For Sonja, researching happiness means being asked over and over again, “What is the secret to happiness?” Sonja has always dreaded that question. It’s ridiculous, it’s reductive, and it’s restrictive. But mostly she has dreaded it because she has never had a solid, science-based answer that she could offer with any confidence. There is no secret to happiness. But there are huge contributors to happiness, and some of them are more powerful than others. Sonja resists being pinned down to just one. But if she were pressed to give an answer, she now has one. She found it when she met Harry, who studies the science of relationships. She mentioned the dreaded question, and he replied, “I don’t know the secret to happiness either, but I do know people who are happy, and I know people who are unhappy, and I can tell you the main difference between them: Happy people feel loved.” The secret to happiness is feeling loved. Harry also said, “Isn’t it odd that happiness researchers and relationship researchers don’t talk with each other?” * * * For the next seven years, we decided to talk to each other. Together, we explored the science of happiness and relationships, the advice we give about both, and how we can all feel more loved. When we asked a representative sample of nearly two thousand American adults what they do to feel more loved, we were struck by how many seemed to find the question difficult to answer. Some weren’t sure what steps to take, while others felt that love was something that either happened or didn’t—something beyond their control. Why does feeling loved feel elusive for so many people? We’ve found that the challenge often isn’t a lack of love or inability to love but rather the beliefs we hold about how love works. Many of us instinctively follow certain ideas about what will make us feel valued, cherished, and secure in our relationships. We tell ourselves “if only” stories about love that seem entirely reasonable at first—stories that fit with what we’ve learned over the years, and that resonate with our hopes, fears, and intuitions. But when we examine these stories more closely, we sometimes find that they don’t hold up. Here are five of the most common misconceptions about feeling loved: If only I were more attractive, powerful, or successful, I would feel more loved. If only I could make sure others knew my positive qualities and successes, I would feel more loved. If only I could hide my shortcomings, I would feel more loved. If only my partner would speak my love language, I would feel more loved. If only I could get my partner to love me more, I would feel more loved. You’ll likely recognize some of these from your own experiences. Our goal isn’t to dismiss these beliefs outright but rather to explore what the science says about them and whether they’re truly helping you feel as loved as you want to be. If not, we’ll consider what you might do differently. One common thread running through many of these if-only beliefs is that, when we adopt them, we end up emphasizing our superficial selves—our image, career, and possessions—at the expense of our deeper selves—our values, personality, and quirks. But it’s our deeper selves for which we want to be loved. This raises a question we’ll encounter again and again as we interrogate these beliefs: How can we feel loved if we aren’t known? If-only belief #1: If only I were more attractive, powerful, or successful, I would feel more loved Many of us have felt, at one point or another, that success, beauty, and status would make us feel more loved. It’s understandable—our culture constantly reinforces the idea that being admired will translate into feeling cherished. If you were wealthier, sexier, or had more renown, wouldn’t the people in your life appreciate you more? Wouldn’t you feel happier and more loved? Yet research—and the lived experiences of many—suggests that this belief doesn’t always hold up. Through media, social norms, and the stories people tell each other, Western culture incessantly teaches that the secret to feeling loved is having more—more money, more beauty, more power, more success. The modern dating landscape reflects this: Take a quick scroll through dating-app profiles or social media and you’ll see references to LMS (looks-money-status) as prized qualities. Many people, including us, at some point, have chased after things like A-list status, beauty, or success, hoping they would bring the best possible life. People strive to be influencers or to make as much money as possible to buy the latest tech, luxury vacations, or the hottest DJs for their parties. Others seek these qualities in their mates—one acquaintance of ours insisted on only dating men with the “four sixes”—six figures (salary), six-pack (abs), six feet (height), and six inches (for sex). She’s still looking. This instinct to optimize themselves—or seek the most “desirable” partner—is completely natural. But does achieving wealth, power, fame, or physical perfection actually lead to feeling loved? Research suggests that while these things may bring attention and celebration, they don’t necessarily translate into feelings of being truly valued and known. Why, then, do people chase these goals? Although many tell themselves that they’re doing it purely for their own fulfillment, deep down, they likely pursue them in hope of being seen as more appealing—more worthy of love. Indeed, “ Significance-Quest Theory ,” published in 2022, states that humans have a drive or “quest” for significance, sometimes manifested in good works or humanitarian endeavors, but at other times reflected in efforts to bolster their sense of worth by attracting socially desirable “trophy” partners. Consider Madame Bovary, the iconic character from Gustave Flaubert’s nineteenth-century novel. She hopes that having a child will bring the fulfillment she craves, only to realize that no external source—whether a child, a lover, or social status—can fill that void. While her story is fictional, it reflects a timeless human experience: Looking outside oneself for validation often leaves people feeling empty. How can you feel truly loved if the version of you being loved isn’t you? One reason that striving for extrinsic goals doesn’t usually lead to feeling loved is that people want to be loved for who they are rather than what they have—for their compassion, integrity, willingness to work hard, sense of humor, and so on, and not for “surface” characteristics, such as money, popularity, fame, and beauty. Emphasizing your extrinsic virtues creates what social psychologists call attributional ambiguity—the unsettling doubt