Therapy for Limerance: Discovering Self-Worth and Purpose in Life

Therapy for limerence begins long before we stop thinking about another person—it begins when we slowly rediscover our own sense of self-worth and build a life that feels meaningful without depending on someone else’s attention.

This morning, while getting ready for the day, I listened to the Blinkist summary of Smitten: Romantic Obsession, the Neuroscience of Limerence, and How to Make Love Last by neuroscientist Dr. Tom Bellamy. His explanation of limerence fascinated me so much that I immediately searched for more of his work. That search led me to his website, Living with Limerence, where I spent the next hour reading his articles and eventually subscribing to his newsletter.

What struck me most was not only the neuroscience behind romantic obsession, but Bellamy’s personal story. On his website, he explains that he unexpectedly experienced limerence himself despite being happily married. Unable to find practical, science-based resources that explained what he was experiencing, he began researching the subject extensively.

His personal journey eventually evolved into Living with Limerence, a platform dedicated to helping others understand romantic obsession through neuroscience, psychology and purposeful living (Bellamy, n.d.).

As I listened to the Blinkist summary, I found myself reflecting on several moments in my own life—not only my dating experiences, but also my friendships. Just yesterday, I called a close friend whom I had known for sixteen years. Although we had drifted apart after a disagreement and because our lives had naturally evolved in different directions, we still cared deeply about one another.

Share this post around if you find it useful! Leave a comment if you find this post helpful!

Affiliate Link Disclosure
Some of the links in this article may be affiliate links and I may earn a commission if you click on them, at no additional cost to you. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. Hope you find the information here useful! Thanks. 

Years ago, that conversation would probably have affected me for days. I would have wondered whether I should continue messaging her. I might have questioned whether she still valued our friendship or whether I had said something wrong.

But this time was different.

After we ended our conversation, I simply carried on with my day.

I didn’t feel compelled to send another message.

I didn’t feel anxious.

I didn’t replay the conversation repeatedly in my mind.

At almost the same time, I reached out to someone I had previously dated after almost a month of silence. We exchanged a few messages before naturally ending the conversation. Again, I noticed something unfamiliar.

I didn’t feel the need to keep the interaction alive.

It almost felt like I was quietly testing myself.

For the first time in many years, I realised that my emotional state was no longer dependent on maintaining constant communication with another person.

That moment made me realise something profound.

Perhaps limerence isn’t simply about becoming obsessed with one particular person.

Perhaps it reveals how we approach all our relationships.

Over the years, I have met many people struggling with difficult relationships. Some constantly sought reassurance from romantic partners. Others became emotionally dependent on close friends. Some would become intensely attached before suddenly withdrawing because intimacy itself felt overwhelming.

Although each relationship looked different, the underlying pattern often appeared remarkably similar.

It wasn’t really about the other person.

It was about feeling emotionally safe.

Psychologists have long recognised that our early attachment experiences shape how we regulate emotions within adult relationships. According to attachment theory, individuals who develop anxious attachment often become highly sensitive to rejection and seek reassurance from important relationships to feel emotionally secure (Bowlby, 1969; Mikulincer & Shaver, 2016).

Looking back honestly, I recognised traces of those patterns within myself.

There was a period in my life—perhaps five or six years ago—when loneliness occupied far too much mental space. Living alone meant weekends often felt empty. Relationships became the centre of my thoughts. I would wake up wondering whether I would eventually find someone, whether I was falling behind everyone else, or whether being single somehow reflected my worth.

Recently, however, I came across a quote that completely reframed the way I viewed my own thoughts:

“The things you think about between tasks reveal your actual priorities. Not the conscious priorities. The subconscious ones. Where your mind drifts when nothing is demanding its attention. That’s where your energy actually wants to go.”

I have been thinking about that quote ever since.

Because if someone had observed my subconscious mind several years ago, they would probably have concluded that relationships were the most important thing in my life.

Not because I consciously wanted them to be.

But because every quiet moment eventually returned there.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Imagining.

Hoping.

Today, however, something has changed.

When I finish one task before starting another, my thoughts naturally drift towards growing my business.

I think about improving my writing.

I think about recording my podcast.

I think about new ideas for my consultancy.

I think about my long-term goal of pursuing a PhD.

I think about becoming a better entrepreneur.

Ironically, I still use Bumble.

