Why You Can’t Stop Craving Love From People You Can’t Have

there is a powerful link between childhood abuse and neglect—especially emotional neglect—and a recurring, painful pattern in adulthood of investing all your affection into an imagined person you cannot truly have. the word for that experience is limerence. although it’s a lonely, agonizing maladaptive response to our basic human craving for connection, there is also something fragile and peculiarly beautiful about it. for a long time i believed limerence was something shameful and bizarre until a remarkable letter arrived a few years ago from a woman i’ll call Sophia. i want to bring that letter back from the archives because it touched so many readers. have a read and tell me in the comments what stands out to you. if you struggle with romantic obsession—if you can’t stop longing for someone, they dominate your thoughts, and your moods and daily life feel chained to a fantasy of being with them someday even though you know they’re not interested—there’s a strong likelihood that, as a small child, your emotional needs went unmet. childhood neglect is a major risk factor for developing limerence later on. limerence is an obsessive romantic fixation or infatuation with someone you are not actually in a relationship with; the thinking about them becomes almost addictive and can take over your life. if you’ve been limerent before, you’ve probably carried shame about your feelings or about things you said or did, or perhaps you hid it from others. research suggests limerence has a significant genetic and neurological basis, and it most often emerges in people who experienced neglect early in life. when it lands, limerence hurts intensely. so why does it happen? today’s letter comes from a woman who is a nun; i’ll call her Sophia. she writes: dear fairy, since i found you, my life has improved so much — i can’t express how helpful you’ve been — but i have a problem i hope you can help me with. i’ll mark things i want to revisit, but first, let’s read Sophia’s letter through once to understand what’s going on. she says: i grew up poor. when i was only twenty days old, my mother became seriously ill and couldn’t care for me, so my father took me to a neighbor to be breastfed. i was told my mother sometimes hit me as a baby; i think she had postpartum depression. her illness lasted nearly two years. i’m at least grateful that i was told about this. at school i was bullied and sexually abused by a teacher. i had no friends until fifth grade, and thank God that girl is still my friend. i am a nun, and i’m writing because i’m in an unbelievable situation and i’m struggling. i fell in love with a man seventeen years younger than me. this isn’t the first time i have fallen in love—once i felt it for someone my own age and once for someone older—but because i take my vocation seriously i behaved responsibly and nothing happened. these current feelings might be love or they might be limerence. the man contacted me a year ago because he needed advice for a problem; we spoke regularly, nothing unusual. at that time i saw him simply as a young man in need of conversation and nothing stirred in my heart. five months ago my mother died, and he became very close to me. he said i had helped him, and now he was helping me. thanks to his friendship i didn’t fall into depression. about two months ago i grew worried about my feelings for him: i thought if he told me he had a girlfriend i would cry. a few days later someone told me he was seeing someone. i didn’t expect how i felt in that moment; i almost wept and quickly changed the subject to stop the tears. in my deepest heart i thought it was better to learn about his girlfriend from someone else rather than hear it from him directly. maybe two weeks later he called to tell me; i said i was very happy for him and meant it, but i ended the call quickly because i felt tears coming. i hoped that knowing the truth would allow me to move on, but a month later it’s worse: i’m obsessed with him. i can hardly believe this is happening. i deleted our conversations but can’t stop thinking of him or waiting for his messages. i can’t help writing to him: at first he was very responsive, answering quickly and appreciating that i could tell when he’d read my messages. over time he started leaving me on “seen” and answering two or three days later. he always apologised, kindly, and said something flattering like, “i like who you are; you’re so intelligent — when i read your messages it’s like i hear your voice.” i became very attached to him, not in a sexual way—i never imagined kissing him—but now i can’t trust myself to cut off contact. several times i promised not to message him and minutes later i’d be texting. waiting for his reply feels like a curse. i feel like a bottomless sack; nothing he could say or do will fill this deep, painful emptiness. i have insomnia, anxiety, and sometimes i cry like a child. this is so hard for me. honestly, i didn’t expect this because i’m a nun and because of our age difference. please tell me what you think and give me advice — i need help. Sophia. okay, i believe i can help, and my heart goes out to you — this is so painful. what you described about your childhood makes it entirely comprehensible that limerence would occur. i also respect