Love

“Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.” — Charles Bukowski

Talking about matters of this level of intimacy and exposure, especially on such a core topic reserved for the private sphere, awakens the fear of being seen as weak and, therefore, vulnerable. And it is that love is one of the most compromised aspects, at the character level, for the Sexual 8.

That is why love and everything related to it remains restricted to the strictest trust and confidentiality within the relationship. The exposure of romanticism and those forms considered “corny,” which are hidden behind the mask of strength, roughness, and security, along with the fear of being betrayed and exposed to others, as happened in childhood, place the Sexual 8 in a position of vulnerability highly visible and, therefore, dangerous: with the real possibility of being hurt right where they swore never to be hurt again.

One of the greatest difficulties is trust in relationships. The loving bond that people of this enneatype have internalized is closely related to violence, lack of attention, abandonment, and not having lived the childhood stage with loving care. That makes it never seem like there is enough trust to surrender to love.

This character has a need for intensity to connect with their own feelings. It is difficult to stay when that intensity is not found. Once that fire that burns strongly and quickly consumes itself ends, an internal disconnection appears, a numbness; in those moments when the environment invites turning inward, to maintain a relationship more interior than exterior, there is an avoidance of stability and calm, since those moments feel empty and meaningless. In reality, it hides a deep existential sadness, an archaic fear of not deserving even existence itself. This is how difficulty with self-love manifests.

The neurotic way of loving another person of a Sexual 8 is mainly utilitarian: the person has to be in a way unconditionally, while they are there for themselves and their needs. Hence, at the core, there is a recurrent feeling of not feeling truly desired and loved.

Regarding the loved one, there is a neurotic need for a lot of attention and their gaze, a narcissistic need that can lead this character to disdain or aggression toward that person from whom they demand to satisfy that need.

That tendency to feel power and control is not only directed toward others but also toward their own emotions, ensuring they express themselves mainly as displays of strength and invulnerability. These emotional manifestations seek to generate a kind of fascination in others, thus avoiding being perceived as an emotional person, since from this character emotionality is associated with weakness or lack.

And it is that, in love, as in any other aspect, they believe everything can be achieved by force. They always see that resource as plausible in a world where the strong wins the battle (which is life itself).

Specifically, this subtype needs a person—preferably a partner, although it can also be a friend, family member, or someone close—who becomes an absolutely special and exclusive bond, capable of encompassing all their emotional, instinctive, and relational needs. A person of absolute trust, to whom they will cling to the extreme, even to suffocation, and from whom they may demand everything.

This is a character marked by fear of being betrayed. Suspicion and distrust of a possible future betrayal lead them to put constant “tests of love.” Tests that, explicitly or implicitly, are presented repeatedly to make sure they are loved and that the other person remains loyal to the bond.

These tests become a way to alleviate the anguish of reliving a painful childhood experience. At the same time, that experience needs to be confirmed to justify their libertine behavior, to which they remain tied. Thus, sooner or later, a test will come that will not be passed as expected, and then they will be able to convince themselves that no one is loyal enough, that no one loves them or will love them. They may even conclude that they are

not worthy of being loved. And, from there, they will return to their well-known path of lust, as a form of revenge against a world they perceive as unjust and lacking true love.

“I don’t believe anyone can love me, considering what a pure bastard I am. And that’s why I ask for many proofs of love.” — Bittor

“I have the feeling that I don’t deserve to be loved. I have to do something. I’m amazed that someone loves me.” — Leonor

Partner

This character is demanding and dependent regarding the partner relationship: they require the other person to be willing to satisfy them in body and soul whenever their needs or desires arise, since they consider the other person as personal property.

“When I’m with a partner, I get energized; I don’t have strength for myself, I don’t have that ambition, I do it when there is something to do for another person.” — Gerard

Beneath the appearance of a power struggle hides a deep need and an intense fear of showing vulnerability. To allow themselves that abandonment, they first need to ensure they have dominance and control over the person they long to be able to rest on, like a balm for the tension caused by hiding a vulnerability so often wounded. Distrust, born from that wound, can become constant and take on an aggressive expression.

Frequently, by positioning themselves as guardian and protector of the other person, they divert attention from their own need to be protected and cared for.

