Are you sure it's love or is it Limerence? Have a read maybe you've experienced this. For years, I thought what I was feeling was love. Intense, all-consuming, can’t-live-without-you kind of love.

Are you sure it's love or is it Limerence? Have a read maybe you've experienced this. For years, I thought what I was feeling was love. Intense, all-consuming, can’t-live-without-you kind of love. It hit me like a storm—heart racing, mind spinning, hanging on every word, every glance. But what I didn’t realize was that this wasn’t love at all. It was limerence.

Limerence showed up for me in many forms, but it always carried the same signature—an obsessive longing for someone who often couldn’t or wouldn’t fully show up for me. It wasn’t love.

It was a projection.

Looking back now, I see how it tied directly into attachment theory. As someone with an anxious attachment style, I often found myself drawn to avoidant partners.

The push and pull, the hot and cold, the endless cycle of craving their attention and validation—it all fed the limerence. And when I first heard the term "twin flame," it felt like an explanation, a reason for the madness.

But instead of providing clarity, it became a justification for my own pain.

The Cycle of Limerence

There was always a pattern.

I would meet someone who felt magnetic—someone who seemed to fill a void I didn’t even know was there. I’d replay our conversations in my head, dissect their every text, and imagine a future together, one that usually didn’t reflect reality. When they pulled away, it only intensified my feelings.

The longing, the heartache, the fantasy—it was a high and a low that felt almost addictive.

But what I didn’t understand back then was that my feelings weren’t about them at all.

They were about me—my fears, my insecurities, and the parts of myself I had neglected. Limerence wasn’t love. It was a symptom of my own unmet needs.

The Turning Point

It wasn’t until I faced the hard truth that I began to heal. The truth that I was seeking something in them I wasn’t giving myself.

Their avoidance triggered my anxiety, and my anxiety reinforced their avoidance. It was a dance I knew all too well, one rooted in attachment wounds I hadn’t addressed.

But limerence thrives on fantasy, and once I was willing to confront reality, the illusion began to crumble.

I saw them for who they were—imperfect, human, and incapable of being the savior I had cast them as in my mind.

Healing Through Self-Love

Healing wasn’t easy. I had to untangle years of patterns and beliefs that told me love was supposed to feel like a whirlwind. I had to stop chasing validation from people who couldn’t give it and start giving it to myself.

I had to learn to sit with my own discomfort instead of looking for someone else to soothe it.

And I had to let go of the twin flame label. It was seductive, yes—the idea that someone was my "other half," my destined partner.

But it was also a trap, a way of keeping me stuck in relationships that were more about triggering my wounds than nurturing my growth.

What I’ve Learned

Now, when I recognize limerence creeping in, I ask myself hard questions:

Am I drawn to this person, or am I drawn to the way they make me feel about myself?

Am I chasing connection, or am I chasing validation?

Do I love them, or do I love the idea of them?

The answers are often uncomfortable but necessary.

Limerence taught me that real love isn’t about obsession, longing, or chasing.

Real love is steady. It’s reciprocal. It’s rooted in reality, not fantasy.

And most importantly, it starts with the love we cultivate for ourselves.

If you’ve been caught in the grip of limerence, know this: you’re not alone, and it’s not your fault. But breaking free starts with looking inward.

The peace you’re searching for isn’t out there—it’s within you.

Have you experienced limerence? Let’s talk about it.