Darling,
We don’t always think of love when we think of addiction. But many of us have lived it.
Addiction isn’t just substances—it’s a spectrum. We can become addicted to anything that soothes, distracts, or promises relief. And for many of us, that “thing” has been another person.
An intimate relationship should give you clarity, warmth, and energy. Instead, when it turns addictive, it does the opposite. It clouds your mind. It drains your body. It shuts down your joy. You may find yourself arranging your life around scraps of attention, tolerating treatment that leaves you humiliated, lonely, or confused.
It’s not weakness that keeps us there—it’s the way our nervous system gets wired into a cycle of hope and deprivation. Love, when distorted by addiction, becomes less about intimacy and more about a quiet struggle for power: Who will call first? Who cares more? Who can leave without breaking?
And this is where intensity comes in. Addiction in love thrives on the highs and lows: the rush of attention followed by the crash of absence, the sweetness of reunion paired with the sting of rejection. It feels like passion, like a sign that it must be “real.” But intensity is not the same as intimacy. Intimacy is steady. It expands you. It allows you to breathe. Intensity contracts you, hijacks you, makes you small.
If you’ve ever been there, you know how hard it is to leave. The attachment is chemical. Your brain believes it needs them the way it needs air. The withdrawal feels unbearable. And yet—what your soul is craving is not another fix of chaos, but a steady flame of intimacy where power isn’t being bartered at every turn.
Take a breath here. You are not alone. And nothing about this struggle makes you unworthy of real love.
✨ This week’s practice:
Notice the energetic effect of the relationships in your life. Do they bring clarity, expansion, and a sense of safety? Or do they leave you heavy, restless, and diminished? Naming this truth is not the end of the story—but it is the first act of freedom.
🖊️ Journaling Prompts:
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Where have I confused intensity for intimacy—and what has it cost me?
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What does my body feel like after spending time with this person—clear and calm, or restless and small?
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If I released the struggle for power in love, what kind of connection could I imagine instead?
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What am I truly hungry for that this addictive relationship has never been able to give me?
So this is a love letter to the part of you who has mistaken the storm for the home, who has equated the rush of intensity with the depth of intimacy. She is learning to tell the difference. She is remembering what real love feels like in her body. And she is worthy of the kind of intimacy that doesn’t take her under, but brings her back to herself.
đź’ś Em
P.S. If you feel called to share, tell me what this opened up for you in seeing your relationships more clearly.
Image by Xandtor from Unsplash
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