Is Romantic Love Still Worth It?

A couples psychologist on commitment, high standards, and modern love.

By Holly Batchelder, PhD

I'm sitting at a coffee shop, and next to me is a group of women having the best time together. They're laughing, talking, and genuinely enjoying each other's company.

And it's making me think about romantic love.

More specifically, whether it's still worth pursuing.

I know. A somewhat ironic question coming from a couples psychologist.

But hear me out.

What happens when we no longer need romantic love?

There's been a cultural shift happening, particularly among women, that I find genuinely exciting.

We're talking more about decentering men, investing in friendships, prioritizing careers, building community, and creating meaningful lives outside of romantic relationships.

And frankly, I think much of this conversation is overdue.

For generations, women were encouraged to view romantic partnership as a central marker of success. Finding someone, getting married, and building a family were often presented as the natural progression of adulthood.

But what if romantic love isn't necessary for a fulfilling life?

Research is beginning to challenge some of our assumptions about singlehood.

In a study of nearly 6,000 single adults, researchers found that single women reported greater life satisfaction, satisfaction with their relationship status, and sexual satisfaction than single men. They also reported less desire for romantic partnership (Hoan & MacDonald, 2025).

Of course, this doesn't mean single women are universally happier than partnered women. That's a different question.

But it does challenge the narrative that women without romantic partners must be missing something.

And I love that.

Romantic love can be meaningful without being the organizing principle of our entire lives.

Our friendships, careers, families, communities, passions, and personal growth deserve attention, too.

But this shift raises another interesting question.

Have our expectations for romantic love become too high?

I have very high standards for relationships.

And I don't think that's something we should apologize for, particularly as women.

Emotional maturity, respect, reciprocity, shared responsibility, and genuine partnership are reasonable things to expect.

But there's a distinction I've been thinking about more lately.

Having high standards isn't the same as expecting another human being to never disappoint us.

Relationship researcher Eli Finkel and colleagues proposed something called the suffocation model of marriage.

Their argument is fascinating.

Historically, marriage primarily served economic and practical needs. Over time, expectations shifted toward love, intimacy, passion, and eventually personal growth and self-actualization.

Today, we often expect our romantic partners to help us become the best versions of ourselves.

The researchers argue that this shift has created the potential for extraordinarily fulfilling marriages, but also greater disappointment when relationships cannot meet these increasingly ambitious expectations (Finkel et al., 2015).

I find this tension particularly interesting.

We want partners who are emotionally available, intellectually stimulating, sexually compatible, financially responsible, supportive of our ambitions, excellent communicators, and committed to personal growth.

And ideally, someone who makes us laugh.

None of these desires is inherently unreasonable.

But expecting one person to fulfill every role perfectly may be.

Perhaps the question isn't whether our standards are too high, but whether we're distinguishing our essential needs from our preferences and expectations.

The internet doesn't always leave much room for nuance.

Spend a few minutes scrolling through relationship content, and you'll probably encounter some version of:

"If he wanted to, he would."

"Never settle."

"Know your worth."

"The right relationship shouldn't be hard."

I understand why these messages resonate.

Especially for women who have historically been encouraged to tolerate unequal relationships, neglect their own needs, or prioritize maintaining a partnership at any cost.

Sometimes leaving really is the healthiest decision.

But I worry about what happens when useful advice becomes a rigid rule.

Someone can love you and still disappoint you.

Two people can be compatible and still disagree.

A healthy relationship can require difficult conversations, compromise, and repair.

And uncertainty doesn't automatically mean you've chosen the wrong person.

One of the things I appreciate about relationship science is that it gives us a more nuanced understanding of what makes relationships work.

John Gottman's research, for example, emphasizes that successful relationships aren't necessarily free of conflict. How partners manage disagreements, maintain friendship, and repair after conflict matters enormously (Gottman & Silver, 2015).

Of course, there's an important difference between navigating ordinary relational difficulties and tolerating repeated mistreatment.

Commitment should never require abandoning your safety, dignity, or fundamental values.

But neither should we expect healthy relationships to be entirely frictionless.

There's a difference between a relationship that challenges you to grow and one that requires you to shrink.

So, is romantic love actually good for us?

As a psychologist, I love that we can look beyond cultural narratives and examine what the research suggests.

A meta-analysis examining 126 studies involving more than 72,000 individuals found that higher marital quality was associated with better physical health outcomes (Robles et al., 2014).

But here's the important distinction.

The research concerns the quality of the relationship, not simply whether someone is married.

