I was reluctant to read this book. After skimming through the pages, I concluded that Loves Me Not is a garden-variety self-help book that pushes the “love thyself” theory. Nothing spectacular, nothing thrilling, nothing new. I was wrong. Although the premise and message of the book may not be cutting-edge, O’Shea’s candor and vulnerability are refreshing. She unabashedly uses her romantic triumphs and failures as a springboard for, what I feel, is her primary message: No matter how devastated love has left you, you are not alone.
O’Shea admits that she is still a work in progress. But she doesn’t dismiss the process through which she has been progressing her entire life. At times, her journey evoked tears of rage and tears of joy, yet there has always been a lesson to be learned, a token of wisdom to be cherished. “In my romantic life I’ve made some bad decisions and had some bad luck. Then again, maybe it’s good luck. When all is said and done, maybe it’ll be the best luck one girl can have.” What I appreciate most about her narrative, is that she doesn’t blame anyone for her bleak moments, rather, she takes full responsibility for the bad luck and embraces it as openly as she does the good luck.
She makes no qualms about having seen a therapist after a relationship ended, and she found herself deeply attached to the man, to the point where she felt obsessed with her fantasy of him. “There was a constant ache in my body, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything. He found his way into every one of my thoughts.” Her therapist suggested an antidepressant — Lexapro — to help boost O’Shea’s serotonin. O’Shea was open to the help, took the pill for some time, and felt a renewed sense of peace and clarity. While seeing her therapist, she also discovered a bonafide name for her obsession and attachment — Limerence, “an involuntary state of mind which results from a romantic attraction to another person combined with an overwhelming obsessive need to have one’s feelings reciprocated.” A year later she published an article in Marie Claire about her struggle with limerence, making herself vulnerable to the ridicule of her friends. She took the risk, and her friends supported her.
That’s how felt reading Loves Me Not — like a friend sharing a cup of tea with O’Shea at her kitchen table. The insights of our conversation washed over me in waves of reassurance and confidence interspersed with moments of profound awakening and bliss. It’s good to know that I’m never alone if he loves me not.