Love Is a Capacity, Not Only a Feeling

What Eighteen Years of Clinical Work Have Taught Me About How the Capacity for Love Is Built, Blocked, and Restored

A substantial revision of a 2009 post on love. The original was a young writer’s reflection. This version draws on what clinical work has taught me about why the capacity for love develops easily for some and is significantly compromised for others, and what kind of work restores it.

Most writing on love treats it as a feeling. The intoxicating rush of new attraction. The steady warmth of long partnership. The fierce protectiveness toward a child. The bond with a friend who has known you through years. The reverence for whatever you understand as larger than yourself. All of these are real. All of them are part of what we mean by love.

What is less often written about is that love is also a capacity. The feelings we call love require a particular kind of internal architecture to be felt, received, and given fully. The architecture develops, or fails to develop, based on the conditions a person has lived through. Some people arrive in adulthood with the capacity for love largely intact. They can feel love when it arises in them, receive it when it is offered, give it without the felt sense that doing so will cost them something dangerous. Others arrive in adulthood with the capacity significantly compromised. They may experience strong feelings that resemble love — attraction, longing, attachment, even devotion — without being able to fully receive love when it is offered or give it without protection.

This article is for the second group, and for the clinicians and partners who love them. The capacity for love is not a fixed trait. It can be rebuilt, slowly, in adulthood, when it has been compromised by early conditions. The work is real. It is also possible. What follows is what I have come to understand about why the capacity for love is compromised in some people, what blocks it specifically, and what kind of work restores it.

What love actually requires of the nervous system

Before discussing what blocks the capacity for love, it helps to name what love asks of the body. This is more than feelings. It is the specific somatic conditions that allow love to occur.

Love requires the capacity to remain present in your own body during emotional contact with another person. When someone you love looks at you with care, your nervous system must be able to receive that look without flinching, dissociating, or deflecting. The eyes meeting the eyes. The face responding to the face. These small relational moments are not decorative. They are the substance of how love is communicated between bodies.

Love requires the capacity to feel emotion long enough for the emotion to be received and integrated. The warmth that arises when someone you love walks into the room must be allowed to be felt. If the system reflexively dampens warmth before it can fully register, love does not land. The feelings may exist briefly. They do not accumulate into the felt sense of being in love with someone.

Love requires the capacity to remain in connection during difficulty. When the other person is distressed, your nervous system must be able to stay near them rather than fleeing into protective distance. When you yourself are distressed, you must be able to reach for the other rather than withdrawing into self-sufficiency. The capacity to remain in relationship during the hard moments is what distinguishes love from preference. Preference is easy when conditions are good. Love is the willingness to stay in connection when conditions are difficult.

Love requires the capacity to receive what is offered. The compliment that lands rather than being deflected. The hug that lasts rather than being cut short. The act of care that is allowed to register rather than being countered with reciprocity. Many adults who have spent their lives giving but not receiving find that the capacity to receive is the part that needs the most work. The giving is familiar. The receiving feels foreign or even dangerous.

Love requires the capacity to give without expectation of immediate return. Not in some saintly self-sacrificing way. In the simple sense that love offered with the felt requirement of being returned in kind is something other than love. The system that has learned to track every act of care to make sure it is reciprocated cannot fully love. It is in a state of chronic accounting that love cannot survive.

What blocks the capacity

Several patterns can produce significant compromise in the capacity for love. The patterns often overlap. People rarely show only one. Recognizing the patterns is part of how the work begins.

Insecure attachment from childhood. The infant who was reliably met learns that reaching produces reception, that the other is available, that connection is safe. This learning becomes the somatic foundation for adult love. The infant who was not reliably met learns something different. The system that learned, in childhood, that reaching produces inconsistent or harmful response carries that learning into adulthood. The capacity for adult love is shaped by what the original attachment relationships taught the body to expect.

Trauma that has not been processed. Sexual abuse, physical abuse, severe neglect, witnessing of violence, sustained emotional cruelty, and other traumatic experiences produce specific compromises to the capacity for love. The body that has been hurt by intimacy learns to defend against intimacy. The capacity for love can remain, but it operates under the constant supervision of a protective system that interrupts love before it can fully arrive. EMDR, somatic experiencing, internal family systems, and other trauma-focused approaches address this directly when the underlying material can be processed.

