When obsession isn’t love
Limerence and the neurodivergent brain
How intensity hijacks your wiring and why it feels so bloody irresistible.
There are moments in life when your brain behaves like an over-caffeinated squirrel. You can’t stop thinking about them ; every look, every silence, every damned emoji. You’re narrating conversations in your head, planning imaginary futures, reading meaning into the punctuation of their texts.
You think it’s love. But it’s probably limerence.
And for those of us with ADHD, autism, or what I affectionately call “gifted-overclocked-brain-syndrome”, limerence isn’t rare. It’s practically a rite of passage. Our brains aren’t content with gentle affection; they want intensity, novelty, and the neurological equivalent of fireworks over Đà Lạt.
What’s really happening in your head
Limerence is a neurochemical soap opera. It’s what happens when hyper-focus, dopamine hunger, and pattern-recognition all share a bottle of wine and decide to fall in love.
Your brain spots a person who feels like possibility—maybe even safety, maybe chaos, maybe both—and then proceeds to build a cathedral of meaning around them. Every glance is an omen. Every silence is a test. Every message is a pulse of validation or despair.
Love, by contrast, is calmer. It shares the mental stage with work, sleep, and the occasional sandwich. Limerence hogs the spotlight, knocks over the props, and demands an encore.
Why the neurodivergent brain is especially prone
Hyper-focus: We don’t fall in love, we dive in love.
Emotional amplification: Feelings hit harder and echo longer.
Pattern prediction: We turn mixed signals into conspiracy theories of affection.
Unmet needs: Years of masking leave us starving for connection.
Novelty loops: The dopamine hit from every text is our brain’s favourite drug.
None of this means you’re broken. It means your brain runs on the high-performance setting, and occasionally blows a fuse.
How to know it’s limerence, not love
If you’re wondering whether it’s love or limerence, ask yourself:
Do they live in your head rent-free, with an entire wardrobe and emotional soundtrack?
Does your self-worth fluctuate according to their reply time?
Are you rewriting your daily routine just to feel closer to them?
Do you find boundaries optional, inconvenient, or irrelevant?
If yes, congratulations: you’ve got a classic case of limerence. Your brain is doing laps around the dopamine pool while calling it romance.
The surprising upside
Here’s the twist: limerence isn’t evil. It can be useful if you stop trying to make it mutual and start treating it as data.
It reveals your unmet emotional needs—the craving for being seen, understood, chosen.
It mirrors your emotional intensity—the depth of what you’re capable of feeling.
It sparks creativity—half the poetry, novels, and late-night rants in history began with unrequited obsession.
It teaches emotional regulation—if you’re paying attention.
When you stop worshipping the person and start studying the pattern, limerence becomes a crash course in self-awareness.
How to survive your own brain
Journal the obsessive loops; naming them robs them of power.
Channel the energy into art, movement, or your next world-changing project.
Set timered boundaries — if you must check their social media, schedule it like a dentist appointment.
Talk it through with a therapist or a trusted friend who doesn’t romanticise chaos.
And remember: the intensity isn’t proof of love. It’s proof of capacity.
The quiet truth: Love is a campfire; warm, steady, sustaining.
Limerence is fireworks—dazzling, brief, and slightly dangerous.
Both are beautiful. But only one lets you sleep through the night.
So if, like me, you find yourself analysing every pause in Huong’s messages or re-reading old conversations like sacred texts, take a breath. The chemistry is real; the story might not be.
Your brain isn’t broken. It’s just terribly good at storytelling.