The Erotic View on Love Bombing

Somewhere along the way, we decided that love—big, overwhelming, unfiltered love—was dangerous. We gave it a name that made it pathological: love bombing. We took the raw, unguarded expression of affection and turned it into a diagnosis, a red flag, a warning.

We are taught to fear the wild edges of passion, to quarantine emotions that might swell beyond the small vessels of our conditioned selves. But perhaps it is our own limited capacity that betrays us, not the truth of the feeling itself. Perhaps what unnerves us about the force of love is not that it is inherently deceptive but that it demands more of us than we are prepared to give. It calls for an expansion, an ability to meet the force of something immense without shrinking from it.

We should always ask: Who does it serve to pathologize intensity? Why are we so quick to diagnose excess rather than investigate what internal capacities we would need to cultivate in order to receive it? What resilience? What ability to hold and metabolize deep feeling? What flexibility of mind to sit with something that arrives in a wave and then shifts—without grasping, without bracing, without recoiling? If we could meet the intensity of love with equal magnitude of presence, we might not need to flatten it into a pathology at all.

When another offers love with such abandon—a fierce, all-consuming devotion that cascades over our defenses—it forces us to reckon with the limits of our emotional territory. 

Can we contain this inquiry fully inside of our own Erotic growth?

There is no amount of managing another that will develop that which you could possess. 

And yet, we have been conditioned to look constantly outside. To regard excess as dangerous,  to see the uncontainable as pathological. 

And in doing so, we have lost sight of the exquisite nakedness of entering the unknown.