Defenses against affect. Some people develop, in childhood, a phobic relationship to feeling itself. The protective system intervenes preemptively to prevent any emotion from becoming fully felt. The dissociation, intellectualization, performing, or somatization that results blocks not only difficult feelings but also love. You cannot fully feel love if your system reflexively dampens feeling itself. The work of building affect tolerance, which I have written about elsewhere, is a precondition for the capacity for love to develop.

The parentified child or deity child pattern. The child who was assigned, explicitly or implicitly, the role of caretaker for a parent who could not be the caretaker often grows into an adult who cannot fully receive love. The internal architecture is organized around giving. Receiving has not been allowed to develop. The capacity to be loved, in this pattern, is compromised even when the capacity to love others may be intact. The work involves the slow restoration of the capacity to receive.

The internalized critic that interrupts love. Many adults carry an internal voice that responds to moments of being loved with shame, doubt, or the conviction that the love will be withdrawn if the loved person learns the truth about them. The voice was usually learned from a parent or caregiver who treated love as conditional, who criticized rather than supported, who communicated that the child was lovable only when performing acceptably. The adult version of this voice interrupts love in real time, often before the love can be felt. Working with this voice — naming it, understanding what it is protecting, eventually softening its automatic activation — is part of the work of restoring the capacity for love.

Performing identity. The adult who has lived in conditions that required constant performance — professional contexts where evaluation is continuous, families where being lovable required being impressive, relationships where love was conditional on output — often loses access to the part of themselves that could be loved without performing. Love that requires the beloved to keep producing in order to deserve being loved is not quite love. The performing identity has to learn to relax for love to be fully received.

What restores the capacity

The capacity for love can be rebuilt in adulthood. The work is slow. It is also genuinely possible. Several elements support the work.

Therapeutic work that is itself loving. The therapeutic relationship, when it works, is one of the most reliable conditions under which the capacity for love can be rebuilt. The therapist’s consistent presence, the reliability of being received without judgment, the willingness to stay in connection through difficulty, the genuine care that is professional and bounded but real — these provide the corrective experience that the original conditions did not. Many of the most meaningful changes in my clinical practice over the years have happened not because of any specific technique but because the client has experienced, over time, the felt sense of being loved by a therapist whose care for them was genuine and reliable. The therapeutic relationship becomes the laboratory in which the nervous system learns that love is possible.

Somatic work that builds the underlying capacity. Hand on heart practice. The slow rebuilding of interoception. The deliberate practice of remaining present in the body during emotional contact. The capacity to feel without dissociating, to receive without deflecting, to give without immediately needing return — all of these are developable through somatic practice. The body learns what it was not allowed to learn in childhood, in adulthood, with patience.

Trauma processing where unprocessed material is blocking the capacity. When specific traumatic experiences are interrupting current relationship, processing the underlying material through EMDR or other trauma-focused approaches often produces noticeable shifts in the capacity for love. The work is not about love directly. It is about clearing the protective system’s continuing alarm response to material that has not yet been integrated. As the alarm quiets, love becomes more available.

Parts work that addresses the internal architecture. The critic that interrupts love. The protector that defends against intimacy. The caretaker who cannot stop giving. The deity child who cannot receive. Each of these parts has its own history and its own protective function. Recognizing them, naming them, developing relationship with them rather than trying to eliminate them, allows the system as a whole to soften. The parts that have been blocking love do not have to be destroyed. They have to be heard, honored for what they have been protecting against, and slowly released from the protective duty they no longer need to perform.

Corrective relationships in adulthood. The friend who consistently shows up. The therapist whose care is reliable. The partner who remains present through difficulty. The community that welcomes you without conditions. Each of these relationships is a small repetition of being received. The repetitions accumulate. Over months and years of being consistently met, the system updates. The body that learned not to expect love begins to expect it. The capacity grows.

Time. The work of restoring the capacity for love is not quick. The protective system that has been running for decades does not soften in weeks. The body that learned, early, to defend against love does not relearn in months. The capacity grows over years of sustained work. Patience with the timeline is part of the practice. The work is real. The capacity is genuinely developable. And it requires the kind of patience that the protective system itself often makes difficult.

What love looks like when the capacity is functioning

People who have built or rebuilt the capacity for love describe specific qualities to their experience of it.

