Falling hard can feel like stepping into a brighter world—food tastes better, songs hit deeper, and ordinary Tuesday errands suddenly hum with possibility.
I’ve been around long enough to know that early fireworks aren’t a problem. They’re fun. The trouble comes when we mistake the sparkler for the sun.
If you’re wondering whether what you’re feeling is love or a gorgeous case of infatuation, pay attention to what fades after a few weeks. Love deepens. Infatuation evaporates or mutates into something else.
Here are the telltale feelings that tend to wash out once the novelty wears off.
1. The nonstop adrenaline high
In the beginning, you’re running on rocket fuel—racing heart, giddy anticipation, an energy spike that makes you think sleep is optional. Coffee becomes a prop, not a necessity.
If it’s infatuation, that constant high dips fast.
You’ll notice it around week three or four when your body insists on a normal bedtime again and the world regains its regular volume.
If the connection depends on staying amped—big nights, constant novelty, zero downtime—watch what happens when the pace slows.
Love doesn’t need fireworks every night; it prefers a steady pilot light that keeps the room warm.
A small test: can the two of you have a gentle, nothing-special evening and still like each other? If the answer must be “no, we need excitement,” that’s the dopamine talking, not devotion.
2. The urge to be in touch every minute
Early on, every ping is a thrill. You text good morning, a photo of your lunch, a meme, a “thinking of you,” and a goodnight selfie for good measure. If a reply is slow, your stomach does a small gymnastic routine.
In infatuation, the constant contact isn’t about sharing life; it’s about soothing anxiety.
After a few weeks, the anxiety either fades or you burn out. The cadence drops, and so does your mood—unless love is taking root. In love, fewer messages feel secure; in infatuation, fewer messages feel like withdrawal.
A good sign is how you both handle gaps. Can you go an afternoon without a check-in and trust that the connection is intact? As I covered in a previous post, real closeness grows more from reliability than from volume.
3. The “they can do no wrong” filter
At first, their quirks are adorable. The way they mispronounce a word. Their fierce pizza opinions. Their home is “cozy,” not cluttered. Infatuation paints with flattering light and a blur tool.
Give it a month. The blur sharpens. That charming spontaneity becomes chronic lateness. The passionate debate style feels like interrupting. If respect drops as the filter fades, that’s a signal. Love replaces idealization with clear sight and ongoing care: “I see your edges—and I’m still here.” Infatuation needs perfection to stay interested; love needs honesty to grow.
Try the mismatch test: can you name three specific ways you differ and talk about them without defensiveness? If not, the pedestal is still up, and pedestals wobble.
4. The future-leaping fantasy
Infatuation leaps ahead. By week two your mind has already named your hypothetical dog, imagined your shared holiday card, and quietly checked school districts you don’t need yet. It feels delicious—and slightly out of body.
A few weeks in, fantasy loses oxygen if there’s no day-to-day substance. You’ll notice an impatience with reality: work schedules, dishes, the mild chaos of real life.
When the imagined future is the main event and the actual present is an inconvenient intermission, you’re high on projection. Love enjoys planning, yes, but it also finds satisfaction in making dinner on a Wednesday and laughing over a lopsided omelet.
Ask yourself: do your plans escalate faster than your trust? If the future is growing while the present is thin, that’s infatuation doing the decorating.
5. The need to perform your best self at all times
In those first weeks, you show your highlight reel. Your apartment is suspiciously tidy. You’re the most punctual you’ve ever been. You laugh at jokes you don’t fully get. Your outfits are curated; your opinions are smoothed.
If it’s infatuation, the performance exhaust sets in quickly. Two or three weeks later, you crave sweatpants and silence—and maybe dread letting them see you without your verbal makeup on.
Love can tolerate the off-duty version of you. In fact, it prefers it. If the connection wilts the moment you stop being “on,” that’s not intimacy; that’s an audience.
A simple marker: how do you both handle small imperfections? Spilled coffee, a mispronounced word, a plan that changes. If the mood collapses with the performance, file that under infatuation.
6. The “butterflies plus dread” cocktail
Nerves are normal. Butterflies can be sweet. But infatuation often blends excitement with a low-grade dread—like you’re always a half-step from messing up the magic. You rehearse texts. You overthink pauses. You read silence as a verdict.
Give it time. If the dread doesn’t settle by the second or third week, you’re probably running on approval seeking, not shared ease. Love lowers your shoulders. It makes your breath longer, not shorter. When the right person walks into the room, your body should feel more like home base, less like a talent show audition.
I like the porch test: sit together without an agenda for twenty minutes. If your nervous system can’t calm down in the quiet, notice that.