At the beginning of the relationship, the enchantment they impose on the other person can mask their almost carnivorous hunger, typical of lust. However, when frustrations, boundaries, or “no’s” from the other person begin to appear, the character’s aggressiveness emerges, unable to tolerate refusal: then the claim of supposed ownership over the other arises. The perception of disloyalty justifies taking power by force or self-indulgent revenge, under the false belief that this restores a fair balance or, at least, avoids ending up in a position of “defeat.”

“I put a lot of energy into the hunt; once caught and I know my partner is mine, I relax.” — Leonor

“When I am sexually satisfied with a woman, that’s when I can understand if I feel something or if it was just pure desire. If I feel something, I make her mine; if not, I have already possessed her and can continue on my way.” — Jesús

In the functioning of this character, two forms of violence can be distinguished. The first is the obvious one: explicit violence, always latent, that can be triggered at any moment. In a reactive outburst, one can resort to violence—psychological or physical—as a way to impose their own desire over the other, marking or rather imposing the limit. When impulsivity is triggered by what is desired, there is no brake, neither moral nor rational, to limit its satisfaction.

The second is a more subtle and silent violence, operating in the shadow. It is a buried violence, almost imperceptible, but effective: it communicates to the other, without words, that bothering them is not a good idea. This character, so polarized, can appear very calm in intimacy but has probably ensured enough respect, or fear, to make sure not to be disturbed.

This form of violence acts as a relational basis for the other person to understand that moments of withdrawal are sacred. All of this shapes a rigid, intolerant, and imposing way of relating. It even seems to control when it wants “action” and when it needs not to be disturbed. This is how power is maintained. For this reason, the relationship is never one of equality: the other person is considered property, while the Sexual 8 perceives themselves as autonomous and independent. At least, that’s what they tell themselves. Because, in reality, it is a character deeply dependent on the other person and on the power they exert over the relationship, which serves to avoid contact with their own pain.

The partner is treated as an object of possession: “she is mine.” He decides about her: who she relates to, when she goes out or comes in, with whom… Moreover, he expects her to always be available to satisfy his needs, both physical and emotional. He even expects the partner to anticipate what he needs without having to ask. If this doesn’t happen, he might think she is not the right person.

Contacting one’s own dependency and recognizing the need for the other is part of the process of growth and personal work on the character. Until that happens, if there is no external victim—someone on whom to play the role of executioner—the Sexual 8 might be forced to recognize that he himself occupies the victim’s place, a position he neither accepts, tolerates, nor is willing to assume.

All members of the group that participated in the development of this chapter agreed on one point: we do not feel worthy or deserving of love for who we are; we believe it is our task to earn it. That’s why we put tests, to check if we are really loved even with our shadow. In the couple relationship, and in other forms of bonding, surrender is a difficult

experience full of resistance. Surrender did not work with the parents, and the character seems to have sworn never to “lose” that game again nor expose themselves again to the pain that surrendering implies.

Therefore, having an escape route becomes the most effective resource to relieve the anguish in the face of commitment and fear of betrayal. This escape allows avoiding contact with possible loss, pain, or the possibility of having been deceived again.

For this enneatype, the partner—just like life—is a battlefield where only two options exist: win or lose. And losing is not an option. Losing can mean being betrayed before having taken the initiative to betray.

If finally feeling at a disadvantage or defeated, revenge appears. Revenge promises, even if it is an illusion, to return calm to an internal pain that remains unrecognized. One way or another, the partner ends up perceiving all this, although not always directly. They are required to fulfill an unwritten code of absolute loyalty and submission to the power he exercises.

The implicit message seems to be: “If you don’t question my power and are loyal to me, I will take care of you and you will lack nothing,” although that “lack nothing” is more limited to the material and physical plane than the affective or emotional.

In the therapeutic process, or in other close relationships, whether family or friendship, there is a kind of silence regarding couple intimacy. It is only discussed when there is consolidated trust with the other person or the therapist, or when the relationship is already broken or going through a crisis difficult to repair.

