“love, too, can cause us to feel vulnerable and helpless. maybe it is only in this state of mind–when we are unsure of what to do, when we no longer know which way to go–that we are motivated to understand ourselves better.”
this book feels like sitting quietly in the corner of a consulting room, listening to the truths people only admit when love has already failed them. stephen grosz writes with a rare gentleness, allowing love to appear not as romance, but as work: slow, repetitive, often misunderstood. this book isn’t interested in grand gestures; it’s interested in patterns, silences, and the strange ways we protect ourselves from needing others even when we so desperately want them.
i’m drawn to books like this because i like reading about things i don’t understand. love is one of them. psychoanalysis offers a language for something that otherwise feels abstract or unsafe to name. grosz doesn’t define love neatly, and that’s what makes the book resonate. instead, he circles it through absence, fear, dependency, and loss, showing how often love is confused with control, fantasy, or familiarity. reading this felt less like learning what love is and more like learning why it so often goes wrong, and why that doesn’t make us foolish, just human.