The experience of love is often described as ineffable—too profound for words. Yet, because love is so central to our lives, we constantly try to define it. This quest for understanding has led to many conceptions of love, some helpful, others not so much for our emotional and relational well-being. The modern idea of love often feels like a fantasy, creating unrealistic expectations that can hinder genuine relationships. Many wonder, is love real, or is it just a construct? While terms like “true love” or “real love” can sometimes evoke this idealized fantasy, the concept of genuine love offers a more grounded and beneficial perspective.
In this article, we will explore what genuine love truly means. We’ll delve into why our understanding of love can become distorted and, most importantly, what steps you can take to cultivate genuine love in your life.
Let’s begin with a working definition of genuine love:
Genuine love is a conscious choice and dedication to the personal growth and happiness of both yourself and your partner. It’s a deep intimacy that emerges from self-awareness, confronting your own fears, and embracing self-love. Genuine love is expressing your authentic self without demanding that others change or conform to your expectations. This isn’t to say relationships built on genuine love are devoid of conflict or disagreement. In fact, a commitment to mutual growth involves navigating disagreements, negotiating needs, and continuously discovering who you are both as individuals and as a couple, amidst the everyday details of life. It’s in these details that the true essence of connection resides.
Let’s explore these aspects of genuine love further to clarify what it is and how you can achieve it in your own relationships.
Genuine Love: An Act of Will and Commitment
Erich Fromm, a renowned social psychologist, proposed in his seminal work that “falling in love is an act of will.” Love, according to Fromm, is a decision, a judgment originating from the individual’s mind, not solely triggered by another person. He further argued that focusing all our love on a single person, often perceived as “true love,” is more akin to “symbiotic attachment” or “enlarged egotism,” driven by needs for security or self-validation rather than genuine connection.
“Love is not primarily a relationship to a specific person; it is an attitude, an orientation of character, which determines the relatedness of a person to the world as a whole, not towards one object of love.”
Erich Fromm
Fromm uses an analogy to illustrate this point: believing that one becomes an artist simply by finding a beautiful subject to paint is as illogical as believing that love is solely generated by another person. He concludes that love is fundamentally “an act of will and commitment.” This perspective shifts the focus from passively “falling” in love to actively choosing to love.
M. Scott Peck, another influential author and psychiatrist, offers a complementary definition, acknowledging the elusive nature of love:
“The will to extend oneself for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.”
M. SCOTT PECK
Peck emphasizes that love is not a passive feeling but an active effort. Building upon this, it’s important to recognize that genuine love also requires courage – the courage to be vulnerable, to face conflict, and to commit to growth, both individually and together.
Despite the pervasive cultural narratives of romantic love, examples of genuine love in practice often seem scarce. Many relationships presented as “love,” even those idealized by society, may lack the depth and authenticity of genuine love. Having experienced relationships that appeared to be “true love” from the outside, yet felt hollow within, highlights the gap between the fantasy and the reality of genuine connection.
It’s possible that when we do witness genuine love, we may not recognize it because our expectations are skewed by distorted ideals. We might be searching for the dramatic highs of passionate love, overlooking the quiet strength and consistent commitment that characterize genuine connection.
How Our Ideas of Love Become Distorted: The Roots of Misconceptions
Our understanding of love is often shaped by distorted ideas formed early in life. The very foundation of what we perceive as love, learned from childhood, can often stem from our parents’ unmet needs or anxieties rather than a pure expression of affection.
This might seem like a sweeping statement, but research in psychology supports this perspective. Alice Miller, a renowned psychologist and author, argued that parents, often unconsciously, struggle to differentiate their own needs from genuinely loving their children. This can lead to manipulation, where children are subtly (or not so subtly) pushed to conform to parental expectations – to become the “ideal child” envisioned by the parent. This “costume,” as Miller describes it, might not align with the child’s true self or desires.
Children, intuitively sensing this misalignment, often contort themselves to fit into this parental mold, hoping to secure love and validation. However, this conditional “love” is akin to being valued for external conformity rather than for one’s authentic self. It sends a message that love is earned by meeting expectations, not by being genuinely you.