your commitment as a nun and feel protective of you. some commenters might leap to say “you’re having romantic feelings because you took a vow of celibacy,” but many people who are free to date, sleep with, or marry still experience limerence. it typically arises from an old wound and unmet needs from early life. yes, your vocation complicates matters, and the age gap plus the fact your relationship began as spiritual support or mentorship adds further complexity, but what’s happening to you is understandable and human. there is nothing morally wrong with you, Sophia; this is a common outcome of childhood hurt. you told me you grew up poor, that at twenty days your mother fell ill and you were sent to a neighbor to breastfeed. that separation at such an early, fragile time is profoundly painful and sad. your mother hitting you as a baby indicates she was likely very distressed — your thought that she had postpartum depression is plausible, especially since her illness lasted almost two years. then at school you were bullied and sexually abused by a teacher, and you had no friends until fifth grade. it’s possible these later experiences reactivated an abandonment wound, though we can only speculate about causes. each person is made differently and you are unique; being slow to form friendships or falling in love despite a vow does not make you a bad person — it makes you human, and your humanity is precious. i’m so sorry you suffered bullying and abuse from a teacher; that leaves scars that are difficult to address and that can ripple outward for years. today you are a nun — a life of service, commitment, and bringing love into the world. that is noble and holy, and your dedication is admirable. now you’re struggling: you fell for a man seventeen years younger than you. you didn’t say your age, but i assume he is an adult and the age difference is considerable. the relationship began as him seeking guidance and you offering help, which is a normal dynamic between clergy or religious and those who come for support. sometimes feelings develop in such connections; restraint has been the responsible course you’ve taken, and that deserves recognition. everything was manageable until your mother’s death five months ago, after which he became a close source of support and possibly helped prevent a depressive episode. i want to suggest something: limerence can be thought of as a kind of displacement of depression — it’s the same hollow, but rotated into a fantasy of romantic rescue. in grief and emptiness we can latch onto the idea that one person might fill us completely. real relationships rarely sustain that kind of magical thinking because living with someone day-to-day reveals imperfections and ordinary annoyances; limerence, by contrast, thrives on idealization. underneath limerence often lies the same aching need you experienced as an infant: the longing to feel fully seen, protected, and loved — the exact sense you were denied from day twenty to about two years old. that unbearable uncertainty and loneliness becomes the emotional fuel for manufacturing an image of perfect love at any cost. limerence is often not primarily sexual; it’s an emotional completion fantasy — the belief that if only this person reciprocated, you would be whole. but even if, in some alternate world, that person became available and loved you, it would still not heal the original wound from infancy. nothing can replace the specific loss of early maternal attunement. you give love and care to many now in your role as a nun — you are a friend, a mother-figure, a sister to many — and that’s deeply meaningful, but it doesn’t cancel what was missed as a baby. there was a personal resonance here: a similar pattern can occur when a mother left in childhood and returned intermittently; the child remembers the terrifying sense of being abandoned even if the mother did come back. babies are inconsolable when they think a caregiver has gone, and that panic leaves a visceral mark. i’ve seen how children fear that adults won’t return and how moving it is to reassure them with sustained presence: “you’ve got me; you can be yourself in front of me; i’m with you and nothing you do will change that.” you mentioned insomnia, anxiety, and crying like a child — these are signs of grief. much of what you’re experiencing appears to be displaced grief: the recent death of your mother has reawakened the old wounds from when she was absent and sometimes hurtful. it’s hard to sit with pure gentle grief when the person who died also caused pain, so that grief can be redirected toward a more approachable object — in your case, this man’s caring presence. you can move through this grief, and you likely have support around you to help. stay connected to community so people can hold you while the mourning washes through you and as you continue the meaningful work you do. this is a letter i’ve never forgotten; her story lands in the heart. if this resonates for you and you suspect trauma from the past is keeping you trapped in a cycle of pain instead of allowing joy and connection, here is a list of signs that healing is already underway. you might check it to see where you’ve already made progress and where you want to continue working. you can download that list right here and i’ll see you very soon [Music]