After a disproportionate, rude, or aggressive gesture, immediate remorse or some reparative gesture usually appears. This mechanism acts reactively and unconsciously, as a strategy to restore the power balance. It is then that dependence and fear of abandonment surface, although without being acknowledged. Tenderness appears tinged with manipulation: a new test to check if, despite everything, the other person stays. This closes the perfect circle: the partner remains, one’s own needs are prioritized, and the character continues to deploy its neurotic pattern.

In affective relationships

If we take into account the antisocial nature of the character, it’s not hard to imagine that these are people who tend to maintain few relationships. This tendency is even more pronounced in the Sexual subtype, especially when they are in a couple or a similar affective relationship. The partner (or the created family nucleus) occupies a good part of

their relational capacity, leaving little room available for other bonds. The ties they maintain outside the couple are usually very concrete, based on loyalty and affinity, which allows them to feel safe.

They have a marked inclination toward isolation, with a strong need for solitude and withdrawal. Also, there aren’t many people with whom they enjoy sharing or spending time. It is easy for them to avoid any relationship with people they don’t find pleasant; even with family members, they can maintain a distance as if no bond existed.

They do not feel the need for frequent contact nor to show affection habitually. However, in important or difficult situations, they can open up and be available with total dedication, as if becoming a lifeboat. What is more complicated is maintaining continuity or regularity in the bond. They protect loved ones from any adversity but do not consistently cultivate the relationship day by day.

Displays of tenderness or affectionate gestures are reserved for intimacy, the only space where they allow themselves to drop the image of invulnerability and roughness to surrender to the characteristic romanticism of this subtype. In their inner world, they are indeed affectionate, attached, dependent, and in need of intimacy. But outwardly, they protect themselves, showing a strong, independent, and protective appearance, as if they did not also need to be protected. They love in a very physical and territorial way, like a shepherd who watches over and protects their flock. Their body posture, attention at a medium distance, vigilance from the shadows or the periphery—these are ways of expressing what they feel.

In affective relationships, it can happen at any moment and almost like a gust of wind that everything built is thrown overboard to launch into the search for a new adventure. Frequently, they idealize and romanticize a new bond, immerse themselves in the conquest, and once the goal is reached, repeat the pattern: possess and dominate to satisfy their need for intensity and excitement, then sooner or later, start the cycle again with another person.

This dynamic reflects the attempt to perpetuate the intensity typical of the initial phases of the bond, avoiding the deep commitment required to build a stable intimacy.

The Sexual 8 needs to take over the life of the other. They can dive fully into a relationship, revolutionize the other person’s life with seduction, manipulation, and a display of power aimed at winning admiration. The goal: to make the other theirs, and once achieved, to return to seek narcissistic self-satisfaction.

With the same impulsivity and reactivity with which they enter, they can also leave. Their gaze is directed outward, in a constant search for novelties or ways to maintain intensity in their experience of living.

“There is no need for frequent contact nor to show excessive affection. However, in an important or difficult situation, they can open up completely and be available, as if they were a lifeboat. What is more difficult is to maintain continuity in the bond.

From there, they show themselves very protective in relationships. If someone needs them, or if something urgent or relevant happens, their response can be immediate and forceful. The difficulty appears when it comes to maintaining a regular or constant bond. It’s as if they protect their loved ones from any adversity or difficulty but without sustained care of the relationship in day-to-day life.

Displays of tenderness or affectionate gestures are reserved for intimacy; it is there where they can allow themselves to drop the image of invulnerability and roughness, and give space to the subtype’s own romanticism.

“A new chapter in our life began with the birth of our daughter. When I gave birth and heard her first cry, I felt euphoria for the first time in my life. From that moment, I understood what true love is. It was not war. It was not adrenaline. It was the vulnerable part of God in my hands. Only then did I realize that I had never loved anyone so deeply and unconditionally. Until that moment, I had only convinced myself that I loved deeply and passionately, but it was intensity and an escape from loneliness, not love. I had never known a love as limitless and indescribable as the universe until I gave birth to my daughter.” — Galina

In their deep reality, they are like this: affectionate, attached, dependent, and in need of intimacy. But outwardly, they try not to show this too much; they appear strong, independent, and protective, as if they did not also need to be protected.

