How to End Limerence Before You Destroy Everything Good

Every so often a letter arrives asking for guidance that’s so grave I hesitate to even read it aloud on YouTube. Usually such requests are declined, but a message that landed in my inbox a few days ago kept nagging at me — the risk it described felt urgent — so I promised the writer, who urged me to be blunt, that I would tell him the hard truth. I’ll call him Mitchell. Here is his account: Hi — my limerence story is long and excruciating. I’m 37 and have been battling this since around age 13. I know the term limerence well; I’ve read the research, watched videos, seen therapists, changed my lifestyle, tried medication — the whole gamut. I hoped you’d give me perspective, harsh if needed. Okay — I’ve gone through his letter with a highlighter and will note things to return to, then summarize what’s happening in his life. His childhood featured an alcoholic father, a critical, nagging mother, and endless fights. Often they literally put him between them; as a child he was forced to act as mediator. By eight or nine he was terrified of the feeling that his parents lacked control — as if he had to take on the adult role. He learned to shift into whatever form the situation demanded, thinking of himself as a chameleon who kept the waters calm. His coping mantra during fights was, “I’m a rock — I do not feel.” One parent would exploit him to manipulate the other, and his dad even told him not to tell his mother about the drinking while she would ask him to confirm it. By ten he had become, as a therapist later described, a master at compartmentalization. He has always felt a compelling need to help people; acceptance seemed to come only when he was serving someone. Fast forward to his twenties: hyper-independent, he moved out as soon as possible, put himself through university, landed a coveted job, and relocated to the city hoping that success would fix him. He kept his head down and kept going. He met a woman who was beautiful, smart, kind — everything he imagined, and she loved him. He admits he never stopped to ask whether he loved her the way she loved him; with her he felt guilt, safety, and security. She had some vulnerabilities he helped her through, teaching her independence and strength. They married, had a child, and for a while things were okay. But their child turned out to be severely disabled. He realized early on the situation couldn’t be fixed, yet exhausted every resource trying to do so. He was crushed — for a year it felt like someone had kicked him in the chest. The child became obsessed with long car rides by age two, which he didn’t mind; they gave his wife a break from the relentless demands. Then it happened: during one of those drives he spotted a woman lying motionless by the roadside. He shouted to ask if she was OK, but she didn’t move. He rushed out, like the impulsive rescuer he describes himself as, called 911, and performed rescue breathing to reverse an overdose — she was homeless, severely mentally ill, and addicted to drugs. He literally brought her back. He tracked her down again later; she remembered him and was unbearably sweet — that glimmer in her eyes stirred feelings he’d never known. Limerence, he explains, feeds on drama and uncertainty; that woman embodied both. He began seeking her on his drives like a moth to a flame. She pressed every wound inside him; he felt utterly helpless. Over the next three years he was pulled into her world: learning the mental health and legal systems, navigating the streets, ending up in places he never imagined. He even found himself in a crack house, his phone number painted on the wall, where he struck a bargain with a decent fellow who ran the flop house: the man would prevent others from exploiting her if Mitchell did some professional favors for him. Mitchell never used drugs, but he says he was addicted to her. He told his wife early on and claims she was supportive. He sometimes had the woman admitted to hospital — partly to help her and partly to give himself a break — since after a few days of use she would spiral and become extremely vulnerable, calling him and trying to find him constantly. When he changed his number she hunted the haunts he frequented until eventually she overdosed and died. He was devastated, but within a week felt an unprecedented relief; he calls it a gift that freed him. His marriage, however, was never the same. He did too much damage. Though there was love, both of them understood that splitting up would devastate their son, who needed enormous daily and financial support. They tried to move forward as best they could. Mitchell poured himself into what seemed sensible: he started a business, set ambitious goals, and outwardly things settled. He resigned himself to a life of relative loneliness and service, thinking leaving to chase happiness would be selfish and impossible given his family responsibilities. He had once learned to be selfish out of necessity, but divorce felt like a line he wouldn’t cross. He vowed never to go back to those dangerous parts of town. Then, in a store, he saw another young woman being cornered by security and tossed out for stealing personal hygiene items. He bought the items for her, found her outside; she hugged him, told him her name, and everything came flooding back before he understood what he had done. His son still needed rides, and Mitchell now had a new “liante object” — the person toward whom his limerence was directed. Limerence, he explains in his own halting way, is an addictive obsession with another person so intense that, even when a relationship is impossible, it consumes life and destroys availability for real love. This new situation is extreme. In four months he has become this girl’s entire support network; his wife is unaware. It was manageable until the woman began to reciprocate, becoming limerent for him in return. She had nobody else; she began to see him as her boyfriend, drastically reduced her substance use, moved back in with an older relative to rebuild, and told him she was falling in love. Mitchell had intended to be a temporary crutch, and although he didn’t plan to fall into romance, he admits he let things become physical to “speedrun” the limerence, thinking that if he pushed through the stages he could get out faster. It backfired. She’s intensifying her attachment now and he is terrified: if he ends the connection abruptly she may relapse or worse. If he stays with her it will obliterate him. He feels trapped, overwhelmed by guilt, and haunted by a sense that he put himself in this position without fully weighing the fallout. He doesn’t want