And why we fall for it

I discovered boys at a young age. A generous portion of my teen years were spent choosing a different “crush” in each class — an unusually fun form of academic entertainment.

Each boy had a story: the tough guy who was misunderstood, the quiet one who spent his afternoons sketching seagulls at the beach, the funny boy who used humor to deflect pain that I daydreamed about healing.

And yet…

The narratives of each boy were more fictional than a Harry Potter series. 

They were surface tales that made me feel good to weave in my imagination.

Illusory Dating

But then, dating started. 

“He likes you.”

The three coveted words my riddled-with-hormones brain wanted to hear. It didn’t matter who the he was. What mattered: someone liked me.

My teens and 20’s were greatly spent looking externally for a sense of self worth.

The primary focus: what did they think of me?

It was secondary to consider how I felt about them. My value was tied to their perception of me.

When we look for merit or worth in another’s eyes, we give away our power.

When we hand over the invisible yardstick of worth to another, we lose ourselves.

There is often an illusion to dating — particularly in our youth: we believe the person we are attracted to is the cutest, sweetest, funniest or any other “est” qualities we find ourselves thinking. But who “they” are is just an illusion of what we want them to be.

One of the many boys I had a crush on was Zack — a sarcastic know-it-all, a “bad boy” with whom I shared an AP History class. Almost every day, Zack would come up to me, give me a playful smile that reached his blue eyes and say, “Can I have a quarter?”

Sometimes, I’d give him one; sometimes, I didn’t. The quarter was irrelevant in my 15-year-old-hormone-rattled brain. 

What mattered: Zach’s attention toward me — including those playful blue eyes. 

My focus was so consumed on his attention towards me — like a beggar starving for crumbs — that my heart began thumping like mad in my chest every time I saw his long legs make their approach to my desk.

And if he winked at me? Utter elation.

As a grown woman now, hindsight renders me shaking my head, a humorously sad smile on my lips.

Zack was a goofy kid with a lot of chutzpah. Maybe he thought I was cute; maybe he just needed money. He smelled like he hadn’t gotten the memo on deodorant — all sweaty and stinky from a mix of hormones and PE. He had as much experience at flirting as a fish living out of water. 

Dating in youth (crushes included) often includes two potential illusions:

1. Creating a story of who someone else is.

and

2. Creating a story of who we are (in an attempt to please the other)

It’s no wonder so many of us in our early dalliances found heartache: we were dating an illusion, experiencing relationships based on false or incomplete narratives.

Illusory Love

Real love — that intangible experience humans crave and is written about in everything from songs to scripts, arrives like a crockpot meal: in time.

Intimacy requires trust — something acquired over time. But this is not just intimacy with another; at some point, love means intimacy with ourselves.

Illusory love is the couple that rationalizes they are “good” when the frowns in their faces speak a different story. It is the white picket fence of relationships that looks great on the outside, but you can’t help but notice the paint chipping when you step closer.

When we eclipse who we are to please another, it doesn’t matter how many years we’ve shared with a partner. Resentment and disappointment fill the cracks of the unstable foundation. 

An illusory love is the emotional equivalent of building a house on quicksand — it won’t last.

There’s a powerful quote from author Alice Hoffman that illuminates the why behind our seemingly irrational behavior to chose or remain in an unhealthy romantic relationship:

“Is it the man you want, or the feeling inside you when someone cares?”

When we remember the why behind our behaviors — particularly with love — we can better discern if we are with someone out of love or its illusion.

The late Maya Angelou once said:

“When a child walks in the room…do your eyes light up? That’s what they’re looking for.”

We are children in grown up bodies, hungry to matter, starving for connection. 

But the greatest connection, the most important relationship will ever have is the one with ourselves.

When we nourish ourselves, when we remember that our self worth is sourced from within, we are less likely to fall prey to an illusory love.

 The grounded feeling of knowing you matter prevents starvation and taking emotional crumbs from someone who is not in your best interest.