When people talk about limerence, the conversation usually centres on romantic attraction. We hear about intense crushes, obsessing over whether someone likes us back, analysing every interaction and feeling as though our emotional world revolves around another person’s feelings. But what happens when those feelings aren’t romantic?
What happens when the person you can’t stop thinking about is a friend, a colleague, a mentor, a former teacher or someone whose approval means a great deal to you?
What happens when you don’t want a romantic relationship with someone, but you still find yourself craving their attention, wondering what they think of you, replaying conversations and feeling disproportionately affected by how they respond?
This is something I’ve experienced personally, and it’s something I think deserves more discussion.
As a late diagnosed AuDHDer, I’ve spent a lot of time looking back on experiences that I didn’t fully understand at the time. Having language to explore those experiences has helped me make sense of parts of my life that previously left me wondering whether there was something wrong with me. Non-romantic limerence is one of those concepts I’ve been exploring.
What is limerence?
The term limerence was popularised by psychologist Dorothy Tennov in her 1979 book, Love and Limerence: The Experience of Being in Love.
It describes an intense, involuntary preoccupation with another person, often accompanied by a strong desire for reciprocation. Their feelings towards you become incredibly important, and you might find yourself repeatedly trying to work out whether they feel the same way.
You might replay conversations, remember tiny details about your interactions, analyse messages or imagine future conversations. Your attention keeps returning to the person, even when you don’t particularly want it to. Uncertainty can play a significant role.
A kind message might leave you feeling reassured and excited. A delayed reply, a change in tone or an interaction that feels less enthusiastic than usual might leave you questioning everything.
You might know intellectually that people get busy and that a delayed response doesn’t necessarily mean anything is wrong. But knowing that doesn’t always make you feel secure.
It’s important to distinguish this description from a formal diagnosis. Limerence isn’t a recognised mental health diagnosis, and non-romantic limerence isn’t a universally established clinical subtype. The term is used here to explore a particular experience that some people recognise in themselves.
What does non-romantic limerence look like?
For me, one of the most confusing aspects of this experience has been the fact that it doesn’t necessarily involve romantic feelings. You can have friends, family, a partner and a full life, while still finding that one particular person occupies an enormous amount of your mental space.
Perhaps you look forward to seeing them more than you expected. You think about what you’re going to say before you see them, then replay the conversation afterwards. A compliment might make your entire day. If they seem distracted, you might spend hours wondering whether you’ve done something wrong.
You might check whether they’ve replied to your message, notice when they’re online or find yourself wondering whether they’ll attend an event. You might want them to choose you, think about you or see you as someone important in their life. And you might feel embarrassed about how much you care.
Growing up, I experienced this kind of intensity with teachers, particularly those who showed me understanding and care. Looking back, I can recognise how significant those relationships felt to me, even when I didn’t have the language to explain why.
That doesn’t mean every strong attachment to a teacher, mentor or friend is limerence. Admiration, gratitude and meaningful relationships are normal parts of life.
The question is whether the preoccupation becomes difficult to manage, whether uncertainty about the relationship starts to consume you, and whether the other person’s approval begins to feel essential to your sense of worth.
Why can one person become so important?
I think a useful question isn’t just, “Why am I thinking about this person so much?” It’s also, “What is it about this person that has become so important to me?” Sometimes, the person themselves is only part of the story.
They might represent acceptance, belonging, being understood, being chosen or feeling as though you’re finally getting something right in a social world that can feel confusing.
Perhaps they listen to you in a way that makes you feel understood. Perhaps they appreciate something about you that other people have criticised. Perhaps they make you feel capable, interesting or accepted.
If you’ve spent years feeling misunderstood or working hard to navigate social expectations, those experiences can feel particularly significant.
It’s not necessarily that the person has done something extraordinary. Sometimes, it’s the feeling you experience around them that stays with you.
You might begin to associate their attention with being valued. Their approval might feel like confirmation that you’re capable. Their interest might reassure you that you’re worth knowing.
And suddenly, their response seems to carry the power to confirm or challenge something much bigger than the relationship itself.
Of course, there isn’t one explanation that applies to everyone. Not every intense attachment comes from low self-esteem, unmet childhood needs or past experiences of rejection. Sometimes people simply connect strongly, and some relationships genuinely matter a great deal.
But it can be useful to explore whether you’re looking to one particular person to provide a feeling that has become difficult to access elsewhere.
The uncertainty and reassurance cycle
One of the hardest parts of intense preoccupation can be the uncertainty about where you stand. You might have a lovely conversation with someone and feel reassured that they like you. For a little while, you can relax. Then time passes. They don’t message first. Their next reply is shorter. They seem busy or spend time with someone else. Suddenly, the reassurance you received earlier doesn’t feel quite as convincing.
You start looking for new evidence. You revisit old messages, replay conversations or ask someone else whether they think you’ve done something wrong.
Sometimes, you might send another message, not because you have something important to say, but because you’re hoping their response will help you feel settled again.