to abandon her, yet he senses it mirrors the earlier situation with the first woman — except this time she still believes in a future with him, and he is poised to destroy that hope. He doesn’t know how to live with this; even if he survives this episode he’ll be back where he started, and he has already burned through many of the purposeful strategies he once relied on. He has a successful business that would suffer if he left, a large home essential to that business, and a rent market that makes moving nearly impossible. Everyone would be harmed if stability collapsed. His son’s situation is currently steady; leaving would leave the child wrecked. Mitchell ends with a plea. Okay, Mitchell — here is the reply. This is an emergency. Let’s parse what you told me. Your rough childhood matters and has shaped you — many letters come from people with similar pasts — but dwelling on origin stories won’t change the present danger. The immediate crisis is happening right now. That line about “I can fix people” should be set aside; it reads like a rationalization. Whether that pattern began in childhood or later is less useful than recognizing the urgent harm it now causes. Having a severely disabled child and a partner who loves you does shape how intimacy looks: most marriages with enormous caregiving needs live in the realm of practical, day-to-day love rather than cinematic romance. You have something valuable to protect: a marriage and a family that depend on you. Do not ruin that. You cannot use your child’s needs as an excuse to hunt down vulnerable women in parts of town and drag them into your life; that’s not acceptable as a father or husband, nor is it fair to the fragile people you pursue. To be clear, you did the right thing when you stopped for the woman who had overdosed; calling 911 and performing rescue breathing was the compassionate action. But what followed exposed a deeper pattern. Sometimes, particularly for men who become fathers, there’s a dramatic impulse to transform life in a way that makes them impossible to live with and ruins a family. You are in the middle of that impulse now. It’s immature and possibly trauma-driven, but the cause is less important than the imperative to stop. This is an addiction. You used to say she was addicted to drugs and you were addicted to her — you are an addict, plain and simple. You told your wife and she supposedly supported you early on; it’s puzzling how supportive she could be of you obsessing over a drug-addicted woman, so either she was operating in good faith and didn’t understand the depth of it, or she was enabling to a degree. Either way, what you did — hospitalizing the woman partly to escape, blocking contact, then feeling both grief and relief after her death — is a pattern where tragedy frees you when you couldn’t free yourself. That doesn’t absolve you. You left the scene outwardly, started a business, achieved visible success — but you didn’t heal. You swore off that neighborhood and then used your son’s desire for car rides as cover to go back. That’s self-deception. With so much at stake you must stop. You are not the savior you imagine. By inserting yourself into the lives of shattered people you create false dependencies; that’s damaging to them and to you. You’re not saving anyone — you’re poisoning lives. So here’s the hard directive: have no contact with this woman ever again. If it’s necessary, reach out to a crisis center, a doctor, a therapist, or a shelter and explain the situation and ask them to convey your farewell to her, but do not use anything as an excuse to keep this toxic dynamic alive. Seek professional help immediately: a therapist, ideally one who specializes in sex and love addiction, and a support group such as Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous or the men’s programs for sex addicts. You need a men-only environment; mixed-gender meetings will likely do more harm than good, because everyone there will be a damaged person and that can enable relapse. Dry out. Remove yourself from damaged women and any temptations while you start being brutally honest with people who truly understand and won’t enable you. This is a moral and survival emergency for you, your family, and the women involved. Be careful about which helpers you choose: some therapists will simply empathize without acting, effectively enabling the behavior. You need someone who recognizes the emergency and will demand accountability. You will find enablers easily — at a bar, from friends, or among therapists who prefer to sit and discuss your feelings without pressing you to act — but you must refuse that route. Surround yourself with people who will help you set firm boundaries and make responsible choices. About your child: raising a severely disabled kid is uniquely difficult. Many families find essential support among other parents in similar situations; those relationships, plus advocacy networks for schools and services, can change life for the better. The burdens and the beauties of such a family life are intertwined. Leaving would not be an act of courageous escape; it would be an abdication that would damage the very people who need you most. You have an opportunity to choose to stay, to show up for your wife and son, and to transform the rescuing impulse into steady presence. As for telling your wife what exactly she should know, get a professional involved to help navigate that conversation. Decide, with guidance, what is honest and necessary. Release the fantasy that this woman’s survival depends on being your fake boyfriend. That idea is a trap. If you must communicate, let a clinician or social worker deliver a clear, final message of good wishes and no-contact on your behalf. No contact is how this ends. If you can commit to that, get urgent help: check in with sex and love addiction resources, find a men’s only support group, and get into therapy with someone who will compel you to change. Build a network of truthful, firm people who will force you to draw a line. Finally: there is hope. Recovery means learning what healed life can look like, even when the addiction convinces you otherwise. A downloadable document called “Signs of Healing” outlines what life can become when healing begins — how the world opens up beyond the addictive attachment and the catastrophic thinking that “without this object everything will die.” Read it. See what a life free of this compulsion can be like. Please, Mitchell — and anyone in the comments, be kind and supportive — get help now, go no contact, and connect with professionals and groups that will hold you accountable while offering real recovery. [Music]