Parents rarely intend to harm their children; their actions often stem from their own experiences and limitations. Many parents believe they are loving their children in the best way they know how, but without having experienced genuine love themselves, their understanding and expression of it can be flawed. It’s a poignant realization that many of us might believe we were loved in childhood, but the reality might be different.
Daniel Hughes, a psychologist specializing in attachment and child development, offers a helpful framework – the acronym PLACE – to describe the essential elements children need from parents to foster emotional maturity and authenticity. PLACE stands for:
P – Play; L – Love; A – Acceptance; C – Curiosity; E – Empathy
Hughes posits that the absence of these components can lead children to develop a “false self,” a mask to conceal perceived flaws and unworthiness. This false self is designed to gain approval and avoid rejection, but at the cost of genuine self-expression.
Many of us, like Tricia in the example below, diligently wear these metaphorical costumes or masks, striving to please others. Periodically, the constraints of these masks become unbearable, prompting attempts to shed them. However, discarding these facades can feel exposing and shameful, as we believe the costume is what earns us love, and without it, we are intrinsically unworthy.
Tricia: I feel very evil at times. I am a door-slammer. I feel the overwhelming compulsion to throw things. I feel really evil.
Jean: You are angry. You need to find out what you are angry about.
Tricia: I can pinpoint things within my marriage which undermine my self-esteem. It goes back further than that. My father tried to mould me to what he thought I should be. He still manages to make me feel really inadequate.
Jean: That is a killer. If you think back to Emmanuel’s Book, he suggests that at one time you put on a costume that didn’t fit. That is where the rage comes from. You need to burst your way out of there.
Tricia: I did rebel. I drank a lot, and slept around with people. Although I was quite a ‘good little girl’, too.
Jean: Yes, it’s ‘Let’s let the bad girl out of here’. Of course the ‘bad’ girl isn’t bad, it is someone who wants to say ‘Look – this is me. I don’t want to be you: I just want to be me.’
Tricia: When I go and visit my parents I make a resolution that I won’t let my dad get to me. He always gives you the impression that he can do everything better. He does it as a joke, but I think he means it really. He has no idea the effect that has on me.
Jean: Are you doing what you want to do with your life now?
Tricia: I have got wonderful ideas of selling up and taking off somewhere and I think mum and dad would be upset if I did.
Tricia’s experience exemplifies someone conditioned to be a people-pleaser. She equates love with adhering to others’ wishes, believing that deviating from their expectations will result in losing love and becoming worthless. Interestingly, she seems to have chosen a partner who mirrors her parents’ dynamic, suggesting a pattern of repeating childhood experiences. This repetition might be an unconscious attempt to master these early patterns, to learn how to assert her true self and break free from the need for external validation.
This pattern highlights a crucial aspect of personal growth: the need to recognize and challenge ingrained patterns from childhood. We might keep encountering similar relationship dynamics until we learn to validate ourselves from within, rather than seeking it from others. The repetition offers an opportunity to learn that our worth is inherent and not contingent on external approval. Whether we seize this opportunity or remain stuck in the cycle is ultimately our choice.
Genuine Love: A Gift Freely Given
Derek’s upbringing, under the guise of “nice” parenting, instilled a different distortion about love: the belief that love is transactional, “you never get anything for nothing,” and “love comes with strings attached.” He internalized the idea that love is conditional and carries an unspoken debt. Initially, Derek struggled to recognize the flaw in this perspective, hesitant to criticize his “good, loving” parents. However, beneath the surface was a subtle neediness that shaped their interactions.
Derek: But surely you owe your parents something? After all, they brought you into the world.
Jean: People want children, but they don’t really want to be parents. Your mother wanted children – she took on that job. You don’t owe your parents anything. Where does that come from, that you owe them something? They don’t owe you anything and you don’t owe them anything. This is not some kind of Monopoly game we are playing here.
Derek: They have given me life. I am not able to look after myself at first, so they look after me, therefore I owe them for looking after me.
Jean: I would hate to be in a relationship with you, Derek. Boy, are you going to cash up things in your bank account, and are you going to want payment back for it.
Derek: How do I change this? What do I do?
Jean: I will give you this pen, Derek. (Takes pen from table and gives it to him).
Derek: Oh. What do you want?
Jean: I don’t want anything – I just gave it to you.
Derek: Oh, (slightly embarrassed), guilt, indebtedness… Do you want it back?
