the idea of you
Today, I’ve realised I’m scared of falling in love.
I’m scared of starting the process all over again, just for it to not work out. Again.
Why?
Sometimes I sit and think about the last person I fell in love with. It’s interesting, because when I first started writing this series, I remember telling myself that I wasn’t actually in love with him—I was just in love with the idea of him. That was the whole premise of this exploration, after all. I was insistent on making “us” work because of the fantasy I’d built. But sitting here writing this today, I have to admit I was wrong.
I was in love with him.
Why else would I have stayed that long? Why else did I wait around for him to become the best version of himself—the version I always knew he could be?
My next persona is my dear friend Morenike, whom I’d like to call The Honeymooner. She reminded me of something I must have forgotten along the way.
“Love feels like everything bundled up in one person,” Morenike told me. “Love feels like kindness, compromise, intimacy, little fights, and big arguments. It feels like compassion. And—some people might not like this one—but UNDERSTANDING.”
She was right about that last part. But honestly? I’ve grown to absolutely hate the word understanding when it comes to relationships, or whatever “ship” you’ve found yourself in. Somewhere along the line, it became almost derogatory. It started to sound synonymous with foolish. Like: here goes the girl who tolerates the bare minimum, makes excuses for bad behavior, and always seems to forgive the unforgivable. Who actually wants to be that person?
Maybe it’s the social media effect, but the PR for being an “understanding partner” has completely gone down the drain. And I hated the realization that that’s exactly who I was for him.
It makes me think of Aniya and KC from this season of Love Island USA. Aniya spent so much time trying to be the “understanding” partner. She was clinging to the idea of their “Day One” connection, ignoring her own gut instincts, and constantly making excuses for KC while he emotionally withdrew. She was exhausting herself trying to make the situation fit into a picture-perfect romance.
When you are in love with an idea, you use “understanding” as a shield to avoid facing the truth. You are constantly trying to patch up the holes where the real person is failing to match your blueprint. It is exhausting because you are defending a fantasy.
Maybe that’s why I tried to leave so many times. Maybe deep down, from the very first moment my perfect picture was ruined, I knew I should go find that picture elsewhere. But this makes me think of Trinity and Bryce also from Love Island USA. After their initial twenty-four hours together, they both decided to explore other options because, on paper, they weren’t each other’s usual “type.”
Yet, they found their way back to each other and ended up falling in love anyway.
This kinda proves you can accept that someone isn’t your “ideal” person on paper and still build a beautiful, genuine love. But that requires a conscious choice, doesn’t it?
“Whereas, you can fall in love with a person who is not your ideal person on paper, and it can just be the best decision you ever make,” Morenike said.
It might as well have been Trinity or Bryce saying it.
I think the difference lies in the unexpectedness of the fall. When you’re in love with an idea, the intensity is there from the very get-go. On the first date, you’ve already mapped out the next ten years. It feels incredibly loud, but it is entirely manufactured by your own imagination.
But when you’re actually falling for a person… it’s different.
It’s a cliché for a reason: you don’t actually feel yourself falling. You just notice that you think about them a little more than anyone else. You notice a certain peace when you’re around them. But you don’t label it. You still convince yourself that you’re entirely in control.
I asked Morenike how she knew she was falling this time, and why this honeymoon phase felt so grounded compared to the chaotic “understanding” of the past.
“I didn’t even think I was going to fall in love,” she admitted. “But this particular love has made me view myself differently. In the past, I think I was trying to force pieces to fit. This love feels refreshing because it feels mature. I’m older now, I’m more secure in who I am, so I handle things differently. I’m not overlooking red flags in the name of ‘understanding’—I’m just choosing to love a real, complex person because the foundation is actually safe.”
Hearing The Honeymooner talk threw me back to the initial stages of loving someone, and how beautifully genuine it is when it’s a real person you’ve chosen—not a script. It was an interesting realization because, while “refreshing” isn’t the word I’d use to describe my last love, it was undeniably stimulating. I felt its presence deeply.
To be fair, I still do.
I’ve come to feel that when it’s real love, even when time passes and you move on, the love doesn’t just vanish—it transforms into something new and quiet. A quiet gratitude for what was, rather than a desperate grip on what could have been. But when it’s just an idea, it doesn’t transform; it just fixates itself onto someone else.
As Morenike put it:
“I’m definitely seeing them exactly as they are, which is the best way to love. It’s about wanting to embrace them for who they are, and knowing I can handle whatever comes with that.”
It made me realise that truly loving a person is a challenge—but a beautiful one. Loving an idea isn’t challenging because you’re just interacting with a painting you already painted. All you have to do is admire it. But real people come with messy, unpredictable complexities. Loving them as they are? That’s where the adventure actually begins.
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