7. The sudden spike of possessiveness
Infatuation can arrive with a rush of “mine”—an urge to guard what you barely know. You check who’s liking their photos. You bristle at the mention of an ex. You feel relief when they cancel other plans to see you.
In a few weeks, that spike often either becomes trust or turns into surveillance. If you find yourself scanning for threats rather than building a bond, you’re managing scarcity, not nurturing love. Love respects autonomy. It wants to be chosen freely, not captured and kept on a shelf.
A reality check: healthy interest sounds like, “Text me when you get home.” Possessiveness sounds like, “Who were you with, and why didn’t you answer?” The first feeling tends to persist in love; the second usually fades only when control replaces connection.
8. The hunger for constant validation
At the start, compliments feel like oxygen. “You’re amazing.” “I’ve never met anyone like you.” “Don’t change a thing.”
Lovely words. But if your mood rises and falls entirely on external praise, the emotional scaffolding will shake as soon as the compliments become less frequent—which they will, once you both relax.
Love brings a steadier confidence. You don’t need reassurance every day; you feel secure even when you’re not being applauded. If your well-being is pegged to their enthusiasm, you’re chasing a feeling, not building a relationship. After a few weeks, ask yourself: can you feel valued even on a plain day with no fireworks or flattery? If yes, that’s love getting its footing.
9. The chemistry that outruns compatibility
I’m not here to argue with chemistry—it’s fun, it’s powerful, and at sixty-something I still think it matters. But infatuation often mistakes physical charge for comprehensive fit.
You can’t keep your hands off each other, which is great. Then a few weeks pass and you discover you don’t respect how they handle money, or you can’t travel together without sparks turning into sparks of a very different kind.
Chemistry that’s part of love ages into tenderness, not boredom. You still want each other, yes—and you also like who you become in each other’s presence. If touch is the only fluent language and every non-physical conversation stalls, the “we” may not survive the month.
Try the errand test: do an unglamorous task together—groceries, IKEA assembly, a Sunday tidy. If you can’t stand each other outside a dim room, that’s valuable data.
A few honest reminders before we make infatuation the villain
It isn’t. Infatuation is a spark that can light a lifelong fire—or fizzle without anyone doing anything wrong. The point isn’t to distrust joy; it’s to notice its contours.
Here’s how I sort it in my own life, and what I tell my grandkids when they ask me about big feelings:
-
Love grows kinder as it grows clearer. Infatuation grows anxious as it grows clearer.
-
Love survives quiet. Infatuation needs noise.
-
Love expands your life. Infatuation narrows it to a single point.
-
Love can handle “no.” Infatuation experiences boundaries as rejection.
-
Love is proud of the truth. Infatuation thrives on the best-angle version.
How to let love have a chance (and let infatuation teach you, not trick you)
Slow the calendar. Add a week to every “next step” you’re tempted to take. If it’s love, it won’t evaporate under a mild delay.
Ask boring questions early. “What’s a weekend look like for you?” “How do you handle being mad?” “What does ‘busy’ mean in your world?” Their answers will either make the spark feel safer—or save you time.
Keep your life. See your friends. Sleep. Eat food that didn’t arrive at midnight. If the connection requires abandoning yourself, it isn’t love; it’s a costume fitting.
Track how you feel after you part. Do you feel grounded and expanded—or wrung out and vaguely unwell? Your body keeps better score than your brain’s marketing department.
A small story from the park
Last spring, I watched a couple who’d just met—obvious spark, lots of laughter, a magnetic pull I could feel from the bench. Over a few weeks, I noticed a shift. The laughter stayed, but so did a gentle calm. One morning they argued about which path was shorter; they got it slightly wrong and ended up looping back. No theatrics, just a shared shrug and a joke about their sense of direction. They sat on the low wall, shared a quiet snack, and watched the dogs chase each other. The energy changed from “perform” to “be.”
That’s the moment I root for. Not the fireworks—the exhale after, when two people realize the light didn’t have to be blinding to be warm.
The short version you can keep handy
If the nonstop high, constant contact, perfection filter, future-leaping, performance mode, butterflies-with-dread, possessiveness, validation hunger, and chemistry-only connection all fade after a few weeks—and nothing steadier shows up—you were likely riding infatuation, not building love.
Let the spark be the spark. Then look for the pilot light: steady care, honest talk, boring ease, good repair after small misses. Love is less about the opening scene and more about whether you can still choose each other when the credits roll on an ordinary Wednesday.
So, which feeling in your current story survives a slow week—and which one only lives under neon?