Jean: I gave it you.
Derek: It’s not a short-term loan?
Jean: I gave it you.
Derek: Forever and ever?
Jean: I gave it to you.
Derek: Yes, I do find it hard to accept gifts.
Jean: Furthermore, it wasn’t a pen, it was love.
Derek: Looks like a pen to me.
Jean: It was love, and it was a gift.
Derek: Point taken. Love is a gift.
Jean: You don’t really know that.
Derek: I’m struggling towards knowing.
Jean: If it is not a gift, it is not love.
Derek: Yes, you do not want to love in the expectation that you are going to get something back.
Jean: If it is not a gift it wasn’t love, it was trade. When people give you love, say thank you and accept it.
Derek: But giving love in return is a way of saying thank you.
Jean: In return for love? People do this, they say, ‘Oh, what can I give them back, otherwise they will think I am dreadful. I really ought to give them something’. If you want to say thank you, say thank you.
Derek: (Still talking about giving love back) Not because you ought to, but because you want to thank the person who has given you that.
Jean: Then just say thank you. If love is an obligation, it isn’t love. Are you trying to justify that you ought to give something back? Are you trying to have your construct of love be right?
Derek: Yes, I can see that. I find this so difficult to get round.
Jean: It will destroy your relationships, Derek.
Derek: It has done.
Jean: You say ‘I love you?’ (places hand to ear as if to hear the expected reply ‘I love you, too’). And this is what your parents have done with you, otherwise you wouldn’t have learned it ‘I love you and what I want from you is … I love you too’. They don’t spell it out, but you get the message anyway.
Derek: I would really like to get rid of this love as a duty thing. If I could free myself of that and look at my mother as a person! The word mother brings with it obligation and duty. I do love her, but the other things are there.
Derek’s love for his mother is clouded by a sense of obligation, a feeling that love is a debt to be repaid. He perceives love as a transaction, constantly weighing and measuring what he owes and what he’s received. This transactional view of love is, unfortunately, quite common. We often unconsciously keep score in relationships, evaluating whether we are “loved enough.” This constant calculation consumes significant emotional energy.
We often fail to recognize that accepting love is also a gift. Genuine love, given freely, naturally returns to the giver. It only feels “wasted” when it’s not valued or accepted. But why do we struggle to accept love? There seems to be a deep-seated suspicion of love. Like Derek, many of us, when offered love—in any form, be it gifts, support, or affection—question the motives behind it. We might wonder, “What’s the catch? Why are they being so nice? Do I even deserve this?”
Travis and Aronson, in their work on cognitive dissonance, provide a framework for understanding this resistance to accepting love and positive regard. They explain it as cognitive dissonance – the mental discomfort experienced when faced with information that contradicts our self-concept. If we believe ourselves to be unlovable, then expressions of love and admiration create internal conflict. To resolve this dissonance and maintain our self-perception, we might invalidate the loving gesture. We might think, “If they truly knew me, they wouldn’t say such things,” or “They must want something from me,” dismissing the genuine affection offered.
It’s akin to being handed a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that doesn’t seem to fit our existing picture of ourselves. Instead of trying to integrate it and expand our self-view, we discard it to maintain our familiar, albeit limited, self-image.
Genuine Love: Connection Without Need
Love, in our society, can devolve into a game with unspoken, often contradictory rules. We then wonder why we consistently feel like we’re losing. This became strikingly clear one anniversary evening when Tim took me to an upscale restaurant. Amidst candlelight and soft music, he took my hand, looked into my eyes, and declared, “I really love you.” I sensed it was a performance, the expected script for the occasion, yet also felt a genuine connection in that moment.
Amused and playful, sensing a touch of theatricality, I reciprocated, adding, “But if you really loved me, Tim, you would have also brought flowers and found a restaurant with a serenading waiter!” Entering into the spirit, Tim countered, “Well, if you really loved me, you’d have skipped dinner and we’d be in bed making passionate love!” “Ah,” I replied, “if you really loved me, you’d have booked a hotel for the night so we could do both!” And so the playful exchange continued, escalating into laughter at the absurdity of this “love game” we’d stumbled upon.
