Needs and the End of Love

It had been a while since I worked with a woman seeking partnership. I had decided to focus on men and couples instead. Watching my clients fall in love while I was still struggling with it myself became too painful—and I’m not really a fan of suffering.

But one of my close friends asked me for a huge favor: Could I work with her sister? I hesitated. It's never a great idea to mix work with your friends or their inner circle. But also, I really love her, and as painful as it is, I am really good at helping people find love. 

Since I already knew her, I thought it would be nicer to skip the usual intro call and meet for coffee instead.

After sharing her story — a few failed relationships and a long, exhausting pilgrimage through dating apps — she sighed and said, “I just don’t know why it’s so hard! I just want someone who can meet my needs.” Then she began reciting them as if she had memorized them.

A long, well-crafted, highly specific list.

I could feel her longing, and her frustration. I’ve been there.

It’s hard enough to make the damn list — that every Instagram coach tells you it’s the first step before finding true love.

All my former clients looking for love had one. What really started to scare me about these lists is that… they were almost all the same.

No matter who I was talking to, the words felt copy-pasted — like something handed down by a self-help algorithm.

No questioning.

No soul.

Just repetition.

Needs optimized for convenience, not for connection. And year after year, the list of demands kept growing.

After polishing the list to perfection, came the auditions — trying to squeeze real, messy men into bullet points.

Of course she felt disappointed.

Of course it was hard for her.

I inhaled. Exhaled. Deeply. And tried to stay soft, present, patient. I crossed my legs and started bouncing my foot without even noticing. Inside, I was twisting in discomfort.

“Sweetheart,” I said as kindly as I could, “That sounds like a very heavy list to carry for any man and also for yourself. What if instead of focusing on a list of needs we focus on what love really means for you?”

At first, it was like watching someone wake up from a dream — a flash of realization, like grace descending.

But then she took a sip of her lactose-free, decaf, no-sugar coffee… and the glow faded. It didn’t land as insight. It landed like a very hard pill to swallow.

She didn’t like it at all. She didn’t want love — she wanted someone who could tick all the boxes.

A reflection of modern culture: saturated with self-help advice but starving for real self-inquiry.

After losing her as a client but gaining her as a travel buddy, I lined up a few dates with my single guy friends. I was incredibly curious — I always love picking their brains.

Between smoothies and dropping random anecdotes, I’d casually slip in the question: “Do you have a list of needs you use for dating?”

None of them had an actual list — or at least, not one that was long or specific. Most did have deal breakers. And usually, the “normal” kind: drugs, infidelity, abusive behaviors.

To be honest, I’m not really sure if they truly don’t have needs. Or if they’ve just learned not to allow themselves to need — because of course, in this era, “men don’t need anything.”

How will this work in real life? I wondered.

I closed my eyes and visualized a line of women in an algorithmic dating culture, each holding a long checklist that reduced potential partners to a commodity.

And in front of them, a line of men — with no clue what they were being measured against but still feeling the weight of it all.

Their own needs weren’t written on any list. They were silenced, tucked away in heavy boxes inside their hearts.

A lopsided dynamic: one is taught to ask, the other to deliver. Neither of them chose this pain. They just wanted love.

It didn’t matter whether they were single or married — the scene played out everywhere. The pressure men feel not to need, contrasted with the pressure women feel to need everything, created a river of quiet resentment and frustration.

It was painful. And exhausting.

 What do we really need?

Back in the day — imagine hunter-gatherers — we needed help. Someone to carry wood, plant seeds, cook meals, create and raise babies, keep watch at night. It was about shared labor. Survival. Simplicity. Getting through winter together.

In pre-Christian societies, we evolved into ceremonies that gave partnership a certain community recognition. Love and union were often understood through the lens of myth and soul. We needed meaning — Someone to turn love into myth, sex into ceremony, presence into devotion.

Later, some cultures began recognizing common law unions. The binding was through cohabitation, shared labor, shared land, and shared children. We needed continuity — A life built together, slowly and daily.

Unions also became a way to merge tribes or families. The binding might not have been romantic — it was often strategic. We needed alliances — A partner to grow wealth with, to expand land, to strengthen lineage.

 By the 12th century, marriage became a sacrament — But ironically, not because of love. The Church saw it as a way to control sexuality and reinforce social order. We needed to be good — To do what was right in God’s eyes. To obey. To marry properly. To avoid sin.

With capitalism, union turned increasingly transactional. We needed structure — A partner to file taxes with, raise a family, manage property, sign contracts. We turned love into a role. A job description. 

Then came the behaviorists in the 1900s, laying groundwork for standardizing "love": 

“Healthy couples behave like this.” 

“Good relationships avoid conflict.” 

“Success = measurable outcomes.”

We needed to do it right — and of course, there was only one right way: Their way.

After WWII people were encouraged to seek emotional fulfillment, not just survival. Disney and Hollywood began creating the myth: romantic love that fixes everything. 

At the same time, psychology was evolving. Attachment theory, humanistic psychology, family systems — Love became a therapeutic space. A place to heal past wounds. We now needed all of the above plus meeting emotional needs, mirroring childhood trauma, and help me grow.

With the rise of self-help, social media, spirituality, and therapy culture: We became hyper-aware of "needs", triggers, boundaries, inner children, nervous systems, energetic polarity. Along with Neo Tantra and its orgasmic sex and glittery passion.

Partnership became a project of personal growth.

And the list of needs continued to grow, and grow, and grow exponentially.

Is it really evolution—or are we just overcomplicating love? 

