(un)conditional
love is a choice
It’s been a year since I’ve scrolled through a dating app. A lot has happened in this time: I met some of my closest friends, explored polyamory, and revived a relationship from the past. My conception of love has also evolved pretty substantially.
Many people think of love as an amalgamation of feelings. When you’re in love with someone, you feel a certain way. It’s the butterflies in your stomach, the percussive heartbeat in Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams.” But if love is such a powerful force in the world, how could it be a bundle of feelings? Feelings are fleeting. Feelings are mercurial.
Less exciting, but more agentive, I prefer to think of love as a choice. It’s the decision to give someone your care and attention and resources, a decision that must be made over and over and over again. This is why love can be unconditional. Even if your partner or child did something unconscionable, you might feel horrified, angry, disappointed—but you could still love them because you still choose to care for them, to give them your attention and resources.
Although I’m not dating, I’ve been living vicariously through Love is Blind. As much as we ridicule reality TV shows, they do teach us something about people. Watching all that drama unfold over a single season is like getting a masterclass in relationships without leaving your couch.
Many of the people who go on the show are chasing a dopamine rush. They’re looking to feel a certain way with someone. Paul in Season 4 said “no” to Micah at the altar because she didn’t show a “nurturing aspect” to her character, which made it hard for him to see her as a mother. It’s very telling that he couldn’t give examples of what he meant by “nurturing.” He said it’s “ineffable,” “something you just feel.” I suspect he was conflating an illusory feeling with love.
When asked why he never voiced his concerns to Micah, he said he didn’t think he had the right to make such a demand. What Paul is insisting on is authenticity. In his mind, sharing his doubts with Micah would influence her to modify her behavior for the wrong reasons. He wants her to act in a nurturing way because it’s an inherent part of who she is, rather than to perform this quality for his sake.
I understand where he’s coming from, but as someone who’s been blindsided before, my sympathies lie with her. His flawed assumption is that any kind of feedback from him could only result in inauthentic change. But organic growth doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s brought on by external feedback and internal reflection. What he said at the reunion was surprisingly astute:
I think it’s very possible that the reason why I couldn’t see that [nurturing aspect] in her was that I wasn’t inspiring that in her. You know, she didn’t feel comfortable with showing that side of her.
People adapt their behavior to the environment. If he had broached the subject with her, he would’ve shown her that family matters to him, that it’s a shared value. The irony: when you love someone, you nurture them with your feedback.
I told a friend recently that I’ve always imagined that having a child is to experience a love greater than yourself, a love so consuming, it’s both terrifying and exhilarating.
He responded with surprise: You mean you haven’t experienced unconditional love with your partner? He would do anything, he said, to help his wife succeed because he knows what’s good for her is good for him, and he’s certain she would do the same for him and love him no matter what happens.
This unsettled me. I was extremely happy in my relationship, but how much was I willing to sacrifice for my partner? And was I certain he would love me, no matter what I did? A younger me, less sure of herself, would’ve taken this provocation as a sign that my relationship lacked something. And for a moment, I wavered. But I think what it comes down to is this: everyone’s history is different, everyone’s trauma is different, everyone’s relationship is different.
As someone who’s been chewed up by heartbreak, I am very conscious about cultivating a life outside of my partner and protecting my needs. Some couples are much more entangled. They take an active role in helping each other reach their goals. That’s great, but it’s not the only way to care for someone. I know my partner loves me and has my back, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to help me become a better writer. He doesn’t need to. I get plenty of loving support from my writing group, my friends. Your partner doesn’t have to be your “everything” person. This is an assumption of monogamy that I find insidious.
There’s a lot I could mess up and still feel certain my partner would choose me. But like every human in the world, he’s fallible and has his own triggers. You don’t need to love someone unconditionally for your love to be good. You don’t need to be loved unconditionally in order to feel secure. A romantic partnership is a partnership. It’s based on shared values and agreements. If your partner breaks an agreement or does something that contradicts who you thought they were, it’s reasonable to reassess where you place your attention, care, and resources.
Because love is a choice, it can be unconditional—or not. Love is freely given, but no one is owed it.
🫶🏼 so well articulated