In the previous article, we saw something profoundly beautiful: men and women are not called to compete, but to come together. Difference is not a war, but an opportunity for communion that arises from experiencing complementarity. But the questions remain: If we are made to love, why does love hurt?
These days, it’s very common to hear how an experience that seemed like love ultimately leaves you feeling empty, or how, after a glance that wasn’t entirely innocent, something hard to describe emerges: guilt. Unease. Shame. As if something inside were saying: “This is good, but it’s not what it should be.”.
A Wound at the Source
Genesis does not shy away from this experience. It explains it. It takes us back to the moment when everything falls apart: original sin. Because every sin breaks a relationship. And here, the most important one is broken: the relationship with God.
The problem begins when a different voice appears: the serpent plants a seed of doubt in the man's heart: “No, you will not die; it is just that God knows that on the day you eat from it, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God in knowing good and evil.” (Gen 3:4–5). Therein lies the temptation. It is not merely a matter of disobeying a rule. It is beginning to view God with suspicion. Then, something decisive happens: man ceases to see everything as coming from God and wants to take possession of it. He no longer wants to live as a creature; he wants to “be like God.”.
In that seemingly small gesture, a profound rupture occurs. Man separates himself from the source that sustained his life. For his relationship with God was what held his entire being together. When that relationship is severed, man is left, so to speak, alone to face the weight of his own life. This is evident in the story: “I heard you making noise in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.” (Gen. 3:10)
The same God who was once a loving presence is now perceived as a threat. Everything changes. Because once we no longer trust God, everything begins to feel uncertain. We no longer fully trust even ourselves, because we no longer know who we really are. Nor do we fully trust others, because fear becomes part of our relationships.
The Birth of Shame
That's when the shame sets in. “Their eyes were opened… and they realized they were naked” (Gen 3:7). The body did not change. What changed was the way of looking at it. Before, nakedness was a guarantee of a pure gaze between them. As St. John Paul II explained, man and woman lived in a state of original nakedness: the body revealed the person as a gift to the other in love. But when the relationship with God was broken, that gaze was lost.
Now, the other person is no longer perceived merely as someone to love, but also as someone from whom to protect oneself. That is why the need to shield oneself arises. In this sense, shame is not the problem. It is a sign. It reminds us that a person is worth more than an object. But it also reveals the wound: we want to love, but the rupture leads us to want to possess. We want to give ourselves fully, but we are afraid.
When love hurts… what’s going on?
So we return to the original question. Does love hurt? The truth is, no. Love, in and of itself, is always good.
What hurts is trying to live apart from God. As mentioned earlier, original sin was not merely a matter of disobeying a rule. It was severing love from its source.
To live love well means recognizing that it has a purpose. We don't invent it—we receive it. And when we live without that reference point, even with good intentions, our hearts lose their way.
When God Enters into Love
But here is where hope lies. The human heart is wounded, but it is not doomed. When we let God into our lives, something begins to change. And here is a very revealing truth: it is the Holy Spirit who truly unites people. It is He who makes it possible for love to be not just an emotion, but a bond. That is why tradition calls Him vinculum caritatis: the bond of love. When two people love one another according to God’s plan, when they seek the good of the other, God Himself enters into that relationship and sustains it.
Then love ceases to rely solely on its own strength, on those ever-changing emotions, and begins to lean on Someone greater. On that firm rock that the human heart seeks—often without realizing it—so that its loves will not crumble.
Learning to Love Again
Shame is not the end. It is the beginning. Because right there—where the wound appears—the story of redemption begins.
Christ does not come to eliminate the body that is now in a state of decline. He comes to heal the heart. As St. John Paul II taught, this is a true redemption of the heart—a transformation of it.
But for that to happen, it’s important that all of this lead us to concrete conclusions. If you’re in a relationship: Have you talked to God about it? Does the way you express your love allow God to dwell there? Do you help each other love better? And something similar happens in friendships: Do your friends bring you closer to God, and do you bring them closer to Him? Do they help you grow? All of this will help God dwell in our relationships.
Reflecting on these truths will also help us see the experience of shame not only as a reminder that something was broken, but also that something remains valuable—that true love is still possible. As St. John Paul II taught: authentic love never consists in using the other person, but in giving oneself to them.
Therefore, true love does not arise from mistrust or fear. It arises—as John Paul II insists—from the gift of God. And when God is able to dwell within a relationship, love gradually ceases to be a burden or a source of pain… and begins to resemble what it was created to be: a place where the human heart can rest and find happiness.
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