The tragic reality is that for many, this game of conditional love is not playful banter but a serious, deeply ingrained pattern. Many believe this game of “if you really loved me, you would…” is the only way to experience love. They’ve played it their whole lives and see it as the definitive rulebook of relationships. When asked to articulate these “rules,” people readily do so, demonstrating how deeply ingrained these conditional expectations are.
In workshops, when participants are asked to complete the sentence, “If you really loved me you would…,” the responses flood in, often laced with humor, yet revealing a painful truth. The compiled lists are remarkably consistent across different groups, painting a vivid picture of our distorted expectations in relationships. Examples from such lists include:
give me space; give me affection; treat me as an individual; not mother me; not lie to me; wouldn’t treat me as a possession; want to be with me; let me make mistakes; wouldn’t be jealous of people I go out with; let me meet your family; not say nasty things; be straight; want to be with me all the time; go to bed with me; be as unhappy as I am; care about me; tell me you love me; love me as I am; wouldn’t ask me to do courses; be responsible for yourself; support me; let me be bad sometimes; not keep secrets; tell me everything; respect me; share everything; be friends; not isolate me; not make me feel guilty; let me go; let me be free, but know you can’t be; know I was equal; have a child; come and see me; notice me; know what I am thinking; know what I want without me telling you; not send me to school; trust me; be honest; listen to me; buy me flowers; support me financially; understand me; remember my birthday/anniversary etc; not make me feel guilty; not criticize me in public; not hurt me; not leave me; would leave me; give me your last toffee; entertain me; wear fish-net tights; marry me; divorce me…
These lists, though often generated with a touch of humor, are profoundly telling. They expose the manipulation, possessiveness, pain, guilt, imprisonment, and unrealistic demands that often permeate our relationships. This “love game” is a losing proposition for everyone involved. It leads to a loss of identity, self-respect, dignity, and ultimately, love itself.
Sadly, many of us are deeply invested in this game, either relentlessly playing it in hopes of “winning” and finding someone who perfectly fits our expectations, or having given up entirely, disillusioned and vowing to never play again.
Seen through this lens, this “game of love” is indeed a form of madness. We learn to play it from a young age, and our skills are further honed by media portrayals of romance – popular songs, romantic novels, and films reinforce these distorted ideas. We play “s/he loves me, s/he loves me not,” using people instead of flower petals, dissecting their actions for “proof” of love, until depletion and emptiness set in. Then, we might declare, “See, I knew you didn’t really love me,” or “I just don’t love you anymore.” As Stuart Emery aptly stated, “Most people’s relationships are based on need, and they are disasters.” The items on the “if you really loved me…” list are all rooted in needs – for security, belonging, recognition, validation, and identity. They are fundamentally about need, not about genuine love.
Genuine love emerges when we experience a sense of deep connection with another person’s being, beyond our own needs and expectations. Genuine love creates a “space of possibility”—it’s about who we truly are and who we have the potential to become in connection with another.
As we navigate life, we often begin to close down this space of possibility. We learn that vulnerability, being our true selves, can lead to hurt and disappointment. We internalize the message that our authentic selves are not “good enough” to secure the love and approval of those we depend on. Consequently, we build layers of protection, associating love with pain: LOVE = PAIN. Many then resolve, “I won’t do that again.” They vow to avoid vulnerability, intimacy, and dependence, building walls around their hearts, waiting for someone persistent enough to break through, while simultaneously arming themselves to prevent it.
However, the painful irony is that NO LOVE = PAIN as well. Emotional isolation and the absence of genuine connection are also deeply painful.
The truth, as Guy Claxton wisely points out, is that LOVE = PAIN SOMETIMES. Relationships inevitably involve challenges, disagreements, and moments of pain. However, this occasional pain is a part of growth and deeper connection, not the defining characteristic of love itself.
When we experience pain in early childhood from those who were supposed to love us, it’s understandable to conclude that love itself is the source of pain. The solution then seems to be to cut ourselves off from love or to recreate the familiar pain in adult relationships, mistaking it for love.
Robin Norwood, in Women Who Love Too Much, suggests that many people, across genders, do precisely this. We can unconsciously equate love with pain, frustration, and anxiety, or with a sterile “safety” found in emotional distance and conformity. This leaves us in a quandary, as a deeper part of ourselves – the authentic Self – recognizes that we’re on a misguided path, not towards genuine love and fulfillment, but towards either emotional barrenness or a thicket of thorns. Where, then, does the path to genuine love begin?