Love arrives without effort. The warmth toward the beloved is just there. It does not have to be summoned or produced. It is the steady underlying quality of the relationship rather than an intermittent state that has to be regenerated.

Giving does not deplete. When you do something for someone you love from a place of full capacity, you often notice that you feel more connected and alive afterward rather than less. This is the signature of love operating from genuine fullness rather than from depleted reserves.

Receiving is possible. You can be cared for without immediately reciprocating. You can hold a compliment without deflecting. You can be the recipient of attention without managing it. The body has learned that receiving is allowed.

Difficulty does not collapse the connection. When you and your beloved are in disagreement or difficulty, the connection remains underneath the conflict. You can fight and stay in relationship. You can disappoint each other and still know that the relationship holds. The capacity to repair rather than to flee or destroy is built in.

Presence is available. You can be with the person you love without performing, without managing your appearance, without monitoring how you are being received. The capacity to simply be there with them, in your body, fully present, is one of the gifts that comes from doing this work.

Love feels like coming home. This is the phrase that many of my clients have used over the years, after years of work, when they finally arrive at the felt experience of being able to receive and give love from a capacity that is genuinely present. The home is in the body. The home is in the relationship. The home is in the capacity itself, which once felt foreign and now feels native.

A closing thought

If you have read this far and recognized yourself as someone whose capacity for love has been compromised by the conditions of your earlier life, the work is real and worth doing. You are not broken. You were not made in conditions that allowed the capacity to develop naturally. You have lived a life in which love has been complicated, difficult to receive, difficult to give, or different in some way from what you have read in the books and seen in the films.

The capacity can be rebuilt. Not perfectly, not all at once, not in a way that erases the original conditions. In a way that allows you to experience, over time, what love can be when the architecture is functioning. The patience the work requires is real. The reward is also real. And the experience of being able to fully love and be fully loved, in adulthood, after the work has done its slow rebuilding, is one of the genuinely sacred experiences available to a human being who has done the work to deserve it. You deserve it. You always did.

Love is not only a feeling. It is a capacity. And the capacity is yours to build.

Further reading: Sue Johnson, Hold Me Tight. Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score. Richard Schwartz, No Bad Parts. Stan Tatkin, Wired for Love. For clinical work in California or Florida that addresses the capacity for love specifically, visit thecourageousself.com.

April Wright, MA, LMFT is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in California and Florida specializing in EMDR, sex therapy, and couples counseling. She trained in sex and couples therapy at AACAST at UCLA. She blogs about attachment, healing, and the courageous arts of becoming oneself at courageous-arts.com and sees clients at thecourageousself.com.

Another Death in the Family

candleNovember 4, 2013

“Death ends a life…but it does not end a relationship, which struggles on in the survivors mind…toward some final resolution, which it never finds.” — Robert Anderson

My aunt passed away today.  The event hit my body once again like a freight train.  My body feels beaten, bruised, and wounded with pain from the loss.

I am sad for her departure but believe she is in peace.  When we last spoke, she had such a positive attitude, spirit, and serenity in believing that she would be met with her relatives, friends, and loved ones in the next place.  It brought her comfort in the transition.  Knowing this helps ease my grief as well.  I am able to rest assure she is okay wherever she may be.  I believe this with my heart even though my head has no idea.  Thus I rather believe and stay true to my heart.

My aunt’s death rekindled old memories.  We shared many ups and downs through the ages.  I disagreed with a lot of her behavior and stayed my distance for long bouts of time.  With her passing, I immediately accepted all of who she is and was.   It was hard while she was living but somehow after she is gone, it doesn’t matter so much.  I love her for her.  Why does it take death to finally have peace and acceptance?  Does it really have too?

She did the best she could.  She lived a fruitful life especially the last six years.  She moved to Missouri to be closer to family.  She found support, love, and a sense of belonging in a small community.  She made friends and was loved by many.  She helped me realize that is the meaning of life.  It’s our relationships that matter the most.  Cherish each and every one, treat others with love and kindness, and don’t give up even when times are tough.

Of course, there are relationships where there are struggles, disagreements, and challenges.  It’s finding a safe balance to still connect in whatever capacity possible.  Life is too short for emotional cut-off, not to talk to family or friends due to disagreements.  No one is perfect.  Everyone is trying the best they can in whatever ability they have.  Just some of us have more skill than others.  At the end of the day, is the heartache and distance worth going through.  Is it necessary to hold onto old grudges?  The longer we hold tight to negativity, the longer the pain and misery continues.

