that the other has no romantic interest in them at all. Finally, limerence can be resolved when the obsessive concludes their feelings aren’t reciprocated and never will be, despite some degree of interest from the limerent object. 

The new horror film Obsession comes to mind. In the film, Bear, who makes a wish for Nikki to love him more than anyone else in the world, shows some degree of affection for her, though less than he’s seemingly aware of. Using the wish to create a limerent version of Nikki, who thereby becomes obsessed with Bear, he realizes she’s much more fixated on him than vice versa. So, he holds back his affection, which causes Nikki to protest in tears, “I feel like it’s not mutual.” With obsessive-compulsive tendencies, any degree of uncertainty causes the obsessive to self-doubt and spiral—Bear’s reluctance to assuage her fear likely causes Nikki to believe he would never love her as much as she loves him. In essence, limerence requires complete assurance that both individuals feel the exact same way about one another and always will.

Despite Bear’s “love,” which we discovered was highly flawed and less grand than he believed, Nikki couldn’t tolerate any hesitation. Like a greedy child, limerence needs certainty and needs it immediately. It doesn’t patiently wait. Nikki isn’t able to give Bear the space he’d need to learn about her; that feels too scary. And she has no interest in learning about him, especially touching his fears about people, which may feel too personal to her (it’s often challenging to reframe our thinking around another’s desire to avoid us). She just wants relief, just like he did when he made his wish. But, the moral of the film is that the pursuit of relief from limerence, like many of our ways of alleviating everyday anxieties, comes with a heavy price. What would it have been like had Bear and Nikki both tried to curb their intense emotions?

They may learned that they had little in common. They may have discovered the other struggling to fulfill their needs. They may have uncovered hidden values that the other didn’t align with. And, maybe most importantly, each may have revealed their inability to deeply love another. Limerence is scary because it’s a mental trick, wherein the captive mind embraces its purported purity. What can feel more natural than the desire to love? But, limerence isn’t love. Limerence is exciting but not meaningful. And we often struggle to differentiate between the two.

The excitement can make us feel that we’re building something; in romance, it can stem from feeling completely understood and cared for. And it can stem from a feeling of arrival, from the belief that you found someone who perfectly reflects you, both physically and emotionally. But, meaning isn’t very exciting. Meaning is meaningful, in large part, because it’s boring. Patience is boring; learning can be boring; and, most importantly, the everyday repetitions of revisited relational struggles are boring. Meaning isn’t very satisfying, at least not in the short-term. Love doesn’t begin with an answer; it doesn’t prove to you that it will work just because you think you see it there in front of you. Love only asks a question: Is it worth it to keep trying because I love this person and believe they may love me, too? We may also ask: Is the pursuit of love important enough to bravely attempt to reveal ourselves?