Constant Craving – Lesbians and Limerence
I have a busted side mirror on my car.
I damaged it a few years ago while backing out of a car park, completely lost in a daydream about a woman.
Even now, long after we last hung out, I think of her every time I notice the dent and crack in the plastic. We never dated, or even kissed, but there was a time when the mood of my entire day depended on our interactions. If she was slow to reply to a text, the day soured. If her eye contact lingered a little too long over coffee, the whole day felt blessed. One year she forgot my birthday, and I cried in the shower, wanting to cancel the celebration altogether.
I was probably replaying one of our late‑night conversations when the crunch of my car snapped me back to reality. On the surface it sounds like a crush, but eventually it became overwhelming and all‑consuming - and, if I’m honest, painfully one‑sided. Only in hindsight can I identify that what I was really experiencing that summer was limerence. Limerence is an intense, involuntary romantic obsession. Dorothy Tennov coined the term in 1979. It’s not a formal diagnosis - you won’t find it in the DSM‑5 - and I’m certainly no expert. Just a woman approaching fifty who has spent much of her life single, overthinking the world, and trying to understand herself.
What is limerence?
If a crush is the warm, cozy feeling of sitting around a campfire wondering about potential with someone over a glass of wine, then limerence is the raging bushfire that engulfs your house and yard while you stand frozen, unable to stop it. To me, it’s not pleasant. I feel drugged, out of control. Limerence doesn’t always feel sexual - at its core, it’s about longing. It’s about wanting the other person to reciprocate, to choose us, to match our intensity. It thrives on uncertainty.
It can be hard to tell the difference between sapphic crushing, love, and limerence. For me, the difference lies in how we view the other person - in the research, they’re often called the limerent object. We start seeing the person as a placeholder for our wishes and dreams. We may not know them well at all, but our minds rush to fill in the gaps with projections: what their personality might be, what they’re thinking, how they might act - and how much they might want us. Limerence can be, in my experience, a projection of your own longing and sense of worthiness onto another person.
In a crush, or in the early stages of dating, we slowly discover the reality of the person. The butterflies settle. The intensity may fade into something deeper - or disappear entirely when we realise we’re not compatible.
A crush might not be mutual, but it shouldn’t interfere with your ability to live your life, do your job, see your friends, or accept dates. Limerence, however, can make dating feel impossible because your entire soul is focused on one person instead.
“Limerence is the raging bushfire that engulfs your house and yard while you stand frozen, unable to stop it”
A moment of clarity
Once, I was out shopping with a friend; I could feel myself slipping into limerence toward her. She was trying on outfits and mentioned she wasn’t comfortable wearing anything that wasn’t dark or plain. I had never noticed. To me, she was always sparkles and rainbows. I had projected so much colour and joy onto her - and onto our time together - that I’d completely overlooked who she actually was. She became a mirror, reflecting my own glitter and brightness at me. I was the colour.
It’s a big step in self‑growth to recognise that you can see lovely things in yourself without needing them reflected through someone else. And once you become aware of it, it’s unfair to use people that way.
Why it may be harder to recognise in our community
In lesbian culture we have the stereotype of the U‑Haul relationship - moving in quickly. We also have patterns of long‑distance yearning, flying across the world to meet someone from an app, or forming intense online connections while plotting ways to be together. Our community often reassures each other that these behaviours are normal. And because queer culture romanticises fast‑moving relationships and deep passion, it can be hard to recognise limerence.
This is shifting, especially with so much of our lives captured on social media. Watching a TikTok of a woman flying across the world to meet someone for the first time is no longer always “cute” - sometimes it’s a little alarming. Women now often pour into the comments advising caution.
“She became a mirror, reflecting my own glitter and brightness back at me. I was the colour.”
Transference
One way to identify whether you’re prone to limerence is to examine your history of “crushes” and assess their intensity. If you’ve felt the same overwhelming pull multiple times with different people, you may be transferring from one limerent object to another.
For me, the cycle repeats every three to five years. Often it happens when the rest of my life feels directionless, or when my mental health dips toward depression or anxiety. Limerence comes with a burst of feel‑good hormones and gives us something external to fixate on - a powerful force when your own life isn’t feeling great.
What increases the chances of becoming limerent?
Limerence may be stronger in neurodivergent individuals. Studies show a high number of neurodivergent people also identify as LGBTQ+, so it makes sense that sapphic limerence isn’t unusual. Some researchers and therapists suggest links between limerence, attachment issues, and past trauma.
How can you resolve the feelings?
Confess
You can tell the person how you’re feeling (perhaps leaving out the part where you deep‑dived their friends, family, and ex‑lovers). If it’s reciprocated, you may move toward real romantic love. If it’s not, the uncertainty may end - which can stop the limerence. The danger is mixed signals. A lukewarm response can worsen limerence.
No contact
Wipe them from your life - and more importantly, wipe yourself from theirs. Ghost, unfollow, mute, avoid. It’s dramatic, but sometimes necessary. The danger is that the obsession can reignite easily - a song, a café, a memory. And if there was a genuine friendship, it may hurt them. This works best if you catch it early.
The only way out is through
Because limerence thrives on fantasy, you can try leaning into reality. Spend time with them. Notice their quirks, flaws, and human traits. Don’t confess. Don’t feed the fantasy. See the ways you’d be incompatible if you dated, moved in, or ran away to start a commune together. She is mortal, not a goddess - and that’s okay. With time, you may build a sweet, genuine friendship. It’s slower, but often more satisfying than disappearing.
The most important thing
Don’t be ashamed to seek professional help. It’s easy to drag friends into the fantasy and have them dissect texts and glances, but that can feed the obsession. If you feel like you’re spiralling, a professional can help unpack the situation.
There’s a subreddit on limerence that some find helpful, and the website Living With Limerence is a good starting point.
If I could share one key piece of personal experience, it’s this: compassion for yourself is essential. It’s okay to dream of connection, to want relationships, love, or sex. To desire and be desired is at the heart of so much human poetry and prose. We just need to make sure we don’t lose touch with reality.
It’s also important to direct some of that obsession toward ourselves. As Scout Willis sings in her latest song Honey I: “I don’t have to, I don’t have to love you, To love me.”
Further reading
Dorothy Tennov – Love and Limerence: The Experience of Being in Love (1979)
Tom Bellamy – Smitten: Romantic Obsession, The Neuroscience of Limerence, and How to Make Love Last
Dr L – Living with Limerence and livingwithlimerence.com