Now we think we need someone who can do it all.

Someone who helps,

shares the load,

joins the ritual.

Offers stability,

security,

sacred union and cosmic sex —

Every. Single. Day.

Without ever getting bored.

Or boring.

Preferably from a pristine, untraumatized bloodline.

Smells good.

Builds wealth (the more the better).

Believes in your god, votes like you.

Wants babies. 

Pays taxes. 

Regulates your nervous system. 

Sees your wounds. 

Holds space. 

Kills the spider. 

Changes the oil. 

Brings berries.

Can handle your hormones. 

Raises kids from your past life. 

Texts good morning and sweet dreams. 

Cuddles.

He must be in great shape but not obsessed. 

A high achiever but not a workaholic. 

Independent but not too distant. 

Brings flowers on birthdays and on Thursdays. 

Gives massages.

Supports your career,

your art,

your weirdness,

your glow-up.

Only drinks mezcal. 

Doesn’t smoke. 

Doesn’t do drugs. 

Unvaccinated, or vaccinated — but the right kind. 

iPhone, not Android. 

Has 100k followers, and a blue check. 

Loves your dog. 

Meditates. 

Does yoga. 

Knows mantras. 

Fluent in your love language and your wounds.

Can travel the world on short notice. 

Owns a home by the ocean. 

Is vegan. Or gluten-free. Or both. 

Is allergic to cats, but not to intimacy.

Preferably a Libra sun, Sagittarius moon.

With darker skin,

soulful eyes,

a deep laugh. 

Sensitive, charming, faithful, loyal, honest.

Emotionally mature.

Spiritually ascending. 

Has done shadow work. 

Gets along with their ex —

or better, doesn’t speak to them. 

Loves rituals, museums and dancing tango. 

And obviously, dresses well — Because yes, appearance matters.

All of this.

From one person.

All the time.

Is this real love? Are we loving better… or just escalating in demands?

Are we simply trying to hire suitable partners — people to save us from the parts of life we don’t want to deal with? 

Have we confused love with consumption?

Do we truly want to feel love… or are we just desperate to get our needs met?

And are those needs even real?

If I say I need a partner who makes me feel safe — can he actually do that? Safe from what? From pain? From death? From uncomfortable emotions? All the time?

Is it even possible to make someone feel safe? 

If I’m having a panic attack, no matter how much my partner tries to bring me back, it won’t work until my own nervous system comes back online.

What if love isn’t about being completed, but about learning how to live with the ache of being human — together?

We don’t need to perform love by fulfilling every need perfectly.

We can just be with each other —in the ache, in the mess, in the miracle of still staying.

Are we truly evolving…or have we simply been convinced by modern psychology that love is unsafe? That everything around it is a red flag we should avoid?

You’re a narcissist. An empath. A codependent. An avoidant. A Virgo. A Republican.

We diagnose and label instead of being compassionate.

We build checklists like walls —not to invite love in, but to protect ourselves from it.

We try to control what we are meant to surrender to.

Because the truth is: we are terrified of love.

Yes, it’s scary to love —because we might get hurt.

But isn’t it scarier not to love at all?

As much as love can hurt,

it’s always a risk worth taking.

We know it’s true — because most of us keep trying.

The cost of fearing love… is isolation. And we know how that feels. That — that is truly terrifying.

Or maybe this is part of human evolution?

In the near future, we might be able to feed these checklists into a system and create that perfect someone. 

A partner that doesn’t even need to be human—let alone alive. 

They won’t ask what we need. They’ll just know. 

Like being loved by someone who’s already read the book of you.

There’s no friction. 

No mystery. 

Every moment perfectly tailored. 

Every desire met before you even feel the ache.

Will we finally be happy ever after?

Is this the beginning of transhuman relationships?

Not human love—customized love. 

Predictable. Programable.

If there is anything that you don't like: you can just change the settings.

But now, you will need them not to be perfect.

You will need them not to be predictable. Artificial. Boring. Unhuman.

Maybe the real issue is all this needing.

Eventually we’ll find out that love isn’t about getting everything we want,

but about being alive and human…and someone still staying.

Maybe we’ll be forced to face that universal ache—

the longing to be really loved unconditionally,

the fear of offering the same in return.

The beauty of both.

Maybe it’s already too late. Maybe we’ve already forgotten what human love really feels like.

Or maybe… these future beings will be evolved enough to remind us of what it once meant to be human. And to love like one.

Need whatever you want.

 Make it as complicated as you need it to be — for you, for them. 

But please… don’t call that love.

Calling that love is a sacrilege.

Love has never been about how someone benefits you.

Love is about radical forgiveness.

Service. Devotion.

Opening your heart to the unlovable.

And laying down your life — metaphorically, and sometimes literally — for love.

Love isn’t something you find.

It’s something you become.

It’s compassion.

Presence.

Impermanence.

Not certainty.

Not fulfillment.

Love is also messy.

It’s awkward silences,

the things you hate about them,

the unmet needs,

the sex after conflict,

the tears,

the pain.

It’s saying — I love you.

And your wounds.

Your chaos.

Your fucking traumas that trigger me to the edge.

I love you… anyway.

I will love you... anyway.

I want to love you better.

Because real love has never been about what you get.

Its’s about what you give.

And now I sit in silence and solitude, maybe witnessing the slow death of human love.

I wonder — what will become of the few of us still trying to keep him alive?

The empaths. 

The true lovers. 

The warriors of love. 

The believers in devotion. 

The ones who still choose the selfless path.

In this apocalyptic landscape —

Will real love win?