And because much of this research is observational, we should be cautious about assuming that a good marriage directly causes better health.

Still, the findings reinforce something important.

Being in a relationship and being in a relationship that supports your well-being are not the same thing.

Romantic partnership can provide companionship, emotional intimacy, affection, practical support, shared experiences, and opportunities for growth.

It can also introduce stress, unequal responsibilities, disappointment, and significant emotional demands.

Both realities deserve acknowledgment.

Which brings me to what I think matters most.

A relationship should expand your life, not become your entire life.

One of my favorite approaches in psychology is Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT).

At its core, ACT emphasizes psychological flexibility and making choices guided by our values rather than simply trying to avoid discomfort (Hayes et al., 2012).

I think this framework is especially useful when considering romantic relationships.

What kind of life do you want to build?

What matters most to you?

Friendship? Family? Career? Health? Adventure? Creativity? Community? Personal growth?

And where, if anywhere, does romantic partnership fit into that life?

For some people, building a romantic partnership is a central value.

For others, it may be less important.

And our priorities can change throughout different seasons of life.

The goal isn't to convince ourselves that we need romantic love or that we're better off without it.

It's to make intentional choices that reflect who we are and what matters to us.

I often think about relationships in terms of whether they expand our lives.

Does this relationship allow both people to remain connected to themselves?

Can they maintain meaningful friendships, pursue individual interests, and support each other's ambitions?

Can they navigate differences without losing respect for one another?

Can they depend on each other without giving up their individuality?

And perhaps most importantly, are both people willing to contribute to the relationship they're trying to build?

Because a meaningful partnership isn't simply about finding someone who checks every box.

It's also about what two people are willing and able to create together.

I still believe in love.

I really do.

I wouldn't have dedicated so much of my professional life to studying relationships if I didn't believe in their potential.

I love relationship science. I love the Gottman Method. I love that we can study communication, attachment, conflict, emotional intimacy, and the ways people learn to grow together.

There's something beautiful about two people intentionally choosing to build a life alongside one another.

But I also love that we're increasingly recognizing the value of relationships outside of romance.

Friendship isn't a consolation prize.

Being single isn't a developmental stage we necessarily need to graduate from.

And romantic partnership shouldn't require sacrificing the other relationships and experiences that make our lives meaningful.

I think we can hold all of these truths simultaneously.

We can have high standards and accept human imperfection.

We can value independence and still desire interdependence.

We can recognize that some relationships should end while believing others are worth repairing.

And we can love romantic love without making it the measure of a successful life.

So, is romantic love still worth it?

I think it can be.

Not at any cost. Not with anyone. And not because a meaningful life requires it.

But because there can be tremendous meaning in being deeply known, building a shared history, navigating life's uncertainties together, and choosing to grow alongside another person.

Of course, there's risk.

Heartbreak. Disappointment. Vulnerability. The possibility that something meaningful might not last.

But avoiding romantic relationships doesn't automatically mean we're living more authentically, either.

Sometimes choosing ourselves means leaving.

Sometimes it means staying and doing the difficult work of repair.

And sometimes it means allowing ourselves to be vulnerable enough to try.

I'm still thinking through these questions myself.

And perhaps that's part of what makes studying relationships so fascinating.

Maybe the greatest shift in modern love isn't that we need relationships less. It's that we have more freedom to decide what kind of relationships are worth having.

I don't believe romantic love needs to be the center of everyone's life.

But I do believe it can be a meaningful part of a life we've already worked hard to create.

And maybe that's enough.

References

Finkel, E. J., Cheung, E. O., Emery, L. F., Carswell, K. L., & Larson, G. M. (2015). The suffocation model: Why marriage in America is becoming an all-or-nothing institution. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 24(3), 238–244.

Gottman, J. M., & Silver, N. (2015). The seven principles for making marriage work: A practical guide from the country's foremost relationship expert (Rev. ed.). Harmony Books.

Hayes, S. C., Strosahl, K. D., & Wilson, K. G. (2012). Acceptance and commitment therapy: The process and practice of mindful change (2nd ed.). Guilford Press.

Hoan, E., & MacDonald, G. (2025). “Sisters are doin' it for themselves”: Gender differences in singles' well-being. Social Psychological and Personality Science, 16(6), 610–619.

Robles, T. F., Slatcher, R. B., Trombello, J. M., & McGinn, M. M. (2014). Marital quality and health: A meta-analytic review. Psychological Bulletin, 140(1), 140–187.