IN A 2007 episode of the popular sitcom How I Met Your Mother, protagonist Ted Mosby introduces a girl he had met online to his friends. “What?” He demands, when they all look skeptical. “There’s no stigma anymore!”

“Of course there’s a stigma,” one of his friends scoffs. “That’s why people say, ‘There’s no stigma anymore!’”

It’s both exasperating and dispiriting to think of how little has changed since that quip three years ago. In a recent class on information communication technology, my peers practically exploded with disapproval at a documentary showcasing an online relationship. “But, those aren’t real!” was the overwhelming consensus. “You just can’t get to know someone over the Internet.”

As someone who has spent the past year and a half deliriously happy with a lovely boy I met online, I’d like to respectfully disagree.

EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO, a throwaway email about Photoshop advice with a total stranger slowly turned into a long email correspondence with one of the most charming, outgoing men I’ve ever met. It’s funny, because if I had first met my partner face-to-face, I would’ve either considered him a total player and written him off immediately, or I would’ve thought that he was totally out of my league. I’m a pretty classic introvert, and surround myself with similarly quiet personalities.

He made his intentions clear by telling me over IM one day that it was frustrating that he couldn’t just kiss me, because then all this unacknowledged tension would be resolved. The tension, clearly, did not go unacknowledged for long.

The thing that most people ignore about online relationships is that they’re not really online relationships — you meet there, but your contact doesn’t stay in text-form forever.With us, typing led to videochatting led to the phone (with us becoming more focused on each other with each successive medium.

And then we met. It felt more like an elaborately planned heist than a romantic outing. He had to fly to come see me, and we put in a million different safeguards: What we would do if we didn’t get along in real life the way we did online, what I would do if I felt unsafe or uncomfortable, how my friends could check up on me, and how his friends could check up on him. He sent his address and work phone to a few of my friends, to prove his intentions. In the days leading up to the trip, we talked ad-nauseum about how we would still be friends if things didn’t work out, and how there was no pressure, and that things would be fine.

Things were fine. When he got off the plane, he gave me a tentative hug as we both grinned shyly at each other. He reached out a hand to stroke my hair, and then pulled back at the last second. “Is that okay?” he’d asked, uncharacteristically uncertain. I didn’t reply; I just stepped into his embrace again.

AS NATURALLY AS our relationship has come to us, I am constantly taking heat — implicit and explicit — from those who aren’t down with the fact that we met on the Internet. How could I possibly have known he was who he said he was, they’d wonder. It’s odd how this fear of strangers seems to be so much more amplified online. After all, how do you know that the guy you gave your number to at the club is who he says he is? It’s possible to protect yourself online while giving other people the benefit of the doubt; similarly, you wouldn’t want to get into cars with strangers, but you also don’t make the assumption that everyone you meet is out to kill you.

There’s also the question about the very means of communication you use online — can you possibly transmit as much from one screen to another as you can through in-person communication? I think you can. People are creative and adaptive, and find lots of ways of conveying the nuance of their meaning. Emoticons are just the most obvious of these nonverbal signals, and with Skype and FaceTime and other forms of multimedia becoming so commonplace, it seems disingenuous to claim that you can’t communicate properly with someone you met online.

I’M NOT DENYING that my relationship has its hurdles. But they’re hurdles shared by any long-distance relationship. There’s a lot less ambient awareness of the other person on a daily basis, and it’s incredibly easy to fall prey to niggling thoughts of insecurity. you’re forced to be a lot more explicit about your emotional needs, which can be insanely difficult for someone who normally pretends that her emotions don’t really exist. When I was going through a rough patch dealing with my depression, I would regularly sit in front of the computer with our IM window open, tears streaming down my face, while telling him half-hearted jokes. It took a long time for me to learn to explicitly say that I wasn’t doing well, and that I needed his support; that admission, difficult as it was, made a world of difference.

The constant second-guessing from your friends and family can bleed into the relationship. My parents, for example, never left the subject alone. They weren’t concerned that I was dating someone I met online — more that I was wasting my youth with someone who lived a thousand miles away. I eventually told them to either be happy for me, or to stop bringing it up. I don’t know which option they chose, but at least I don’t hear about it anymore.

The flip side of all this is that I have come out on the other side so much stronger than I was before. It forced me to place all of my trust in my partner — not because I don’t perceive any threats to the relationship, but because I have faith that the relationship can withstand any assault. I’ve gained a valuble set of conflict-resolution skills, as we’ve had to commit to quietly and verbally working through any misunderstandings. I’ve learned to be vulnerable and honest, forced to confront  insecurities, because in a relationship like that, trust is all you have. I’ve grown so much in self-confidence as a person.

When you see the person you’re dating every day, it’s easy to fall into a routine, and it’s even easier to let physical satisfaction take over the rest of your relationship. Too many friends of mine have regretted staying in a relationship simply because they didn’t want to lose the physical comforts, not realizing that sex had become the only thing they had left. In a relationship that is inherently built on communication, problems are highlighted and pushed to the forefront before they can overwhelm you, and that’s an incredible asset to have.

Admittedly, the times apart are pure torture. People say the Internet is meant to flatten the world and make connections easier, but so often it just makes the pain of the distance more acute. The loneliest five minutes are just after you’ve spoken to a loved one on the phone, and have to settle into a cold bed without them by your side. Sometimes I’m resentful of the circumstances of our relationship; it seems unfair that two people as in love as we are should be forced by to be apart from each other. Yet every day, I am grateful to have made the incidental connection I did, and I wouldn’t trade what I have now for anything.