about whether others love you for the “right” reasons. For example, a beautiful person who has always received compliments on their looks might secretly fear that their desirability is the only reason people are drawn to them, rather than their kindness or character. A classic experiment conducted at the University at Buffalo illustrated this phenomenon. Highly attractive women wrote an essay and then received praise from a hidden male evaluator. When the women believed that the evaluator couldn’t see them, they took the praise to heart. But when they thought that the evaluator had seen them, they were more likely to dismiss the praise—believing it was based on their looks rather than their writing skills. The same pattern emerged for highly attractive men. A similar dynamic plays out in relationships. Someone who is admired for their wealth or beauty may quietly wonder, Do they love me for who I am—or for what I have? And would they still love me if I lost my money or my looks as I grew older? This uncertainty can undermine trust, making it harder to feel truly loved. Perhaps this helps explain why celebrities and the ultrawealthy are often skeptical when they receive love and admiration from others. When you’re unsure whether others appreciate you for who you are rather than what you bring to the table, that attributional ambiguity can erode relationship trust. Another reason chasing extrinsic goals can be unfulfilling is known as the “ hedonic treadmill ”—the tendency for achievements to bring only a temporary spell of satisfaction before again feeling the pressure to accumulate more. Instead, such striving seems to never satiate, thus rendering a person ever more dissatisfied and lonelier. To paraphrase an oft-quoted commencement speech by the American writer George Saunders, the problem with succeeding is that the need to do so constantly renews itself—like a mountain that keeps growing ahead of you as you climb it. Research shows that pursuing extrinsic goals—such as wealth and status—undermines, rather than bolsters, feelings of happiness and connection. In one longitudinal study of 12,894 U.S. undergraduates, those who, during college, rated being very well off financially as “essential” or “very important” were less satisfied with their lives two decades later compared to those who had placed less importance on wealth. (Notably, only respondents who ultimately achieved very high annual incomes—more than half a million in 2020s dollars—didn’t show this effect.) Similarly, anecdotal evidence from megalottery winners suggests that sudden wealth doesn’t always lead to greater happiness; in some cases, it creates distance and disconnection, as newfound riches make it harder to trust the intentions of friends and loved ones. So what does lead to feeling loved? If external markers of success won’t secure your feeling loved, what will? Research suggests an alternative approach—to focus on intrinsic goals rather than extrinsic ones. Intrinsic goals center on: Personal growth—learning a new language, exploring a creative passion, spending time in nature or in spiritual reflection Connecting to close others and community—reaching out to friends; being a joiner, not a watcher Contributing your time, energy, and money—caring for a sick friend, mentoring someone, volunteering for a cause These activities are ones in which, as Arthur Brooks has said, you “cultivate your roots rather than shine your leaves.” Not only will they improve happiness , belonging, and self-worth, they will make you a psychologically “richer” person—more well-rounded, more interesting, and with almost infinite fuel and fodder for conversation and connection. If-only belief #2: If only I could make sure others knew my positive qualities and successes, I would feel more loved Many people have worked hard to achieve success—whether in their careers, social lives, or personal growth. And it’s true that success can contribute to happiness, at least for a while. For example, happier people earn more and are better liked. But when it comes to feeling loved, there’s a common instinct that can lead people astray. It’s the belief that feeling loved comes from making sure other people recognize your strengths, talents, or successes: If only they knew . This belief may seem logical, but research suggests it doesn’t quite work that way. We live in a culture that celebrates visibility. Society lionizes confident, charismatic individuals who openly showcase their accomplishments—CEOs, influencers, entertainers, and top athletes. Social media has amplified this tendency, encouraging people to highlight their best moments and craft an image of success. Given this cultural backdrop, it makes sense that many people feel the need to broadcast their strengths—whether through direct boasting or carefully curated social-media updates. But, as you already know from if-only belief #1, there’s a catch: While people may admire you for your achievements, admiration doesn’t lead to feeling loved. Let’s consider the costs of digital self-presentation. Digital tools can sustain long-distance relationships, introduce you to communities you might never have found otherwise, and give you opportunities to express your positive qualities and achievements. But at the same time, they can also subtly reshape the way people interact—sometimes in ways that leave them feeling less, rather than more, connected. One of the most profound shifts in social life over the past two decades is the emphasis on accumulating “followers” on screens rather than deepening friendships in real life. It’s easier than ever to present a curated version of yourself—one that highlights your best moments, your most flattering angles, your biggest wins. And while there’s nothing inherently wrong with wanting to put your best foot forward, the unintended consequence is that many people find themselves performing connection rather than experiencing it. Consider a moment from Sonja’s travels: One day, she found herself waiting an hour for a delayed flight in a crowded airport-gate area. Sitting next to her was a striking young woman with long black hair, and Sonja couldn’t help but watch with fascination as the woman spent the entire hour meticulously taking selfies, carefully editing and retouching each one before taking more, and finally posting the best results on Instagram. Was she hoping for a certain number of likes, to get attention from someone special, or did she believe that a particular beautiful photo would win her love? The impulse to showcase one’s life online is often driven by a natural desire to be seen, appreciated, and