Not All—I Love You’s—Are The Same

Not all “I love you’s” are the same. And honestly, I wish I’d realized that sooner. Because for the longest time, I took those words—“I love you”—at face value. I thought they meant the same thing to everyone: devotion, passion, a promise of something real. But over time, through relationships that felt wildly different from each other, I started to notice something. Those words don’t always come from the same place. They carry different meanings, depending on the type of relationship shaping them.

I’ve boiled it down to three main types of romantic relationships, and, when you think about it, they couldn’t be more different. First, there’s the gamification type, where one person looks at love as a conquest, a prize to win. Then there’s transactional love, where people treat relationships like a deal or a profit-making arrangement. And finally, there’s connection-based love, the one we all dream of, where two people build something soulful and deep—even if it means making sacrifices. But the tricky part? Figuring out which type you’re in. Once you do, though, you start seeing the cracks—or the beauty—beneath those three little words.

Want to hear something wild? I’ve experienced all three. I’ve been in relationships where I wanted to believe the “I love you” meant connection, but over time, it became clear I was someone’s game or investment. And let me tell you, uncovering that truth? It’s painful. But also, in a strange way, freeing. Because if we don’t figure this out—if we don’t learn what love means to someone else before we give our hearts away—there’s a chance we’ll keep settling for the wrong thing.

Let’s start with gamification, because this one hits hard once you understand it. You ever had a relationship that felt like fireworks at first—intense, thrilling, and so romantic it left you breathless? It’s the kind where someone showers you with attention, goes out of their way to “win” you over, and makes you feel like you’re all they’ve ever wanted. But then, somewhere along the way, the spark starts to fizzle. They pull away. They get bored. And all the things they used to do to make you feel special? They stop doing them completely.

That’s because, for some people, love isn’t about the connection—it’s about the thrill of the chase. Think about those over-the-top flirtatious characters you’ve seen in books or movies. The Don Juans of the world, always chasing one love after another, not because they deeply care about someone but because they’re addicted to that feeling of “winning.” It’s not about you, specifically; it’s about how hard you were to “catch.” And sadly, when you say “I love you” in a gamification relationship, it fits into their narrative of conquest. The moment they have your heart? Game over. They move on to the next challenge.

Here’s the part that sneaks up on you: gamification isn’t always intentional. Sure, some people know exactly what they’re doing and enjoy playing with others’ emotions. But for others, it’s more subconscious—an ego thing. Like, they’re not chasing love as much as they’re running from their own insecurities. They need to “win” someone over, hear those words back (“I love you”), and then use that validation to feel whole. Problem is, once they “get” the love, it stops feeling exciting for them. It’s brutal, but it happens way more than we’d like to admit.

When I look back, I can pinpoint the exact moment I realized I was in a gamification situation. There was someone I fell hard for—let’s call them A—and they were the most charming person I had ever met. They’d stay up late talking with me; they’d remember the tiniest details I mentioned about my day—stuff most people wouldn’t even register. And for a while, I thought, Wow, this is it. This is real. But the second I got comfortable enough to relax into the relationship, everything shifted. They withdrew. The effort stopped. It felt like I’d written my part of the love story, but they weren’t interested in scripting the next chapter. It hurt. It felt personal. But now I get it wasn’t about me. It was about the thrill of “getting” me. And once the chase was over? The foundation we were supposed to build on wasn’t there.

Read:  Should You Use Christian Affirmations for Boyfriend?

Now let’s talk about transactional love, which is sneakier because it often looks like a healthy relationship on the surface. In fact, when I was younger, I got drawn into this type of relationship without even realizing it. Transactional love is rooted in an exchange: what am I getting out of this, and what am I giving in return? The whole thing operates on this unspoken ledger system, like, “If I do X for you, I expect you to do Y for me.” It can feel balanced, even “fair” in a weird way, but if you dig deeper, you’ll notice what’s missing: closeness, vulnerability, soul.

