In today’s world, love has become a convenient definition. Many people define love based on what they receive, how intensely they are desired, or how indispensable they feel in someone else’s life. Love is often measured by dependency rather than depth.
The fundamental problem is this: people define love according to their emotional season. When someone is obsessed with them, cannot function without them, becomes vulnerable before them, or revolves their entire life around them, they quickly conclude, “This is the love of my life.”
In our society, this has become the standard measurement of love. But this type of love is dangerously selfish. It enjoys the vulnerability of the other person. It feeds on being needed. It secretly celebrates being someone else’s emotional oxygen.
But is that really love?
Let me ask you something.
Would you still love someone if circumstances forced them to leave you and find happiness elsewhere?
Would you still love them if they became emotionally attached to someone else?
Would you still love them if you discovered that you were no longer the source of their joy?
If you answer honestly, you may realize that what many people call love is actually the pleasure of being central in someone else’s life. They expect the other person to be destabilized in their absence. They want to feel irreplaceable. They want to feel like the missing piece.
But genuine love does not demand emotional collapse as proof of loyalty.
So what does pure love look like?
Pure love is not fighting to possess someone at all costs. Genuine love is having the courage to let someone go for the sake of their happiness even when that happiness does not include you.
This idea is deeply rooted in the Bible. The love of God is not only seen in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross. It is also revealed in something quieter yet profound: freedom. God allows human beings the freedom to reject Him. That freedom is love. Love that does not imprison. Love that does not manipulate. Love that does not force.
Some people live happily without God and that very possibility is proof of freedom.
Let me illustrate this with a story.
Shanice, a 27-year-old devoted church girl, met Dalton, a 30-year-old man with a gentle smile and steady eyes, in a church in Los Angeles. Dalton was caring, thoughtful, and quietly romantic. The kind of man whose presence felt safe.
Friendship grew between them like a calm sunrise slowly, warmly, without pressure.
But somewhere along the way, Shanice’s heart caught fire.
She began to see him differently. His laughter lingered longer in her ears. His absence felt heavier than it should. After months of silent struggle, she gathered her courage and confessed her feelings.
Dalton listened kindly. His voice was soft when he spoke, but firm. He did not share the same feelings.
He friendzoned her.
Shanice accepted it with dignity, but acceptance does not extinguish emotion. Her love for him burned quietly, like a candle that refused to go out. She prayed intensely, asking God to ignite love in Dalton’s heart.
But heaven was silent.
One evening, something shifted inside her. Her prayers changed.
“Dear God,” she whispered, “You have never given up on me. I thank You for Dalton’s life. I have loved him for years, but it has never worked. I believe there is a reason. Father, I care deeply about his happiness. If he cannot be my husband, then please let him find someone who will cherish him the way I would even if it is not me.”
That was the first time she tasted genuine love.
A week later, she had a dream.
In the dream, she saw Dalton smiling but he was not alone. He was holding another woman’s hand. They walked together under golden evening lights. They prayed side by side. They laughed freely. Their happiness was effortless, radiant, peaceful.
The kind of love anyone would wish for.
In the dream, Shanice watched from a distance. Her heart cracked open. Tears streamed down her face. When she woke up, her pillow was wet. She had been crying in real life.
And that is when she discovered something painful: she could pray for his happiness, but she could not bear to see it without her.
The next day she changed her prayer.
“Lord, that was too painful. I still want it to work between us. Nothing is impossible for You.”
Shanice had stepped toward pure love but she realized how difficult it is to truly reach it.
Returning to our central question: we often ignore people who love us in a healthy way. If someone loves us yet maintains balance, pursues their purpose, and does not become obsessed, we lose interest. We label them as “not passionate enough.”
Why?
Because we are using the wrong standard to measure the right people.
Why should you want someone to be obsessed with you? Do you want them to lose focus on their destiny for you? Would you rather they miss life-changing opportunities just to stay close to you?
When love becomes possession, you cannot objectively say:
“Close your eyes and go for it. This is good for you.”
Especially if it means they will be far from you.
In the end, you may discover a hard truth: you do not love them. You love being loved by them.
You love the validation.
You love the attention.
You love the emotional security.
It becomes about you your ego, your needs, your protection.
And that is not love.
That is Narcissism.
