After a few glasses of wine and a couple of episodes of a certain Netflix show, writing becomes easier. My thoughts flow freely, and my mind feels wide open. Love is Blind, for those who aren’t familiar, is a reality TV show about couples who fall in love sight unseen. The show’s quick pace—couples get engaged and married within just four weeks—forces difficult conversations to happen much sooner than usual. On Love is Blind, romantic interests discuss kids, religion, political beliefs, and even prenuptial agreements before ever seeing each other’s faces. The hopeless romantic in me loves these moments. I laugh, but also feel a little warm inside when I see people giggling and smiling at a wall. The guys are pacing on the other side, while the girls lie on their backs, kicking their feet in the air when they get the validation they need from their “number one.” It’s all wildly unrealistic, in my opinion—but hey, there are still couples who are together, so I can’t say that with complete confidence.

But what happens once they’re no longer behind the wall? When each man and woman is no longer talking to a faceless voice, but to a real person with opinions, feelings, and attitudes? Well, most of the time, it all comes crashing down.

What I love about Love is Blind is that it shows that you can fall in love with someone—and more importantly, feel connected and comfortable with them—without seeing or touching them. But because most of us are insecure beings with our own traumas, that faceless emotional connection isn’t strong enough to keep the walls from going up.

When these couples finally see each other, the honeymoon phase lasts only a few minutes before the walls go up. Some might argue that the wall is there because it’s awkward to fall in love with someone you’ve never seen. But I’d argue that it’s not just the awkwardness—it’s hard to keep your guard down when a face is finally attached to the voice you’ve fallen for. Now there’s a face, a body, and a person who could potentially hurt you.

The fear of getting hurt is what holds most of us back from giving it our all. Reality TV cast or not, we’re all going through the same motions. It’s why online dating—or talking to someone who lives thousands of miles away—is easier. They can’t hurt you as easily. I could dive into deep psychological reasons for why we’re afraid of being hurt, but honestly, it all boils down to childhood experiences and our parents messing up too much. Nothing special.

With this overwhelming fear of being hurt, overthinking takes over. It becomes easier to dwell on the past and smile at old videos than to envision a future with someone new. Memories can’t inflict new wounds, but something new absolutely can.

There’s excitement in wanting to give it all: bake a pie, overshare without fear of tomorrow, invite someone to an event months away. The desire to let the floodgates of love open with no fear of the future is intoxicating. But the love bombing would be so much easier if there wasn’t that nagging voice in the back of your head whispering, “Don’t hurt me.”

And that’s why this seemingly unrealistic reality show is so relatable. We get to watch people open up, close up when they realize they could actually get hurt, and watch it all crumble. As for the couples who make it? I’m happy for the healthy, securely attached individuals who found each other. As for everyone else? We’ll enjoy watching your relationship rise and fall on TV.