valued. But being noticed isn’t the same as being known. A carefully crafted showreel might impress others, but it doesn’t foster the kind of deep, reciprocal understanding that makes people feel truly loved. Furthermore, research suggests that focusing too much on how you’re perceived—on making a good impression—can actually make you feel less connected. The impulse to showcase one’s life online is often driven by a natural desire to be seen, appreciated, and valued. But being noticed isn’t the same as being known. At first glance, the ability to craft and control how one appears to others seems like a good thing. After all, why wouldn’t you want to present the most polished version of yourself? For example, when it comes to people outside your inner circle, displaying your strengths, triumphs, and best qualities can certainly make an impression—it may open doors, attract dates, or even command respect. And in some ways, that’s completely natural—first impressions matter, and everyone wants to highlight their best qualities. But when self-presentation takes priority over expressing what lies beneath the surface, one loses opportunities to truly know and be known to others. Consider several familiar rituals of modern life: Carefully tweaking a dating profile to appear more appealing (perhaps even stretching the truth) Exchanging quick, surface-level text messages or engaging in small talk instead of meaningful conversations Collecting likes that momentarily boost confidence but rarely lead to deeper connection Humblebragging , or boasting masked by a complaint or false humility—e.g., “It’s exhausting being the only person my boss trusts with our big client.” (Studies show that this more subtle approach renders people less likable, not more.) Each of these behaviors is understandable, even instinctive in a world where visibility feels like social currency. But when people focus too much on how they appear to others, they risk missing out on the richness of real, unfiltered connection and end up feeling unseen. Also, at the same time that broadcasting strengths may inspire admiration, they may breed comparison, envy, and even resentment—pushing people away rather than drawing them in. Once again: You cannot feel loved if you’re not known. Indeed, you cannot even feel fully satisfied with your accomplishments—there’s always someone more beautiful, wealthy, or successful. Recently, Sonja was hiking with a group of friends when one couple pushed back on this idea. “What’s wrong with being proud of our accomplishments? People prefer winners to losers, stars over nobodies! Our friends and partners and acquaintances should be happy for us!” In some ways, they’re right. Your successes—and the hard journey to achieve them—deserve recognition. The people who care about you want to see you thrive. They may even bask in your reflected glory , celebrating alongside you. But when it comes to sharing those accomplishments, the key is balance. Talking about your successes in the right context—with the right people, at the right time—can deepen connections. When successes are related naturally—without an agenda to impress or obtain approval—others share in your joy, and your connection with them is deepened. But when success becomes something you broadcast rather than something you share, it can have the opposite effect. If the goal is to feel loved, then simply announcing achievements—especially as a way to seek validation—rarely brings what you’re hoping for. The good news? The people who truly care about you will notice your wins, whether or not you announce them. And when you share them in a way that invites connection rather than admiration, you’re far more likely to experience the sense of being valued—not just for what you’ve accomplished, but for who you are. If-only belief #3: If only I could hide my shortcomings, I would feel more loved So far, we’ve explored how chasing success or carefully curating an image doesn’t necessarily lead to feeling more loved. But what about the parts of yourself you don’t want to showcase—your imperfections, struggles, and vulnerabilities. Everyone has flaws, faces setbacks, and experiences moments of self-doubt. Everyone is a work in progress. Yet a common belief persists: To be loved, you must keep your weaknesses well-hidden and present only your best self. If-only belief #3 suggests that revealing anything “less than perfect” will push people away. At first glance, this belief makes sense. After all, who doesn’t want to be seen in the best possible light? But research—and real-life experience—suggests that molding yourself into someone you’re not can create distance instead of bringing them closer. The instinct to manage impressions is natural. As highlighted by if-only belief #2, many people shape their self-presentations in ways that invite interest—and will be attractive and compelling to others. But studies show that people don’t always know what will actually make them more appealing in relationships. Sometimes, the very traits you downplay—your quirks, challenges, or even past failures—are what draw people in. And even when you do manage to “get it right,” molding yourself into what someone else wants (e.g., dressing like a rock star because your romantic partner prefers that look) can leave you feeling uncomfortable, inauthentic, or even like an impostor. Consider the story of Cyrano de Bergerac, the seventeenth-century nobleman who ghostwrote poetic love letters on behalf of his inarticulate friend, Christian, helping him win his beloved Roxane’s heart. The words that Christian sent were beautiful, but he didn’t write them—so no matter how much those words moved Roxane, he couldn’t feel truly known, valued, and loved. In the twenty-first century, many people do something similar—hiding who they are, carefully curating what they reveal, and hoping that others will love them for the version that others presumably want. But, as we’ve repeated before, how can you feel truly loved if the version of you being loved isn’t you? Furthermore, if you believe your flaws will push people away, you may instinctively reveal only “safe” imperfections—for example, that you never make your bed—or keep parts of yourself completely out of sight. But secret-keeping makes it hard to feel understood. Imagine someone who reveals little of importance to their close friends. They feel misunderstood, but at the same time, they share almost nothing of what truly matters to them. How could their friends possibly understand them if they never get to see the full picture? This same dynamic plays out with family members, partners, and colle