Some couples never get to experience the deeper forms of love—not because they don’t want to, but because they bail before love has a chance to mature. They know how to fall in love, how to flirt, how to feel the rush of eros or the fun of ludus. But the moment love asks for something more—sacrifice, vulnerability, accountability—they flinch. They equate tension with incompatibility, struggle with failure, and instead of leaning in, they opt out. What they don’t realize is that love, real love, doesn’t fully reveal itself until after the first crisis.
The deepest forms of love—philia, pragma, agape—aren’t built in candlelight or on weekend getaways. They’re forged in hospital rooms, in hard conversations, in the quiet of forgiveness after disappointment. They require showing up when it's inconvenient, listening when you're defensive, and loving when it’s not easy. But many couples never get there, because they assume the loss of spark means the loss of love. So they move on to chase another spark, not realizing they’re starting the cycle over again, with no roadmap beyond the honeymoon stage.
What they miss is that the greatest rewards come after the storm. Emotional safety, lifelong companionship, the quiet joy of being known—these don’t come from intensity, they come from endurance. From staying. From choosing the relationship not just when it feels good, but when it feels hard. The couples who experience the most meaningful connection are not the ones who avoided pain—they’re the ones who learned how to hold hands through it.
To understand how love deepens—or unravels—we have to look at when and where each of these loves tends to show up. Because the real story of a relationship isn’t just who we fall for—it’s how we love them through every season that follows.
If you want a deeper dive into each of these seven types of love, go here.
1. Dating: Eros, Ludus, and Mania Take the Lead
It starts with heat. Not warmth—heat. The kind that blurs judgment and makes Monday morning feel like Friday night. Two people meet. Sparks fly. Texts turn flirty. Suddenly, the idea of sleeping seems less important than the electric possibility of “What comes next?” That’s eros—primal, hormonal, intoxicating. Biology’s way of saying, “Don’t think, just go.”
Then comes ludus, slipping into the mix with a sly smile. It shows up as banter, bold dares, light touches across the table. It’s fun because it’s not serious. That’s the point. Ludus says, “Let’s keep it casual,” even when everything underneath is inching toward something more.
But the third player—mania—doesn’t knock. It crashes the party. For someone with anxious attachment style or fearful-avoidant attachment styles, this isn’t just romance—it’s emotional roulette. Every unanswered text is a siren. Every glance, a clue. The highs are dizzying, the lows hollow. This isn’t chemistry. It’s volatility dressed up as fate.
Attachment theory doesn’t just explain these early moves—it predicts them. The avoidant attachment style dives into eros because intensity feels like closeness without the risk of exposure. The anxious attachment style feeds mania—hanging on every cue, spiraling between hope and fear. And ludus? It’s the socially acceptable shield—keeping things light so no one has to admit how badly they want to be chosen.
What most people don’t realize is that these loves don’t just belong to the beginning. They reappear. After a fight. During a rough patch. When the ground starts to shake, and people grasp for anything that reminds them how it used to feel. Eros, ludus, and mania aren’t the whole story—but they’re how the story usually begins. And sometimes, how it almost ends.
2. Early Commitment: Building Philia and Storge
Eventually, the adrenaline slows. The late-night texts turn into early-morning coffee. And the question shifts from “Are we?” to “We are.” This is where philia enters the picture—not with fireworks, but with quiet certainty.
It’s the kind of love that sounds like, “How was your day?” and actually wanting to hear the answer. It’s late-night drives without music, because the conversation fills the silence. In philia, two people start letting each other into the less curated parts of themselves—habits, histories, hopes.
Meanwhile, storge sneaks in through the back door. No announcement, no fanfare. Just routines, rhythms, the sound of your partner brushing their teeth while you fold laundry. It’s what happens when love stops performing and starts residing.
Attachment theory calls this earned security—when couples who didn’t start out safe begin to build safety through consistency and care. Eros may still flicker in the background. Ludus might resurface during a vacation or a wine-fueled Tuesday. But here’s the difference: the relationship stops hinging on chemistry and starts rooting in character.
And this is where many couples get it wrong—they think play means immaturity. But the healthiest marriages aren’t the most serious. They’re the ones that can laugh while they do the dishes. Because when philia and storge are strong, love becomes a place you can rest, not just a thing you chase.
3. Marriage and Long-Term Partnership: Pragma Takes Center Stage
This isn’t the end of the story—but it’s the beginning of the part that lasts.
By now, the gloss has dulled. The champagne has been replaced with grocery lists, the getaways with PTO requests. But something deeper has taken root—pragma, the love that doesn’t just feel… it decides.
This isn’t the rush of first attraction. It’s the daily choosing: to stay, to listen, to not weaponize that thing your partner said six months ago. It’s the real-life love story—less cinematic, more sacrificial. And strangely, it’s what many people think of last, but need the most.
It doesn’t show up early. You build it—slowly, painfully, beautifully—through scraped knees and second tries. Pragma is what gets you through the seasons when eros is quiet, when ludus is missing, when mania is no longer seductive but exhausting.