They love in a very physical and territorial way, like a shepherd who cares for and watches over their flock. Their body posture, the attention they pay from a certain distance, from the shadows or the periphery—that is how they express what they feel.

In relationships, at any moment, almost like a gust of wind, they can throw overboard everything built and leave in search of a new adventure. Then begins the romanticizing and idealizing of a new bond, which they will possess to satisfy the intensity and excitement of the new “toy,” until finally leaving to repeat the same pattern with another person. It is a way of trying to perpetuate the intensity in relationships, typical of the early stages, thus avoiding facing the difficulty of committing to a consolidating intimacy.

The Sexual 8 needs to become the owner and possessor of the other’s life. They can enter the relationship at full speed, revolutionize the other person’s life through seduction, manipulation, and winning their admiration through a display of power. To “make the other theirs,” and once achieved, to return to seek narcissistic self-satisfaction.

With the same impulsivity and reactivity with which they enter, they leave. There is a kind of search outside for novelties or ways that give intensity to living.

“With every change I have had, it is as if I begin a totally new life… as if everything previous no longer served my present.” — Jesús

The Three Loves

Claudio Naranjo, in his discussion on the three classical forms of love, defended the need to integrate the three types of love that coexist within each of us in order to reach full development, associating them with the three internal dimensions of love. These three loves are:

• Erotic love, more related to the child and to self-love;

• Compassionate love, linked to the maternal part;

• And admirative love, corresponding to the paternal figure.

In the Sexual Type Eight, there is an excess of eros, a scarcity of compassionate love, and a total lack of admirative love, since they only admire themselves.

Erotic Love

In this personality, absolutely everything can be eroticized — not just relationships with partners or lovers, but also friendships, situations, even relationships with animals. Every bond is sharpened with an erotic undertone in a broad sense.

The neurosis of erotic love manifests in the use of the other — in possessing them, making them one’s own, squeezing them to extract personal satisfaction. Relationships are built on this kind of genitality.

There is a distortion of self-love, interpreted as a right to one’s own satisfaction, without considering the other and without awareness of one’s own need for intimacy. This becomes a way to cover the sensitivity toward a more tender and affectionate contact — something that is both feared and desired in equal measure.

The form that domination over a person or situation takes is through histrionic and abusive behavior, which often hides an inner feeling of clumsiness or shame that must not be shown under any circumstance. This is the type of love that provokes the greatest fear in them.

“We go toward genitality out of cowardice. The thing I’ve heard most often: ‘I never imagined you could be so affectionate and so tender (in intimacy).’” — Amargo

Compassionate Love

All participants express that they have a latent capacity for compassionate and loving affection, but with strong reservations — they show it only to one or very few people, always of absolute trust. And that trust, if betrayed, is immediately withdrawn.

In childhood, they experienced tender contact that, in one way or another, they felt was betrayed by one of their parents. It is a kind of love they have come to associate with humiliation.

“As a child, I used to give flowers to my mother. What she did was brag about what a great mother she was. That made me stop doing it.” — Jesús

The humiliation suffered in childhood led them to hide this kind of love. Showing it turns against them, exposing them to a vulnerability that could cause pain.

Expressions of compassionate love are often redirected into erotic love as a form of self-protection. Several representatives of this type affirm that “only in intimacy do we write poetry, only there are we tender... out of cowardice — afraid to stay in the heart.”

“When I was about five or six, I gave my mother an ashtray that said: ‘Mom, I love you.’ And she told me that what I needed to do was love her less and clean more.” — Leonor

Admirative Love

Regarding admirative love, the authority experienced in childhood was lived as abusive and/or humiliating. This not only created a feeling of betrayal, but also a deep disappointment toward that figure — making admiration feel dangerous. Suspicion toward authority appears easily and sabotages any attempt to return to a situation reminiscent of that abuse.

It is hard for them to admit that, at some point, they did admire at least one figure of reference — but it happened. And in some way, there was an abuse of that power, which produced a sense of debasement and an obligation to submit to their strength.

All of this manifests as a marked intolerance toward authority: not only is it not respected, but it is actively rejected, as they take the position of authority themselves — justifying it as a way to never again be subjected to any external power.