I still enjoy meeting new people.

I still hope to build a healthy romantic relationship one day.

But dating is no longer the emotional centre of my life.

If someone replies, wonderful.

If they don’t, life continues.

That shift didn’t happen overnight.

It happened gradually as I built something bigger than my relationships—a purpose that existed independently of anyone else’s attention.

Reading Tom Bellamy’s work helped me understand why this matters so much. Recovery from limerence isn’t simply about forgetting another person. It involves rebuilding your relationship with yourself. The stronger your own identity becomes, the less another person’s validation determines your emotional well-being.

As psychiatrist Viktor Frankl (2006) observed, human beings can endure extraordinary difficulties when they possess a meaningful purpose. Likewise, self-determination theory suggests that psychological well-being flourishes when people experience autonomy, competence and meaningful connection, rather than relying solely on external validation (Ryan & Deci, 2000).

Perhaps this explains why purpose has quietly become my own form of therapy.

Instead of asking, “Who will love me?”

I have gradually started asking,

“What kind of life am I building?”

That single shift has transformed far more than my dating life.

It has transformed the way I experience myself.

In this article, I want to explore what I have learned about limerence—not only through neuroscience and psychological research, but also through my own experiences of emotional dependency, friendships, dating, self-worth, and discovering that perhaps the most effective therapy for limerence is building a life that feels meaningful enough that another person’s attention no longer defines your happiness.

---

What Is Limerence? Understanding the Difference Between Love and Obsession

Most of us have experienced the excitement of falling in love.

Butterflies before seeing someone.

Checking our phones a little more often.

Smiling after receiving an unexpected message.

These experiences are completely normal.

However, limerence exists on an entirely different level.

The term limerence was first introduced by American psychologist Dorothy Tennov in her landmark 1979 book Love and Limerence: The Experience of Being in Love. After interviewing hundreds of participants, Tennov discovered that many people described an intense psychological state characterised by intrusive thoughts, emotional dependency, idealisation, and an overwhelming desire for reciprocation (Tennov, 1979).

Unlike mature love—which develops gradually through trust, shared experiences, and emotional intimacy—limerence thrives on uncertainty.

The limerent person becomes preoccupied with what Tennov called the Limerent Object (LO). Every interaction begins to carry enormous emotional significance. A simple text message can create feelings of euphoria, while delayed replies or perceived rejection trigger anxiety, sadness, and even despair.

Tom Bellamy expands upon Tennov’s work by explaining limerence through the lens of neuroscience. According to Bellamy, three major neurological systems interact during limerence: the arousal system, the reward system, and the bonding system.

The arousal system heightens attention and emotional intensity. Everyday experiences feel more vivid. Music sounds richer. Conversations feel more meaningful. Life itself seems brighter.

The reward system, largely involving dopamine pathways, reinforces behaviours associated with the limerent object. Every message, smile, or indication of reciprocated interest becomes a powerful reward. Over time, the brain learns to associate this particular person with pleasure, making repeated checking, fantasising, and seeking contact increasingly automatic.

Finally, bonding hormones such as oxytocin and vasopressin strengthen emotional attachment and create feelings of intimacy and connection.

Together, these systems explain why limerence often feels remarkably similar to addiction.

Bellamy argues that the brain isn’t necessarily addicted to the person themselves.

It becomes addicted to the possibility of reciprocation.

That distinction is incredibly important.

Because addiction thrives on uncertainty.

Psychological research consistently demonstrates that unpredictable rewards strengthen behavioural habits far more effectively than predictable ones. This phenomenon, known as intermittent reinforcement, explains why inconsistent affection often becomes more psychologically compelling than stable affection. Variable rewards activate the brain’s dopamine system in particularly powerful ways, encouraging repeated attempts to obtain the next emotional “reward” (Schultz, 2016).

Looking back at my own experiences, I realised something uncomfortable.

I wasn’t necessarily chasing love.

I was chasing certainty.

Every message became reassurance.

Every reply confirmed that I mattered.

Every silence created unnecessary doubt.

When viewed through that lens, limerence suddenly becomes much easier to understand.

It isn’t simply an overwhelming attraction towards another person.

It often represents an attempt to regulate our own emotions through someone else’s behaviour.

That realisation became one of the most important lessons I took away from reading Bellamy’s work.