And yet, pragma isn’t passionless. It doesn’t kill the spark—it anchors it. In the best marriages, pragma coexists with play, attraction, and quiet loyalty. It’s not a replacement for eros or philia—it’s the scaffolding that holds them when life gets heavy.
A couple doesn’t stumble into pragma. They fight for it. They earn it. And when they do, they find something most people never get to experience: the thrill of knowing that someone sees every version of you—and still shows up anyway.
4. Challenges and Betrayal: Agape Becomes the Bridge
Ninety-five percent of couples who’ve been married thirty years or more have faced at least one moment that demanded deep forgiveness—a betrayal, a breaking point, a decision that changed everything. I think the other 5% were just too old to remember what happened—because in my experience, it’s every couple I’ve ever met.
Every great love story eventually meets its reckoning.
Sometimes it arrives with a confession. Sometimes with silence that stretches too long between the words. Illness, infidelity, emotional erosion—none of it was in the vows, but here it is, all the same. And now the question isn’t do you love each other? It’s what kind of love will survive this?
Enter agape—the least glamorous, most essential form of love. It doesn’t sweep you off your feet. It holds you when you’re too broken to stand. It doesn’t mean forgetting. Or pretending. Or tolerating harm. It means seeing the pain—and still choosing compassion over punishment.
This is not the same love that got you to the wedding day. It’s more demanding than eros, more sobering than pragma. It requires a kind of strength that insecure attachment styles can rarely summon on their own—empathy without collapse, grace without denial. It's the closest love gets to spiritual.
During these storms, mania often makes a cameo. It whispers panic: “Don’t lose them.” It fuels late-night arguments, tearful pleas, even impulsive sex that tries to plaster over the cracks. But couples who mistake mania for reconnection often fall back into the cycle. It’s not healing—it’s scrambling.
The real work—the slow, quiet, brutal work—is agape. The partners who survive betrayal and come out stronger don’t just rebuild. They rewrite. They leave behind the fantasy of perfect love for something better: honest love. Love that has seen the worst and didn’t run. Love that keeps showing up.
Not out of obligation. Out of choice.
5. Aging and Legacy: Storge, Philia, and Agape Endure
By the time a couple reaches their sixties, they’ve probably forgotten half of what they used to fight about. What remains is the quiet comfort of routines that once felt mundane but now feel sacred. The same morning coffee. The same walk around the block. The same hand reaching for yours in the dark.
As eros and ludus gently step back—like houseguests who knew their stay was temporary—storge and philia step forward. These are not the loves that get movie montages or steamy plotlines. These are the ones that stay. That bring soup to your bedside. That remember the name of your high school dog. That hold you when your memory begins to slip and speak your name when you’ve forgotten your own.
Agape is selfless, sacrificial, and quietly radiant. It doesn’t announce itself. It just shows up. In doctor’s offices. In hospital rooms. In the patient rhythms of caretaking. It’s not about grand declarations anymore. It’s about presence. It’s about love that still shows up, even when everything else starts to fade.
Couples who reach this stage with real emotional depth often reflect what attachment theory calls secure attachment in full bloom. They’ve internalized something precious: that love, even when stripped of spark and thrill, is still safe, still worthy, and still worth choosing—every single day.
Some couples never get to experience the deeper forms of love—not because they don’t want to, but because they bail before love has a chance to mature. They know how to fall in love, how to flirt, how to feel the rush of eros or the fun of ludus. But the moment love asks for something more—sacrifice, vulnerability, accountability—they flinch. They equate tension with incompatibility, struggle with failure, and instead of leaning in, they opt out. What they don’t realize is that love, real love, doesn’t fully reveal itself until after the first crisis.
The deepest forms of love—philia, pragma, agape—aren’t built in candlelight or on weekend getaways. They’re forged in hospital rooms, in hard conversations, in the quiet of forgiveness after disappointment. They require showing up when it's inconvenient, listening when you're defensive, and loving when it’s not easy. But many couples never get there, because they assume the loss of spark means the loss of love. So they move on to chase another spark, not realizing they’re starting the cycle over again, with no roadmap beyond the honeymoon stage.
What they miss is that the greatest rewards come after the storm. Emotional safety, lifelong companionship, the quiet joy of being known—these don’t come from intensity, they come from endurance. From staying. From choosing the relationship not just when it feels good, but when it feels hard. The couples who experience the most meaningful connection are not the ones who avoided pain—they’re the ones who learned how to hold hands through it.
If you’re tired of cycling through the same fights, drifting further apart, or wondering if your relationship can ever feel safe again, the Healing Broken Trust workshop was built for you. This isn’t fluff. It’s a proven, step-by-step experience that helps couples rebuild emotional connection, restore trust after betrayal, and learn how to love each other in the deeper, lasting ways most people never get to. If you're ready to stop surviving your relationship and start truly living in it—visit healingbrokentrust.com/hbtworkshop and take the first step toward healing together.