“I stopped admiring my father when he started treating me badly.” — Muriel

“My mother used to say: ‘If you turn out to be a pig like your father, I’ll kill you.’ It bothered her that I admired him so much, and she blocked my admirative love. If I can’t admire and I can’t love — well, then I’ll fuck.” — Amargo

“I admired my father, but giving him that position, with the power he already had, was dangerous. Still, I wanted that place — I swore I’d get there and make him pay.” — Jesús

When this person finds themselves trapped again in a situation of subjugation to authority, they may resort to threats, both verbal and physical.

It’s no surprise that they can, in turn, become an abusive and tyrannical authority — exactly like the one they suffered under, or even worse — as a form of revenge for their own wound.

Sometimes, testimonies recount that the figure they admired gave them the throne, placing the child in a position that did not belong to them — a place they grew to enjoy, from which they later exercised power with an iron hand.

Many affirm:

“When we admire a therapist, we quickly start to compete or to find a way to take that ‘throne’ for ourselves.”

Daughter of a Sexual 8

I grew up believing my father was a monster. The most painful part was realizing that the same monster also existed within me—and that its name was hatred. My relationship with my father was deeply ambivalent: I admired him profoundly, yet at the same time I loathed him with all my being. I was terrified of him—so much so that I transformed that fear into hatred just to make it bearable. I was the perfect daughter at home: obedient, hardworking, good in school, keeping the house in order, upholding the image that was expected of me. But outside, I became cruel, deceitful, and sadistic. I cheated, I lied.

My mother, a Sexual Three, devoted herself to pulling me into her relationship with him—casting my father as the villain, especially because of his outbursts of violence and unpredictability. At home, everything could seem calm, and then, in an instant, the world would explode. You never knew when the storm would strike. I’ve only understood later, through personal reflection, that my constant fear came from living in that tension. When he got angry, it felt as if the world were ending. I learned to tiptoe around him, to anticipate his moods, to avoid provoking him. I lived permanently on alert.

I remember once, as a teenager, he took me to buy glasses I really wanted. I was terrified of his reaction, so I didn’t wear them for two years for fear he might get angry if they broke or were stolen. I had internalized his dream: to be omnipotent, the daughter who could do everything, who was capable of everything. That was how I managed to get him to see me—to be visible to him. He was both loved and hated by me. It felt as though two people lived within him: one who cared for me, gave me structure and presence—he was the one who made me breakfast, took me to the park, the zoo, taught me to ride a bike—and another, who was emotionally absent, distant, and unreachable.

That second version of him surfaced when I tried to share my deepest pain. When I spoke of my alcoholic mother, he always denied everything. He would say she was “sick,” though in truth she was drunk. He would normalize the chaos, until the day came when the situation would erupt into violence. He never admitted what was happening, and when reality broke through, he would explode with fury that made life unbearable.

My relationship with him, as I’ve said, was filled with contradictions. I despised him for his violence—I swore I’d never be with a man like him, one who treated a woman as he treated my mother. But I also swore I’d never be like my mother either—a woman who lived only

for appearances, who surrendered herself to humiliation instead of standing up to his contempt and aggression.

Now I can see that much of what I experienced wasn’t only about my father—it was about the relationship both my parents built. They were not good or bad people; they were adults who had chosen a destructive way of relating, into which I was fully drawn. Later in life, I unconsciously recreated the same dynamic with my own partner—also an Eight, but a Self-Preservation subtype. I chased him, despised him, fought him with the same violence my mother used against my father, until he exploded, and I retaliated. I demanded from him the same things I had once demanded from my father—things no partner could ever give. One day I woke up to realize I was at war, just like my parents had been. The difference was that, unlike them, we eventually found the courage to face our patterns, to work on ourselves, and to build a relationship grounded in respect and intimacy.

Looking back, I can now see my father with different eyes. Beneath his rage and volatility was a man wounded by fear and vulnerability. I remember the few times he punished me—rare moments, because I made it my mission to be perfect so he wouldn’t have to. Afterward, he would return, eyes moist, full of remorse, apologizing for his fury. His apologies were clumsy, but real. I came to recognize the tenderness hidden beneath his armor—the love that was there, even if it was buried under layers of pain and hardness.