Because if another person’s attention determines my emotional stability, then the real work isn’t changing them.

The real work is strengthening myself.

Therapy for Limerence Starts with Looking Inward

When most people search for therapy for limerence, they are usually looking for one answer:

“How do I stop thinking about this person?”

It is a perfectly understandable question. After all, limerence is exhausting. Your mood fluctuates according to another person’s attention. A delayed text message feels like rejection. A short conversation can become the highlight of your entire week.

However, after reading Tom Bellamy’s work and reflecting on my own experiences, I realised I had been asking the wrong question.

Instead of asking how to stop thinking about another person, perhaps I should have been asking:

“Why did this particular person become so emotionally important to me in the first place?”

That is a much more uncomfortable question.

But it is also the question that changed my perspective completely.

My Reflection Didn’t Begin with Dating

Interestingly, my biggest lesson about emotional dependence didn’t come from a romantic relationship.

It came from a friendship.

Looking back, I realised something about myself.

Whenever something exciting or stressful happened, she was often the first person I wanted to call.

She rarely ignored me.

In fact, she has always been incredibly supportive.

But our communication styles were different.

I preferred frequent conversations.

She preferred catching up face-to-face.

She would often call me when she happened to be near my area rather than texting throughout the week.

Neither approach was wrong.

They were simply different.

The problem wasn’t her communication style.

The problem was that I unconsciously expected her to fulfil emotional needs that she was never responsible for carrying.

That realisation was surprisingly humbling.

Psychologists refer to this as attachment behaviour. According to John Bowlby’s Attachment Theory, humans naturally seek emotional security through close relationships. While secure attachment allows individuals to feel connected without becoming dependent, insecure attachment often results in heightened anxiety about rejection, abandonment or emotional distance (Bowlby, 1969).

Research by Mikulincer and Shaver (2016) further suggests that individuals with anxious attachment tend to become hypervigilant to signs of rejection. They frequently seek reassurance from significant others and may interpret neutral situations as evidence that a relationship is deteriorating.

Reading these theories made me uncomfortable because I recognised parts of myself.

Not only in dating.

But in friendships too.

The emotional pattern looked remarkably similar.

I Started Observing My Own Behaviour

After speaking to my friend yesterday, I made a conscious decision.

I wasn’t going to message her again today.

Not because I was trying to punish her.

Not because I wanted to play games.

But because I genuinely wanted to observe my own emotional response.

Would I feel restless?

Would I feel anxious?

Would I keep checking my phone?

Would I create imaginary conversations in my head?

To my surprise…

None of that happened.

I simply carried on with work.

It sounds insignificant.

But for someone who has spent years becoming emotionally invested in relationships, that small observation felt incredibly meaningful.

It wasn’t that I loved my friend any less.

It was that I no longer needed constant interaction to feel emotionally secure.

And perhaps that is what emotional maturity looks like.

The Same Pattern Appeared in Dating

Around the same time, I also decided to test something else.

After almost a month, I reached out to someone I had previously dated.

We exchanged a few messages.

The conversation naturally slowed.

Then it stopped.

The interesting part wasn’t that the conversation ended.

The interesting part was that I didn’t feel compelled to revive it.

Several years ago, I probably would have searched for another topic.

Another question.

Another excuse to keep the conversation alive.

Not because I genuinely had something important to say.

But because silence felt uncomfortable.

This time, silence simply meant…

The conversation had ended.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

I realised I had finally reached a place where I could enjoy someone’s company without making them responsible for my emotional stability.

What I Have Learned from Talking to People About Relationships

Over the years, I have spoken to countless individuals struggling with dating, heartbreak and relationship anxiety.

Although every story was unique, I began noticing recurring patterns.

Some became intensely attached within weeks.

Others constantly sought reassurance that they were loved.

Some repeatedly apologised even when they had done nothing wrong.

Others disappeared completely whenever a relationship became emotionally close.

At first glance, these behaviours appear opposite.

One person clings.

Another withdraws.

Yet attachment researchers suggest that both behaviours often emerge from the same underlying insecurity.

Anxiously attached individuals fear abandonment and seek closeness.

Avoidantly attached individuals fear emotional dependence and create distance to protect themselves (Mikulincer & Shaver, 2016).

Different behaviours.

Similar fears.

Both are attempts to regulate uncomfortable emotions.

