“I love you as you are.”
“I like you just the way you are.”
“Don’t ever change.”
We hear these lines and immediately assume they are beautiful.
I think they can be one of the most violent things you can say to another human being.
Because what does “as you are” actually mean?
Do you love the person?
Or do you love the version of the person that currently satisfies your desires?
We rarely ask this question.
Society has already given most people a script.
Study.
Get a job.
Earn money.
Get married.
Have children.
Buy things.
Take care of parents.
Maintain social status.
Attend every function.
Go on holidays.
Upgrade everything.
Follow the script and society calls you successful, settled and responsible.
Now imagine someone living exactly according to this script.
He earns well. He takes care of his parents and in-laws. He pays for the social gatherings. He buys the gifts. He funds the holidays. He agrees to the lifestyle his partner wants.
And she says:
“I love you as you are.”
But what exactly does she love?
Perhaps she loves the fact that he is giving her the life she wants.
Now change one thing.
He says:
“I don't want the expensive wedding.”
“I don't want to spend money trying to impress relatives.”
“I don't want unnecessary consumption.”
“I want a simple life.”
Suddenly, the person has changed.
But he hasn't necessarily changed as a human being.
He has simply stopped satisfying the expectation.
And that exposes the real condition behind the beautiful sentence.
Take something as ordinary as a wedding.
A woman wants mehendi, sangeet, destination wedding, expensive clothes and hundreds of guests.
The man agrees.
She says:
“I love you as you are.”
Now imagine the man says:
“Let's register the marriage. Let's avoid unnecessary expenditure and waste. Let's use the money for something meaningful.”
Does the same love remain untouched?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
And that “maybe” is the whole point.
Because if your love depends upon someone continuing to fulfil your desires, then you are not necessarily loving the person.
You are loving the service they provide to your ego.
This isn't limited to marriage.
We do the same thing with everything.
One drink gives you a kick.
Eventually, one drink doesn't give you the same kick.
So you need another.
The object didn't become worse.
Your mind adapted.
The same happens with money, sex, food, travel, luxury, attention, recognition and possessions.
We continuously increase consumption to recreate a feeling that never stays.
And then we call that feeling happiness.
A person satisfies your desire today.
You feel good.
You call it love.
Tomorrow your desire changes.
The person must change with it.
And when they don't, suddenly they are no longer “the person you fell in love with.”
Perhaps they were never loved as a person.
They were loved as a source of gratification.
The more disturbing part is that most people don't even know what they want.
They simply want what society has taught them to want.
A bigger house.
A better salary.
A wedding everyone will remember.
Children because “that's what people do.”
A foreign holiday because everyone else is going.
A better car because the neighbour bought one.
A better phone because the previous one is suddenly embarrassing.
Then someone comes along and says:
“I love you as you are.”
But which “you”?
The person?
Or the socially programmed machine that keeps producing the desired results?
That is the question.
And this is why “Don't change” can be such a dangerous sentence.
What if the person actually starts changing?
What if they begin questioning their career?
Their marriage?
Their consumption?
Their social obligations?
Their need for approval?
Their inherited beliefs?
What if they discover that half of what they called “my dreams” were simply things they were taught to desire?
Would you still say:
“Don't change. I love you as you are.”
Or would you try to bring them back to the version of themselves that was convenient for you?
If you need someone to remain the same so that you can remain comfortable, perhaps you don't love their existence.
You love their usefulness.
So next time someone says:
“I love you as you are.”
Don't get carried away by how beautiful it sounds.
Ask yourself:
What exactly about “me” are they loving?
My character?
My freedom?
My presence?
Or everything I provide?
And ask an even more uncomfortable question:
Do I even know who I am?
Because if I have spent my entire life becoming what my parents, partner, society and advertisements wanted me to become, then perhaps neither of us knows the person being loved.
We are simply two egos satisfying each other's conditioning.
And calling it love.
Maybe the first act of love is not:
“Don't change.”
Maybe it is:
“Find out what is true.”
And that requires neti neti.
Not this.
Not this either.
Remove the borrowed desires.
Remove the social script.
Remove the unnecessary consumption.
Remove the identities.
Remove even the things you proudly call “me.”
Because before asking someone to love you as you are, perhaps you should first discover—
who you actually are.