Genuine Love: Attained by Letting Go of Fear
Jerry Jampolsky, in his work on love and healing, dedicated an entire book to this central idea: where fear resides in our hearts, love cannot flourish.
Fear acts as a barrier to love. When we desire to love and connect, fear interjects, urging us to prioritize self-protection, self-interest, and security, often at the expense of genuine connection. Fear whispers, “Look out for yourself, protect yourself, get what you need, or you won’t survive.”
What are these fears that obstruct our capacity to love? Examples abound: the fear of vulnerability, of dependence, of being let down, of being controlled, of not being “good enough,” or the fear that love is transactional and will come with demands and expectations.
Navigating these fears requires support and understanding. It’s crucial to surround yourself with people who foster growth and well-being, not those who amplify fear. Some individuals, perhaps unconsciously, might undermine your relationships, possibly out of their own insecurities or unmet needs. They might discredit your partner or relationship, subtly reinforcing your fears and doubts. However, when you confide in individuals who are genuinely invested in your growth and happiness, you can process your fears constructively and begin to release their grip.
Genuine Love: Cultivated Through Self-Love
A foundational principle of genuine love is self-love. Loving others authentically is intrinsically linked to our capacity to love ourselves. Similarly, contributing to the growth and well-being of others stems from a commitment to our own personal and spiritual development – actively practicing self-love.
Cultivating self-love necessitates addressing guilt and shame. It involves ceasing self-criticism, judgment, and self-berating thoughts. Consider this: would you speak to a cherished friend with the harshness you sometimes direct towards yourself? Likely not. So why subject yourself to such negativity? Labels like “stupid,” “useless,” “worthless,” “bad,” or “wrong” are self-inflicted wounds. Instead, practice self-compassion, kindness, and self-love.
Self-criticism is a clear indicator of a lack of self-love. In moments of self-reproach, consciously shift towards self-compassion. Recognize that you deserve the same understanding and kindness you would offer a friend. It’s easy to become our own harshest critic, internalizing negative voices from the past. Vigilance is key to maintaining balance and self-compassion. Allow yourself to experience joy and playfulness without guilt. Challenge the internalized “critic,” the echoes of parental disapproval that might surface when you prioritize self-care and enjoyment.
Self-love also manifests in setting healthy boundaries – learning to say “no,” prioritizing personal time, expressing your needs to others, and allowing yourself to receive. Constantly giving without replenishing your own well-being leads to depletion and resentment. It’s essential to take responsibility for your own energy and seek support, recognizing that this support might not always come from those to whom you are providing it. Self-love is not selfish; it’s a prerequisite for sustainable and genuine love for others.
Genuine Love: Deepened by Personal Understanding
Some of our struggles with love arise from the limitations of our modern vocabulary to fully capture its nuances. The ancient Greeks, with their richer understanding of love, offer valuable distinctions. They used two primary terms: Agape and Eros. These distinctions help clarify what love is not, even if they don’t fully define what it is.
Eros, in Greek, represented passionate love. Those who equate passionate love with “true love” often measure its intensity by the degree of suffering involved. Passion, etymologically linked to “suffering,” becomes intertwined with the idea that suffering is a necessary component of love. “Being in love,” according to this Eros-centric view, entails constant longing for the beloved, with prolonged absence causing torment and anguish.
In this model, obstacles to the relationship paradoxically amplify passionate feelings. The more challenges, the more intense the “love” feels. One workshop participant recounted ending a relationship because he doubted his love for his girlfriend – she didn’t seem like “the one.” However, when she moved on and found someone else, he realized he still “loved” her, fueled by intense yearning and possessiveness.
Jean: We are looking for ‘the one’. The one that is going to come along in the shining armour or the flowing sequinned dress, and rescue you.
Derek: I broke up with my girlfriend a year ago. On the face of it we had a good relationship, but in spite of our almost-happiness she was not the right one for me. She was the first one, so she couldn’t be the right one. What a waste. You couldn’t expect the first one to be the right one.
Jean: No, of course not. You have to shop around, don’t you? Make sure there isn’t a better bargain hiding somewhere.