That insight changed the way I viewed relationships.

Instead of asking,

“Why are they acting this way?”

I began asking,

“What fear is driving this behaviour?”

Sometimes the answer was fear of rejection.

Sometimes fear of intimacy.

Sometimes fear of not being enough.

Perhaps Limerence Is Really About Self-Worth

One of the most thought-provoking ideas I encountered while reflecting on Bellamy’s work is that limerence often says less about the other person than it does about ourselves.

When our self-worth depends heavily on external validation, another person’s attention becomes emotionally significant.

Psychologist Roy Baumeister and Mark Leary (1995) proposed that human beings possess a fundamental need to belong. Feeling accepted and valued by others is essential for psychological well-being.

However, there is an important distinction.

Healthy belonging comes from experiencing mutual acceptance.

Limerence often comes from desperately trying to earn acceptance.

Those are not the same thing.

Looking back honestly, I don’t think I was searching only for love.

I was searching for reassurance.

For certainty.

For proof that I was enough.

That is a very different emotional journey.

Therapy for Limerence Is Also Therapy for Self-Esteem

The more I reflected, the more I realised that recovery from limerence isn’t simply about resisting the urge to text someone.

It is about strengthening the relationship you have with yourself.

Psychologist Nathaniel Branden (1994), widely regarded as one of the pioneers in self-esteem research, argued that self-esteem is the confidence that we are competent to cope with life’s challenges and worthy of happiness.

When those beliefs are fragile, we naturally seek evidence from other people to confirm our worth.

But external reassurance is temporary.

Another message.

Another compliment.

Another date.

Another phone call.

The relief never lasts long because it never addresses the underlying belief.

Bellamy makes a similar point when he argues that the “magic” we assign to our limerent object is partly created by our own unmet emotional needs.

The person appears extraordinary because they become associated with hope, validation and emotional fulfilment.

Recognising this doesn’t diminish genuine love.

Instead, it encourages us to separate love from dependency.

Before Healing Relationships, I Had to Heal My Relationship with Myself

One lesson has become increasingly clear over the past few years.

Healing didn’t begin when someone finally chose me.

Healing began when I slowly stopped measuring my worth by whether someone chose me at all.

That shift happened gradually.

It happened through building my business.

Through writing.

Through therapy-like self-reflection.

Through spending time alone without immediately trying to escape loneliness.

Through learning that silence isn’t always rejection.

Sometimes…

Silence is simply peace.

Why No Contact Helped Me Regain My Sense of Self

One of the most common pieces of advice given to people struggling with limerence is deceptively simple:

“Go No Contact.”

At first glance, it sounds almost impossible.

How do you suddenly stop talking to someone who occupies your thoughts from the moment you wake up until you fall asleep?

How do you stop checking their social media?

How do you stop wondering what they’re doing?

How do you stop hoping they’ll suddenly text you?

If you’ve ever experienced limerence, you already know the answer.

You can’t.

At least, not immediately.

That is why I appreciate Tom Bellamy’s approach. He doesn’t present No Contact as a magical solution. Instead, he explains it through neuroscience. Every interaction with our limerent object—whether it’s a conversation, a text message, scrolling through their social media, or even replaying old memories—acts as what he calls “supply.” Each small interaction reinforces the brain’s reward circuitry, making the emotional attachment stronger rather than weaker (Bellamy, 2025).

When viewed through this lens, No Contact isn’t about being rude or punishing someone.

It is about interrupting an addictive neurological loop.

Recovery Rarely Happens Overnight

This was probably one of the most reassuring parts of Bellamy’s book.

Recovery isn’t linear.

You don’t wake up one morning completely over someone.

There will be setbacks.

Some people try No Contact and end up texting again after three days.

Others manage two weeks before checking Instagram.

Some last months before unexpectedly reaching out again.

That doesn’t mean therapy isn’t working.

It simply means the brain is learning a new habit.

Neuroscience tells us that habits are deeply embedded neural pathways. Breaking old habits and replacing them with healthier ones requires repeated practice, not perfection (Wood & Rünger, 2016).

I think many of us become discouraged because we expect healing to happen quickly.

But perhaps recovery is more like learning to exercise after years of inactivity.

Missing one workout doesn’t erase your progress.

Neither does one emotional relapse.