The passing of my aunt also renewed broken relationships.  The event presented the opportunity for my mom and me to talk again.  We were able to acknowledge our past wrong doings and not take time for granted.  My aunt’s departure helped us understand that time is precious.  Each day counts.  Time matters.  Our relationships count the most.

Death is such a funny phenomenon.  Regardless of when it happens, it’s always a shock.  It seems to stir up so many emotions, reflections, and assessments.  It can resurface the loss of past loved ones, rekindle old relationships, and remind us once again of our mortality.  It’s a memento to be grateful for the gifts of life and to appreciate those close to us.

 

Another Death in the Family

candleNovember 4, 2013

“Death ends a life…but it does not end a relationship, which struggles on in the survivors mind…toward some final resolution, which it never finds.” — Robert Anderson

My aunt passed away today.  The event hit my body once again like a freight train.  My body feels beaten, bruised, and wounded with pain from the loss.

I am sad for her departure but believe she is in peace.  When we last spoke, she had such a positive attitude, spirit, and serenity in believing that she would be met with her relatives, friends, and loved ones in the next place.  It brought her comfort in the transition.  Knowing this helps ease my grief as well.  I am able to rest assure she is okay wherever she may be.  I believe this with my heart even though my head has no idea.  Thus I rather believe and stay true to my heart.

My aunt’s death rekindled old memories.  We shared many ups and downs through the ages.  I disagreed with a lot of her behavior and stayed my distance for long bouts of time.  With her passing, I immediately accepted all of who she is and was.   It was hard while she was living but somehow after she is gone, it doesn’t matter so much.  I love her for her.  Why does it take death to finally have peace and acceptance?  Does it really have too?

She did the best she could.  She lived a fruitful life especially the last six years.  She moved to Missouri to be closer to family.  She found support, love, and a sense of belonging in a small community.  She made friends and was loved by many.  She helped me realize that is the meaning of life.  It’s our relationships that matter the most.  Cherish each and every one, treat others with love and kindness, and don’t give up even when times are tough.

Of course, there are relationships where there are struggles, disagreements, and challenges.  It’s finding a safe balance to still connect in whatever capacity possible.  Life is too short for emotional cut-off, not to talk to family or friends due to disagreements.  No one is perfect.  Everyone is trying the best they can in whatever ability they have.  Just some of us have more skill than others.  At the end of the day, is the heartache and distance worth going through.  Is it necessary to hold onto old grudges?  The longer we hold tight to negativity, the longer the pain and misery continues.

The passing of my aunt also renewed broken relationships.  The event presented the opportunity for my mom and me to talk again.  We were able to acknowledge our past wrong doings and not take time for granted.  My aunt’s departure helped us understand that time is precious.  Each day counts.  Time matters.  Our relationships count the most.

Death is such a funny phenomenon.  Regardless of when it happens, it’s always a shock.  It seems to stir up so many emotions, reflections, and assessments.  It can resurface the loss of past loved ones, rekindle old relationships, and remind us once again of our mortality.  It’s a memento to be grateful for the gifts of life and to appreciate those close to us.

 

Grief and Loss

A sudden loss is like being ran over by a Mack truck. You are left shocked, paralyzed, and dead in your own tracks. It can lead to disorientation, disbelief, anxiety, outrage, and tremendous sadness. When you learn to stay with the resulting emotions, over time a new reality can slowly emerge.

Some endings are marked by celebrations and happy congratulations while others are met with sad departures and disappearances. Mark endings regardless of their circumstances with symbols of remembrances, memorials, services, or celebrations. It helps to carry you forward into the future while retaining the value of what ended.

I lost two very special people in my life within a one month time span. It is coming up to the first year anniversary of their abrupt death. Thus I am reminiscing of the events that took place over this past year. During this time, I maintained many rituals that have helped heal my heart and maintain their existence to my soul. The established pattern of observances helped to ward-off total devastation with their loss.

Cherish Past Communication:dove

I reflected upon old times when our communication was expressed with warmth, nurture, and support. I recollected on their values and character.