This dynamic is everywhere, by the way. Ever notice how many people say, “Love is a two-way street”? It sounds nice, right? But when that turns into constant calculations about who’s done what, or when one person’s love feels conditional—based on you meeting their expectations—it stops being real. And the “I love you” in this kind of relationship can feel more like a contract than a confession. It says, “I love you, as long as you’re meeting your end of the deal.”

I once had a friend who was in what I now realize was a purely transactional relationship. She and her partner ran their life together like a business. They split bills 50/50, divided chores equally, and even kept tabs on who had planned the last date. If she forgot a birthday gift, he’d use it as leverage later: “I didn’t get you flowers last time because you didn’t remember my birthday.” On one hand, it seemed practical—clean, like no one could get hurt because there were no surprises. But you know what wasn’t there? Any willingness to give beyond the agreement. If one of them was struggling emotionally—too overwhelmed or vulnerable to put in effort—the relationship stalled. It was like their love came with a checklist, and if either person left even one box unchecked, the scales tipped out of balance.

It’s easy to criticize transactional love, but I get why some people fall for it. It feels safe. There’s no risk of being “used” because everything is 1:1. And in a world where heartbreak is so common, safety can feel like enough. Especially in times or places where love isn’t prioritized, transaction takes over. Think about historical marriages where love had nothing to do with it—where relationships were about alliances, wealth, or family connections. Those weren’t built on connection; they were built on maintaining equilibrium, and honestly, transactional love today carries echoes of that.

But the problem is this: when love becomes a transaction, it loses its magic. You’re no longer saying, “I love you, no matter what.” Instead, you’re saying, “I love you, as long as…” And that’s such a fragile foundation to build anything real on. Life doesn’t follow a perfect scorecard—sometimes you need to lean on your partner, other times they’ll need to lean on you, and that can’t happen if you’re both too busy counting who owes whom what. Real love doesn’t keep score.

Now let’s talk about transactional love, which is sneakier because it often looks like a healthy relationship on the surface. In fact, when I was younger, I got drawn into this type of relationship without even realizing it. Transactional love is rooted in an exchange: what am I getting out of this, and what am I giving in return? The whole thing operates on this unspoken ledger system, like, “If I do X for you, I expect you to do Y for me.” It can feel balanced, even “fair” in a weird way, but if you dig deeper, you’ll notice what’s missing: closeness, vulnerability, soul.

This dynamic is everywhere, by the way. Ever notice how many people say, “Love is a two-way street”? It sounds nice, right? But when that turns into constant calculations about who’s done what, or when one person’s love feels conditional—based on you meeting their expectations—it stops being real. And the “I love you” in this kind of relationship can feel more like a contract than a confession. It says, “I love you, as long as you’re meeting your end of the deal.”

I once had a friend who was in what I now realize was a purely transactional relationship. She and her partner ran their life together like a business. They split bills 50/50, divided chores equally, and even kept tabs on who had planned the last date. If she forgot a birthday gift, he’d use it as leverage later: “I didn’t get you flowers last time because you didn’t remember my birthday.” On one hand, it seemed practical—clean, like no one could get hurt because there were no surprises. But you know what wasn’t there? Any willingness to give beyond the agreement. If one of them was struggling emotionally—too overwhelmed or vulnerable to put in effort—the relationship stalled. It was like their love came with a checklist, and if either person left even one box unchecked, the scales tipped out of balance.

Read:  Why Christians Find It So Hard To Find Love

It’s easy to criticize transactional love, but I get why some people fall for it. It feels safe. There’s no risk of being “used” because everything is 1:1. And in a world where heartbreak is so common, safety can feel like enough. Especially in times or places where love isn’t prioritized, transaction takes over. Think about historical marriages where love had nothing to do with it—where relationships were about alliances, wealth, or family connections. Those weren’t built on connection; they were built on maintaining equilibrium, and honestly, transactional love today carries echoes of that.

But the problem is this: when love becomes a transaction, it loses its magic. You’re no longer saying, “I love you, no matter what.” Instead, you’re saying, “I love you, as long as…” And that’s such a fragile foundation to build anything real on. Life doesn’t follow a perfect scorecard—sometimes you need to lean on your partner, other times they’ll need to lean on you, and that can’t happen if you’re both too busy counting who owes whom what. Real love doesn’t keep score.