Derek: When I realised this, it was like being hit on the head with a mallet. How stupid I feel about this. It really was fear and more fear that made me think in this way … I’d like to stop loving her, as she has moved on and has found someone else.
Jean: I think what you mean is you would like to stop yearning for her. Loving people is fine. It does not hurt. What often happens is that we are not in touch with how addicted we are to people, until they are not available any more. You can break off a relationship, but as soon as the other person finds someone else you think, ‘Hang on a minute, there might have been a bit of meat left on that bone,’ and ‘That was mine and now someone else has got it’ (laughter of recognition).
Derek: I was paralysed for three months, simply through realising I had lost this person I loved. Crazy!
Indeed, “crazy” is an apt descriptor for this type of obsessive yearning. The phrases “madly in love” or “crazy about you” reflect the addictive nature of Eros. It’s more accurate to say “madly addicted to you” or “addicted to the rush, the high, the adrenaline of being ‘in love’.”
The “payoffs” of Eros are excitement, heightened senses, stimulation, and an intoxicating feeling of being “in love with the world.” These sensations are akin to the effects of stimulants or narcotics, making Eros highly addictive. However, the “drawbacks” include anxiety, depression, withdrawal symptoms, mood swings, and a feeling of being out of control.
Norwood contrasts Eros with Agape, which she describes as a stable, committed relationship rooted in companionship and friendship, characterized by mutual respect and admiration. Agape involves encouragement, mutual support, shared interests, values, and goals. Feelings associated with Agape, or “genuine love” in this context, include “serenity, security, devotion, understanding, companionship, mutual support, and comfort.”
While Agape might seem less dramatic than Eros, Norwood acknowledges that it might be perceived as “boring” compared to the intense emotional rollercoaster of passionate love. The cultural myth, however, perpetuates the idea that:
“A passionate relationship (Eros) will bring us contentment and fulfillment (Agape). In fact the implication is that with great enough passion a lasting bond will be forged. All the failed relationships based initially on tremendous passion can testify that this premise is false. In a passionate relationship, fraught as it must be with the excitement, suffering and frustration of new love, there is a feeling that something very important is missing. What is wanted is commitment.”
Robin Norwood
Norwood further points out that even when commitment is achieved in a relationship initially driven by passion, and a sense of security and warmth develops, a feeling of being “cheated” might arise as the initial passion fades.
“The price we pay for passion is fear, and the very pain and fear that feed passionate love may also destroy it. The price we pay for stable commitment is boredom, and the very safety and security that cement such a relationship can also make it rigid and lifeless.”
Robin Norwood
This “heads we lose, tails we lose” dilemma highlights the limitations of both Eros and Agape as complete models for genuine love. Norwood suggests a third alternative: “true intimacy.” However, she posits that true intimacy is only attainable through “recovery”—healing from the emotional wounds of early childhood experiences.
The prospect of true intimacy, rather than being universally appealing, can evoke dread in many. This apprehension is understandable, given that for many, our earliest experiences of intimacy – with parents – were intertwined with exploitation and betrayal of trust, even when unintentional or subtly masked. Repeating those patterns is something we instinctively avoid, and the path to genuine intimacy might seem long forgotten.
Yet, it is precisely through confronting and processing our past experiences that we can pave the way for genuine love in the present.
Conclusion: Embracing the Reality of Genuine Love
To find genuine love, we must first learn to recognize it, distinguishing it from the distorted notions of love prevalent in our culture and often experienced in our families. This requires moving beyond the allure of passionate, addictive “love” that promises to fulfill unmet needs and beyond the comfortable but potentially passionless “love” of mere contentment.
The journey towards genuine love begins with self-awareness and a conscious commitment to personal growth. Committing to the well-being and growth of both yourself and another requires significant energy and willpower. It necessitates deep introspection, vulnerability, and a willingness to let go of fear. It involves reimagining who you are and who you can become in relationship. It’s about discovering a new way to love and be loved – one that honors both connection and individual freedom. Ultimately, the pursuit of genuine love is a profound education in emotions and the cornerstone of fulfilling relationships. Courses and resources dedicated to emotional education can be invaluable tools in helping individuals navigate this journey and attain genuine love in their lives.