My Own Version of No Contact

As I reflected on Bellamy’s work, I realised I had unknowingly been practising my own version of No Contact long before reading his book.

It wasn’t dramatic.

I didn’t block people.

I didn’t delete every photograph.

I didn’t announce that I was disappearing.

Instead, I slowly reduced my emotional dependence.

Yesterday, after speaking to my friend of sixteen years, I deliberately allowed the conversation to end.

Not because I wanted distance.

But because I wanted to see whether I could sit comfortably with silence.

Today, I didn’t feel compelled to call her again.

Nothing bad happened.

Our friendship remained intact.

Similarly, after reconnecting with someone I had previously dated, I noticed that I didn’t feel the urge to keep the conversation going indefinitely.

It ended naturally.

And that was enough.

Several years ago, I probably would have interpreted silence as rejection.

Today, I simply interpret it as…

Life.

People become busy.

Conversations naturally end.

Healthy relationships don’t require constant maintenance every single day.

That simple realisation has brought me an incredible sense of peace.

Why I Now Use Bumble Differently

One area where I noticed the biggest change was Bumble.

Yes, I’m still on dating apps.

I’m still open to meeting someone.

I still hope to find a meaningful relationship.

None of that has changed.

What has changed is how I approach dating.

Several years ago, Bumble could easily dominate my attention.

A new match felt exciting.

A delayed reply felt disappointing.

A great conversation could quickly become something I replayed repeatedly in my head.

Now…

I sometimes forget to open the app.

If someone replies, wonderful.

If they don’t, I continue working.

The app has become part of my life.

It is no longer my life.

That difference is enormous.

Psychologist Barry Schwartz (2004) argues that constantly chasing better outcomes often reduces satisfaction rather than increasing it. When dating becomes our primary source of emotional fulfilment, every interaction feels incredibly important. Ironically, that pressure often makes dating more stressful than enjoyable.

Today, I approach dating much more mindfully.

I’m looking for consistency rather than intensity.

Curiosity rather than fantasy.

Compatibility rather than chemistry alone.

In fact, I have become slightly cautious of people who become overly intense during the first few days of talking.

Not because intense attraction is necessarily bad.

But because I’ve learned that healthy relationships usually grow steadily rather than exploding overnight.

As Bellamy points out, limerence often begins with spark, hope and uncertainty.

The spark itself isn’t the problem.

The problem arises when we allow that spark to become our entire emotional universe.

Purpose Quietly Replaced Obsession

One quote has stayed with me ever since I first read it:

“The things you think about between tasks reveal your actual priorities. Not the conscious priorities. The subconscious ones.”

I think this quote explains my recovery better than anything else.

Years ago, whenever I finished one task, my mind naturally drifted toward relationships.

Had someone replied?

Should I message them?

Did I say something wrong?

Would I ever meet the right person?

I wasn’t forcing those thoughts.

They simply occupied the empty spaces of my day.

Today…

Those spaces are filled differently.

I think about client proposals.

My consultancy.

Growing my business.

Writing articles.

Developing my podcast.

Preparing for a future PhD.

Improving systems inside my company.

Planning my next project.

It isn’t that relationships no longer matter.

It’s that they no longer occupy every quiet corner of my mind.

That shift happened so gradually that I almost didn’t notice it.

A Bigger Life Leaves Less Room for Obsession

There was a time when Saturdays felt unbearably lonely.

Living alone meant weekends often amplified feelings of isolation.

I would wonder what everyone else was doing.

Who was spending time with their partners.

Whether I would always feel this way.

Today, my Saturdays look completely different.

Sometimes I attend entrepreneurship events.

Sometimes I meet people from my business community.

Recently, an auntie invited me to visit the zoo.

Friends occasionally suggest catching up over coffee.

Colleagues arrange business meetings.

Clients call unexpectedly.

I spend hours writing articles like this one.

I work on my podcast.

I build systems for my business.

These activities don’t replace romantic love.

Nor should they.

But they do something equally important.

They remind me that my life is already meaningful.

Psychologist Martin Seligman (2011) argues that flourishing depends on more than happiness alone. Meaning, accomplishment, positive relationships, engagement and purpose all contribute to long-term well-being. Likewise, Viktor Frankl (2006) observed that people who possess a compelling sense of purpose are often more resilient during life’s greatest challenges.