This is the love we all secretly long for, isn’t it? The love that doesn’t keep score, doesn’t play games, doesn’t make you wonder whether the person saying “I love you” has some ulterior motive. Connection-based love is raw, messy, and far from perfect—but it’s real. It’s the kind of love where you feel completely seen, like someone is looking past all your flaws, past all your walls, and choosing to stay anyway. This, right here, is where love finally becomes selfless.

I once heard someone say, “In connection-based love, ‘I love you’ translates to ‘I am willing to suffer for your happiness.’” And while that sounded dramatic at first, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Genuine love is sacrificial. It doesn’t mean losing yourself, but it does mean being so deeply invested in someone’s well-being that you’re willing to compromise, to adapt, to give more than you take—without expecting anything back. That’s the part that makes this love stand out from the others. Unlike gamification or transaction, where one person or both are focused on what they’re getting, connection is about what you’re giving.

Take this idea from spiritual teachings: love, at its purest, is not selfish. In Christianity, for example, 1 Corinthians 13 is famous for defining love as patient, kind, not self-seeking, and never keeping records of wrongdoing. This kind of love doesn’t get caught up in what’s fair or balanced; it simply is. And yet, it takes courage to love this way because there’s no guarantee you’ll get the same in return. That’s the risk—and the beauty—of connection-based love. You give freely because you want to, not because you’re looking for something back.

The thing about this type of love is that it’s not always grand or romantic—it’s often in the smallest, most ordinary moments. I once saw an elderly couple sitting in a café, and they weren’t even talking much, just drinking their coffee. The husband noticed the wife had a small stain on her blouse, so he casually took his napkin to dab it away and leaned back like it was nothing. She smiled, barely registering it, as if this had been happening their entire marriage. That tiny interaction was so easy to miss, but it screamed love to me. Connection isn’t always dramatic; it’s in the subtle, everyday actions that say, “I see you, I care about you, and I’m here.”

But real connection isn’t easy, is it? It’s uncomfortable sometimes. Vulnerable. It asks you to take off the mask you wear to the rest of the world and let someone see the messy, unfiltered versions of you that you often try to hide. And it forces you to stay even when it’s inconvenient—when things get tough, when it means sacrificing your pride, or when it hurts a little.

I’ve found that connection-based love doesn’t just happen overnight. It grows. It has to grow. Kind of like the Japanese art of kintsugi, where broken pottery is pieced back together with gold, making it more beautiful for having been broken. Real love is like that—it becomes stronger when people face the cracks together. It puts in the work, patiently and without rushing, and in the end, it’s more resilient than anything superficial ever could be.

Here’s the tricky bit, though. Not everyone is capable of connection-based love—and that’s not always their fault. Some people are stuck in their own pain or fears. Maybe they grew up with the belief that love should always be earned, or they’ve been hurt so many times that they’re scared to open themselves up again. Loving someone who’s not ready for connection can feel impossible. I think the hardest lesson I’ve had to learn is this: you can’t force someone to meet you in connection-based love. It has to be their choice. And if you’re waiting for them to change or hoping they’ll “get there someday,” you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.

On the flip side, when two people are in connection, it’s life-changing. It transforms how you see love, yourself, and even the world around you. Think about it: when someone loves you like that—with all their heart, no games, no conditions—you start to see yourself differently too. Life stops being about what you’re “missing” and starts being about the beauty of what you’ve built together.

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Here’s the takeaway I wish someone had told me years ago: love is only meaningful when it comes from connection. Gamification might feel exciting at first, and transactional love may feel safe. But in the end, neither will fulfill you. So the next time someone says, “I love you,” or you’re about to say it yourself, pause. Ask yourself—what’s behind those words? Is this a game, a transaction, or a genuine connection? If it’s connection, hold onto it. Because that’s the kind of love that doesn’t just change relationships—it changes lives.