Love Hurts?

I used to think that there were three states of engagement in that area of relationships we might generally refer to as ‘romantic.’ There was infatuation, being in love, and loving. After many years of personal experience and observation of others, I’ve reassessed that view. I no longer see any meaningful distinction between being infatuated with somebody and being ‘in love’ with them. So now I believe there are only two fundamental states: infatuation and love. And I don’t believe the two are even distantly related.

Infatuation is intense, and combines the sweet and the sour in varying proportion. It allows, and even encourages, such attributes as possessiveness and the need to control. They, in their turn, produce corollaries. Suspicion, for example, is the natural child of the union between possessiveness and control mania. It isn’t always that way, of course; it depends on the nature of those who are infatuated. But infatuation holds within itself the prospect of madness, and that madness can range from the sublime to the hideously destructive. Infatuation can, and often does, hurt.

Love is very different. It is essentially gentle, selfless, undemanding and unconditional. It isn’t as intense as infatuation, but it is very much deeper. It, too, holds within itself the prospect of madness, but it can only be a sublime madness. Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Unfortunately, there’s a complication.

The phrase ‘love hurts’ has entered the language as an accepted truism. But how can that be, since love in its purest form is selfless, undemanding and unconditional? What is there to hurt? Ego, that’s what. We should all realise, I think, that ego is the source of all human frailty. It’s our biggest weakness. It doesn’t disallow the capacity to love, but it certainly gets in the way. Let me give you an example.

John and Jane were partners. John didn’t know he loved Jane; he only knew that they were romantically involved. He’d never given much thought to what love really is. Until the day when Jane told him she’d had a physical relationship with another man. John was high on ego, and he was an intensely jealous person. Jealousy is, after all, the natural product of mixing ego with insecurity. The revelation sent John over the edge, and for about half an hour he was consumed with what can only be described as a form of insanity. An overpowering physical weakness came over him while his mind entered hideous and incomprehensible realms, the like of which he’d never known. His physical strength returned and he beat the crap out of the walls, the door and the furniture. And yet it never entered his head to attack Jane.

When it was all over, calmness returned and brought with it the light of understanding. He realised that if he had been merely infatuated with Jane, he would simply have kicked her out of his life. But he couldn’t do that; he didn't want to do that. He knew then that he loved her, and no amount of betrayal on her part or madness on his would change the fact. Ironically, it made the pain worse for a while because it meant he had no option but to live with it, but the big revelation was this. He understood that it wasn’t love that was causing him such anguish, but his ego.

This is a true story. I know John very well.

And so I offer the thought that love can’t hurt, but it can easily lead us into hurting ourselves if we’re that way inclined.

And I would also offer a word to young people. When somebody says ‘I’m in love with you,’ it isn't a bad idea to remain circumspect until you’re sure you know what they mean by it. They probably don’t know themselves, but it’s likely to be just infatuation. The term ‘in love’ is just a contrivance to give the more appropriate term added gravitas.