When reassurance arrives, it can provide relief. But if you repeatedly rely on checking and reassurance to manage uncertainty, the relief may be temporary. This is where I think the difference between intellectual understanding and emotional security matters.
You can know that a friend is busy without feeling reassured by that explanation. You can know that a delayed reply doesn’t automatically mean rejection while still feeling anxious when the reply doesn’t arrive.
Recognising this pattern doesn’t make the feelings disappear, but it can help you understand what is happening. Instead of immediately asking, “What have I done wrong?”, you might begin asking, “What do I actually know, and what am I assuming?”
Sometimes, the honest answer is that you don’t know what another person is thinking. And learning to tolerate that uncertainty can be an important part of feeling more settled.
How might this intersect with ADHD, autism and AuDHD?
This is an area I particularly wanted to explore because of my own experience as a late diagnosed AuDHDer.
However, it’s important not to overstate the connection. Limerence isn’t an established diagnostic symptom of ADHD or autism, and there isn’t enough evidence to conclude that either condition directly causes it.
What we can do is consider whether some experiences associated with neurodivergence might overlap with the way certain people experience intense attachments.
Some people with ADHD experience periods of intense focus, emotional intensity or difficulty shifting attention away from something significant. Some also describe being particularly sensitive to perceived rejection, although rejection sensitivity isn’t unique to ADHD and isn’t experienced by everyone in the same way.
Some autistic people find social expectations confusing or tiring to navigate. Masking, past experiences of misunderstanding and the effort involved in maintaining relationships may also influence how someone experiences connection and uncertainty. For some people, meeting someone who seems to understand them can feel incredibly meaningful.
If you’ve spent years adjusting your behaviour to fit in, worrying about saying the wrong thing or trying to work out where you stand with others, feeling accepted by someone can be powerful.
But these experiences vary widely. Not every neurodivergent person experiences intense attachments, and experiencing limerence doesn’t mean someone is neurodivergent.
For me, the value of exploring this connection isn’t about finding one explanation for everything. It’s about having the opportunity to reflect on my experiences without automatically judging myself for them.
The shame of feeling too much
I think one of the least discussed aspects of non-romantic limerence is the shame. You might feel too old to care this much about someone. You might tell yourself you’re being immature, obsessive or needy. You might think you should simply be able to stop thinking about them. But criticising yourself doesn’t necessarily make the thoughts go away. It can simply add another layer of distress.
Having intense feelings doesn’t automatically make you a bad friend, colleague or person. Thoughts and feelings aren’t the same as actions.
You can want someone’s attention without demanding it. You can feel disappointed without being entitled to their time. You can experience jealousy or uncertainty while still respecting another person’s boundaries.
The important thing is learning to understand your feelings and respond to them in ways that are respectful to yourself and other people.
That might mean noticing when you’re repeatedly checking your phone, distinguishing facts from interpretations, or making space for other relationships and interests. It might mean exploring what you’re hoping the person will make you feel.
And if the experience is causing significant distress or affecting your daily life, it may help to speak with a qualified mental health professional.
You don’t need to shame yourself into changing. You can approach your experiences with curiosity while still taking responsibility for your actions.
Making room for yourself
I don’t think the answer to intense attachment is to stop caring about people. Relationships matter. Feeling understood, valued and connected can be deeply meaningful, and we shouldn’t have to pretend otherwise.
But there is a difference between allowing someone to matter to us and feeling that we need their attention in order to feel okay.
There is a difference between appreciating someone’s opinion and allowing it to determine our worth. And there is a difference between wanting a friendship to grow and feeling that we must constantly monitor it to make sure it hasn’t disappeared.
If you recognise yourself in these experiences, perhaps start with a question: What am I hoping this person will make me feel, and how else might I begin to create that feeling in my life?
Not because you should never need other people, but because you deserve to experience connection, acceptance and belonging in more than one place.
You can care deeply about someone without making their attention the centre of your life. You can feel uncertain without deciding that you’re unworthy. And you can recognise that your feelings are real without assuming they tell you everything about the other person’s feelings.
I’m still exploring this topic myself, and this is a conversation I want to continue. If you’ve experienced intense attachment to someone who wasn’t a romantic partner, I’d love to hear your perspective.
Sometimes, simply finding the language for an experience can help us feel a little less alone.
Listen to The AuDHD Teacher
If you’d prefer to listen rather than read, this post is also explored in an episode of The AuDHD Teacher podcast. I share more about my own experiences with non-romantic limerence, what it can feel like when someone occupies a lot of space in your mind, and how these experiences might intersect with neurodivergence.
You can listen to The AuDHD Teacher on Spotify and YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts.
If this topic resonates with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Have you ever experienced an intense attachment to someone without it being romantic? You’re welcome to share your experiences or reflections in the comments.
You can also follow along for more conversations about AuDHD, late diagnosis, neurodivergence, and the experiences that don’t always get talked about enough.
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