When Love Turns You Into Someone You Barely Recognise

Somewhere around the nine-month mark, relationships start asking questions.
Not politely.
More like: So… what exactly are we doing here?

This is usually when otherwise sane, intelligent adults begin behaving like they’ve temporarily lost access to their frontal lobe. Suddenly we’re lying awake at 2am analysing text punctuation, quietly spiralling over the lack of emojis. We’re rereading conversations like they’re legal contracts. We’re saying things like, “I’m just going to see how it unfolds,” while secretly timing how long it’s been since the last meaningful gesture.

The questions start creeping in.
Where is this going?
Is this enough?
How long am I supposed to be patient before I’m just being naïve?
Am I choosing this person, or am I choosing not to start over at my age?

And this is where things get messy.

Not because the relationship is necessarily wrong, but because it’s suddenly carrying far more weight than it signed up for. Age, timelines, a certain ticking clock, comparison, fear of wasting time… all quietly move in and start redecorating.

This is usually the point where people say, “We just need to communicate better.”

Which is true. And also wildly ironic, because this is often when communication becomes most indirect.

We talk around the issue.
We soften what we actually want to say.
We convince ourselves we need more clarity before having the conversation, forgetting that clarity usually comes after the conversation, not before it.

Instead, we process. Endlessly.

We talk about our feelings with our friends.
Our fears with almost no one.
Our triggers and attachment styles with our therapists.

We dress our anxiety in a nicer outfit and call it self-awareness.

Here’s the blind spot:
when we’re emotionally invested, we are terrible at seeing our own behaviour clearly.

We confuse thinking with progress.
Talking with action.
Insight with control.

And so the relationship starts to feel like a psychological obstacle course rather than two adults deciding whether they’re aligned.

The problem isn’t that people want commitment, certainty or a future. The problem is that fear gets mixed into the decision-making process, and fear is a terrible strategist. It creates urgency where there may not be one, and avoidance where honesty is required.

Clarity doesn’t come from discussing your feelings into submission. It comes from being honest about what’s happening, what’s being avoided, and what’s actually within your control.

Once that blind spot is exposed, things tend to get simpler. Not necessarily easier, but clearer. Conversations change. Decisions stop feeling impossible. And love goes back to being something you choose, rather than something you endure while secretly running mental spreadsheets.