I saved all forms of correspondence including voice messages, text messages, and emails. I reflected back on their words numerous times to reminisce and allow myself to cry and bask in my love for them.

On a daily basis, I wrote about shared experiences. I wrote about the lessons I learned from their presence and admired morals that I aspire to become.

I bridged the gap between past communication to the present by reaching out to them and asking for their guidance and wisdom. I brought their feelings to life by handwriting my experiences as thoughts of them came to mind. I developed a new relationship with them as I opened my mind to a spiritual realm of connection to the present. My connection served its way through symbolic forms while I encountered pairs of animals, plants, and rainbows.

Connected with Nature:

I hiked the same nature trail weekly and sought signs of their existence. I watched for birds since they were pilots and loved to fly. Given that they were identical twin brothers, I became more conscious of things in pairs as I walked up and down the trails. I saw two branches that stood out from the rest of the vegetation, two birds flying together, or even one large majestic bird gliding high in the sky. I followed their direction of flight with my eyes and heart until I could no longer see their existence.

On one of my walks, a rattle snake crossed my path. It was the first of such a sighting upon my many brisk strolls along the gravel pathway up the mountain. I took the sighting as a symbol of new beginnings and rebirth and of course turned around and walked the other way. While on another hike, I walked to a secluded area on the top of the mountain and arranged a memorial of similar sized rocks in the impression of their names.

Upon another nature outing, I walked along the shoreline and again looked for birds flying in pairs. On a couple of strolls, I saw imprinted in the sand, “I love you” or “I miss you” and I believed it to be a message from them. Whether it is true or not, it comforted me to think that they found clever ways to communicate with me.

One day while walking along the shore, a playful sea lion surfed the waves in and then back out. He continued his surfing in the same direction I was walking until we came upon the end where the rocks block the channel. I instantaneously thought it was Alex who wanted to learn to surf. I believed he found his way.

Another encounter of nature happened while I sat in my office with a client. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw a double rainbow. It was such a long time since I had seen a double rainbow. I immediately knew they were communicating to me their new found relationship and continuance in my life. With the height of the building’s window, I could see the beginning and ends of each rainbow. They were beautiful and glorious to see. My client and I stopped in mid-session to stand up and peak out the window. At that moment I knew one was looking down protecting and guiding me from the sky and the reflection was caring for me from beneath the earth. I was surrounded in a protective bubble by the wisdom, strength, and courage of two fellows whose lives were to serve, protect and honor.

Shared Continuity:

I reached out to an old professor who has a PhD in Thanatology. She listened openly and with understanding. Due to her professional background working in a hospice and personal communication with the deceased, she provided a unique perspective and insight that enlightened and opened my own spiritual pathway. Our long talks and emails comforted me in my confusion, sorrow, and feelings of abandonment.

I increased weekly therapy sessions from one to two meetings a week for several months. The added support and safe outlet to express my sorrow was met with compassion and empathy. I cried openly knowing my tears were presented in front of a comforting and accepting soul. My experiences were validated and normalized which is extremely important in the healing and grieving process.

I remained in contact with family members of the deceased to have continuity and continued connection knowing we have a common bond and love.

Permitted Unrestrained Emotions:

I let go of anger by taking a boxing class. I punched sparing pads as hard and as fast as I could. I vigorously struck left to right as the poor girl holding the pads braced herself from my rage. I continued to beat the bags until I fell limp with exhaustion. Afterward I felt relief and lighter as the weight of my anger was let go.

I often had cyclical bouts of anger, sorrow, and appreciation for their existence in my life. As I deeply missed their living body and nurturing voices near me, I bargained to have their return to what I once knew of them and to take another instead. I felt horrible in the thought but eventually understood the thought process and was compassionate to myself. I allowed myself to cry profusely on many occasions. I endured and accepted my tears to freely and forcedly flow without judgment or ridicule.

It has been a difficult journey grieving their loss. I am reminded of their departure every day but my pain has lessened over time. I have accepted they are no longer here as I once knew them to be. Yet I remain grateful for the short time we shared and their new found presence in my life. Their death prompted the fact, we are all here temporarily. I am reminded to live my life fully, gratefully, and with compassion. I am encouraged to nurture relationships and maintain close bonds. I let people know I care, treat them with kindness, and with an open heart. I have now embraced that every ending marks a new beginning.