A Liminal Space

I used to think being valued meant being loved. I didn’t know someone could see my worth and still devour me whole.

Someone shared a term with me a while back: conditional love. At the time, I’d never heard it. But recently, I’ve come across it more and more. The younger generations are using it more than mine. It seems lots of them feel that their parents only loved them IF…they met certain expectations, achieved certain goals, became certain versions of themselves.

I had a conversation recently with a friend who used to hide their paintings from their family for fear they would reject the most precious part of their soul. They once told me: “If they saw what I really made, they’d know who I really was. And I was terrified they’d hate them.” It resonated with me as a person who wrote stories in old notebooks and notebook paper tied together with string. These books were the only things that truly belonged to me.

Recently, I started writing stories again. And in doing research with AI about character development, Claude AI described my character’s struggle with not understanding the difference between love and consumption. I’d never heard the term, so I asked it to explain.

The definition haunted me.

I realized: I’m one of those people who didn’t know the difference between love and consumption.

THE FEAST I DIDN’T SEE COMING

Consumption felt like love initially because it actually saw me and my wounds. In its ability to see and assess what I needed, I thought it would be able to meet the need. But I realize now it was pulling a chair up to the table of my heart for a feast.

I remember the first time someone saw me, praised who I was and then began to use me. “You bring out the best in me,” they said. It felt like an honor. It took me years to realize my gift had been taken, not celebrated. 

Consumption looks at a person and sees their value. And in the process of being seen, a person can see their value reflected back. It makes me think about a steak at the grocery store—I go in and am willing to pay top dollar for it. Once it’s been cooked to perfection, my mouth waters from its pleasant aroma. But then I begin to consume it to satisfy my hunger. And once the steak is gone, it will disappear forever into me.

The steak had value—until I needed it. Then it existed only to satisfy my hunger. That’s consumption. That’s what I allowed to happen to me.

As humans, we are not meant to be consumed. We are meant to be celebrated and given the opportunity to grow into our individual selves.

LEARNING TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE

So what IS the difference? How do you tell them apart when consumption feels so much like love at first?

Here’s what I wish someone had told me:

WHAT LOVE ACTUALLY DOES:

• Sees you and wants you to become MORE yourself
• Creates space for you to grow in your own direction
• Celebrates your gifts without claiming ownership
• Allows disagreement, doubt, boundaries
• Can tolerate your absence—it doesn’t require constant feeding
• Makes you feel larger, more capable, more free

AND HERE’S WHAT I MISTOOK FOR LOVE:

WHAT CONSUMPTION DOES:

• Sees your wound and offers to fill it
• Requires you to become what IT needs
• Praises your gifts, then uses them for itself
• Punishes doubt with withdrawal of approval
• Needs you and can’t let go
• Makes you feel smaller


WHY WE CAN’T ALWAYS SEE IT

When we grow up with conditional love that only sees our value based on how we meet its needs, it can be difficult to know the difference between love and consumption.

I’m learning that no one person loves perfectly. We all have moments where we want people to be what we need rather than who they are. But there’s a difference between having that impulse and building a relationship on it. Real love catches itself. Consumption doesn’t.

WHAT I’M LEARNING NOW

Real love never fails. It allows the caterpillar to become a butterfly. Even if it means it will fly away.

Love lets others fly. It doesn’t keep them locked in a cage for itself.

Sometimes it can take time to know if it’s love or consumption—especially if you didn’t have an example growing up.

But if you find yourself sprouting wings in a person’s presence, it’s a good sign you are experiencing the real thing.

And if you’re reading this and realizing you’ve been clipped, kept small, told your value depends on your usefulness—it’s not too late. Wings can grow back. I know because mine are starting to.

IF THIS RESONATES

If this resonates and you’re wondering if you’re being consumed rather than loved, you’re not alone. Peer support and trauma-informed care can help you learn to tell the difference.

You’re not meant to be a feast for someone else’s hunger. You’re meant to fly.

Reach out to: loriwilliamslimnalspace@gmail.com if you are looking for affordable peer support.

What Love Really Means What Love Really Means

*This post was developed through collaborative dialogue with Claude (Anthropic’s AI assistant), which helped me articulate and structure concepts that emerged from my own healing journey.