Looking back, I don’t think purpose cured my limerence.

I think purpose slowly reduced the amount of empty psychological space that limerence used to occupy.

The more fulfilling my own life became, the less dependent I became on another person’s attention to feel emotionally alive.

Healing Isn’t About Becoming Independent of Everyone

There is one misconception I’d like to address before moving on.

Reading this article, someone might conclude that the goal is to become emotionally detached.

I don’t think that’s healthy.

Human beings are wired for connection.

Baumeister and Leary (1995) argued that the need to belong is one of our most fundamental psychological motivations. We thrive when we form close, meaningful relationships.

The goal isn’t emotional isolation.

The goal is emotional freedom.

There is a profound difference.

Emotional dependence says,

“I need you in order to feel okay.”

Healthy attachment says,

“I deeply value you, but I remain whole even when we are apart.”

That, to me, is what recovery increasingly feels like.

I still enjoy deep conversations.

I still value close friendships.

I still hope to find a loving partner.

But I no longer expect another human being to carry the responsibility of making me feel complete.

Perhaps that was never their job in the first place.

Practical Therapy for Limerence: How to Rebuild Your Life

If you’ve searched for therapy for limerence, chances are you’re hoping for a quick solution.

Perhaps you’re wondering whether there’s a specific therapy technique, medication, or mindset that will finally stop you from thinking about someone.

After reading Tom Bellamy’s work, reflecting on my own experiences, and revisiting decades of psychological research, I’ve come to believe that recovery isn’t about one single intervention.

It’s about rebuilding an entire way of relating—to yourself, to other people, and to your own life.

Limerence may begin with another person.

Recovery begins with you.

---

1. Accept That Your Brain Is Working Exactly as It Was Designed To

One of the most comforting discoveries for me was realising that I wasn’t “crazy.”

The intensity felt real because my brain was responding exactly as neuroscience predicts.

Bellamy explains that limerence activates three interconnected systems:

• The arousal system
• The reward system
• The bonding system

Together, these systems create powerful emotional highs and painful emotional lows.

Understanding this changes everything.

Instead of asking,

“Why can’t I stop thinking about them?”

We begin asking,

“What habit loops have my brain created?”

This shift removes shame.

Shame rarely helps recovery.

Understanding does.

---

2. Stop Waiting for Feelings to Disappear Before You Move Forward

One mistake I made for years was believing I needed to feel better before living my life.

I now think the opposite is true.

You begin living first.

Your feelings slowly catch up.

Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), developed by Steven Hayes (2006), is based on this principle. Rather than waiting for uncomfortable thoughts to disappear, ACT encourages people to continue acting according to their values despite uncomfortable emotions.

That idea resonates deeply with my own experience.

There were mornings when I still felt lonely.

I still got up.

I still wrote.

I still met clients.

I still exercised.

I still built my business.

Eventually…

My identity became stronger than my loneliness.

---

3. Build Self-Worth That Doesn’t Depend on Other People

Perhaps the greatest lesson limerence has taught me is this:

Self-worth cannot permanently come from another human being.

Compliments fade.

Relationships change.

People become busy.

Messages stop.

Life happens.

If our self-esteem depends entirely upon another person’s attention, our emotional stability will always remain fragile.

Nathaniel Branden (1994) described self-esteem as the confidence that we are competent to cope with life’s challenges and worthy of happiness.

That confidence is built through action.

Not reassurance.

Looking back, every proposal I completed…

Every client I helped…

Every article I published…

Every difficult conversation I survived…

Quietly strengthened my confidence.

None of these moments felt dramatic.

Together, however, they slowly rebuilt my relationship with myself.

---

4. Build a Life That Is Bigger Than Your Relationship Status

This has probably become the biggest therapy for limerence in my own life.

Not dating less.

Living more.

Several years ago, relationships occupied almost every empty space in my mind.

Today, my days revolve around different questions.

How can I improve my consultancy?

How can I become a better entrepreneur?

What should my next article explore?

How can I build systems inside my business?

What progress did I make today?

Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (1990) described flow as the deeply satisfying state of complete absorption in meaningful work.

Looking back, I think many of my happiest days now aren’t necessarily the days when someone messages me.

They’re the days when I become completely immersed in creating something meaningful.

Purpose has quietly replaced obsession.

