It is believed that we learn to love almost as soon—or as late—as we learn to live. Both can be disastrous. A lot of people have a lot to say about love, and much like them, so do I—a humble, meager therapist with three years of experience in the field, but 24 years of experience in love.
The first time I fell in love was with someone I did not know, as many of us do. I saw them, I liked them, I talked to them, and then I fell. And I scraped my knee real bad, because I did not know what I was doing. All I knew was this wholesome feeling of awe and genuine warmth inside me, a feeling so all-consuming that it temporarily blinded me to anything that wasn't a green flag. However, it was not their first time in this rodeo.
So, what actually is love?
Neuropsychology would tell us that romantic love involves several systems in the brain, including those associated with reward, motivation, attachment and bonding. The ventral tegmental area, for example, is involved in the reward and motivation systems that become highly active during romantic attraction. Dopamine plays a role in that experience of wanting, anticipation and reward. So yes, love involves chemistry. But, is that it?
Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love proposes three components: intimacy, passion and commitment. Different combinations of these components can create different experiences of love. Robert Sternberg gives us a useful framework for understanding why attraction, emotional closeness and long-term commitment aren't necessarily the same thing. John Alan Lee, meanwhile, described different styles of loving through his theory of love styles—ways in which people may approach romantic relationships, attraction and connection.
How we Learn to Love
For all we have to say about love, we have a fair amount to say about how we love. And perhaps even more importantly, what teaches us how to love. Our parents have arguments, and those arguments and the ways of resolution teach us what love is. Our friends work in group projects, and the way they respond to feedback teaches us what love is. We listen to religious leaders talk about marriage and commitment, and we watch sitcoms about dating, sex, and gender, and of course, heartbreak; and we learn about love. There isn't a formal 'Love 101' course - the learning of loving happens in conversations, in moments of silence, and in moments of conflict. Love is constructed by our experiences.
What we Bring into Relationships
The ways we experience closeness, separation, comfort, conflict and repair can influence what we expect from relationships later in life. But our histories are not our destiny; they're just a part of our story. Our wounds are not the only things we bring into relationships - we bring our whole selves. We bring our fears, our insecurities, our strengths, and our experiences, and we're not the only ones in these relationships bringing these parts of ourselves.
One of my favourite questions to ask in therapy is 'What is love supposed to feel like?' The answers to this question can open doors we have been avoiding, and it can lead us down paths we may have never thought we would come across. If someone grew up associating love with unpredictability, calmness might initially feel boring. If someone grew up associating love with having to earn affection, consistent affection might feel unfamiliar. If someone learned that conflict means abandonment, even a normal disagreement might feel catastrophic. If someone learned that independence is the safest way to exist, intimacy might feel suffocating. Human relationships are complicated, and psychology rarely gives us such neat answers. But it does invite us to become curious.
Learning to Love and Ourselves
Learning to love also means learning ourselves. Perhaps the goal isn't to become someone who loves perfectly. I don't think such a person exists. Perhaps loving someone involves accepting the love they may have to give us - which includes believing we are worthy of that love.
Maybe love is something we keep learning. We never really graduate. Maybe that is what healthy love asks of us—not perfection, but curiosity. We may not get to choose the first lessons we received about love, but we can surely examine them as adults. We get to keep what feels true. We get to question what hurts. We get to unlearn what no longer serves us. And, sometimes, we get to sit across from another person and say: "This is what I thought love was. What do you think it could be?"
And maybe that's where loving someone really begins.