---

5. Let Relationships Add to Your Life, Not Become Your Life

One sentence has stayed with me throughout writing this article.

Healthy relationships should enrich your life.

They should not become your identity.

That doesn’t mean relationships aren’t important.

They absolutely are.

Baumeister and Leary (1995) convincingly argued that belonging is one of our most fundamental psychological needs.

Love matters.

Friendship matters.

Connection matters.

But they flourish best when two emotionally healthy individuals come together—not when one person expects another to complete them.

I still want a loving relationship.

I still hope to get married one day.

But I no longer believe another person is responsible for making my life meaningful.

That responsibility belongs to me.

---

Conclusion: Perhaps Therapy for Limerence Is Really Therapy for Yourself

When I first began reflecting on limerence, I assumed recovery meant forgetting someone.

Now I think I was mistaken.

Recovery isn’t about forgetting.

It’s about remembering yourself.

Looking back over the past five or six years, I can see how much my internal world has changed.

There was a time when relationships dominated my subconscious.

If someone had observed my thoughts between tasks, they would probably have concluded that finding a partner was the central purpose of my life.

Today, the picture looks very different.

When my mind wanders, it naturally returns to writing.

My business.

My podcast.

Future research.

Helping clients.

Learning.

Creating.

Building something that will outlast me.

I still experience attraction.

I still enjoy dating.

I still use Bumble.

I still hope to meet someone extraordinary.

The difference is that I no longer expect another person to rescue me from loneliness.

If a relationship happens, it will complement the life I have already built.

It will not become the life itself.

Perhaps that is what emotional healing actually looks like.

Not becoming emotionally unavailable.

Not pretending we don’t need love.

Not convincing ourselves we are better off alone.

Instead, healing is developing enough self-worth that we can love someone without losing ourselves in the process.

Tom Bellamy’s work reminded me that limerence is not a character flaw.

It is a deeply human experience rooted in our biology, psychology, and attachment history.

But it also reminded me of something even more hopeful.

The brain can change.

Habits can change.

Priorities can change.

Lives can change.

Maybe the most powerful therapy for limerence isn’t finding the perfect partner.

Maybe it’s becoming the kind of person whose life is already so rich, purposeful, and meaningful that love becomes a beautiful addition—not the foundation upon which everything else depends.

And perhaps the question we should all ask ourselves isn’t:

“How do I stop thinking about them?”

But rather:

“What kind of life am I building when I’m not thinking about them?”

For me, that question has made all the difference.

---

References

Ainsworth, M. D. S., Blehar, M. C., Waters, E., & Wall, S. (1978). Patterns of attachment: A psychological study of the strange situation. Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

Baumeister, R. F., & Leary, M. R. (1995). The need to belong: Desire for interpersonal attachments as a fundamental human motivation. Psychological Bulletin, 117(3), 497–529.

Bellamy, T. (2025). Smitten: Romantic Obsession, the Neuroscience of Limerence, and How to Make Love Last. Blink Publishing.

Bellamy, T. (n.d.). Living with Limerence. https://livingwithlimerence.com

Bowlby, J. (1969). Attachment and loss: Vol. 1. Attachment. Basic Books.

Branden, N. (1994). The six pillars of self-esteem. Bantam Books.

Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990). Flow: The psychology of optimal experience. Harper & Row.

Frankl, V. E. (2006). Man’s search for meaning. Beacon Press. (Original work published 1946)

Hayes, S. C., Strosahl, K. D., & Wilson, K. G. (2006). Acceptance and commitment therapy: An experiential approach to behavior change. Guilford Press.

Mikulincer, M., & Shaver, P. R. (2016). Attachment in adulthood: Structure, dynamics, and change (2nd ed.). Guilford Press.

Ryan, R. M., & Deci, E. L. (2000). Self-determination theory and the facilitation of intrinsic motivation, social development, and well-being. American Psychologist, 55(1), 68–78.

Schultz, W. (2016). Dopamine reward prediction-error signalling: A two-component response. Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 17(3), 183–195.

Seligman, M. E. P. (2011). Flourish: A visionary new understanding of happiness and well-being. Free Press.

Tennov, D. (1979). Love and limerence: The experience of being in love. Scarborough House.

Wood, W., & Rünger, D. (2016). Psychology of habit. Annual Review of Psychology, 67, 289–314.