What Does A Healthy Relationship Really Look Like? Part 1

What Does a Healthy Relationship Really Look Like? Part 1

What does a healthy relationship actually look like?

Is it never arguing?

Never getting irritated with each other?

Never hurting each other's feelings?

Never having disagreements?

I don't think so.

I think a healthy relationship is two imperfect people who are willing to keep choosing each other—even when things aren't perfect.

Because let's face it...

Relationships aren't always easy.

There will be disagreements.

There will be bad moods.

There will be financial stress, family problems, work problems, misunderstandings, and days when one person just isn't themselves.

That's life.

The difference is how you treat each other when life gets hard.

In a healthy relationship, you should be able to talk about difficult things without the conversation automatically turning into a disrespectful argument.

You should be able to say:

"That hurt my feelings."

"I'm worried about our finances."

"I'm not comfortable with this."

"I need something from you."

"I'm unhappy about what's happening."

And your partner should be able to listen.

That doesn't mean they have to automatically agree. Listening isn't agreeing.

Sometimes your partner may see things completely differently than you do. That's okay.

You can disagree without belittling each other. You can be frustrated without being disrespectful. You can be angry without trying to hurt each other.

And you should be able to walk away from a difficult conversation knowing that your partner still respects you—even though you didn't see eye to eye.

I've heard the saying, "Happy wife, happy life."

And while it's usually said as a joke, I actually believe there's some truth behind it.

But I'd change it slightly:

Happy partner, happier relationship.

Your partner's happiness should matter to you. Their feelings should matter. Their stress should matter. Their comfort should matter. Their emotional well-being should matter.

And that goes both ways.

If your partner comes home exhausted, you should care. If they're upset, you should want to understand why. If something is bothering them, you shouldn't automatically make it about yourself.

Sometimes they don't need you to fix anything. Sometimes they just need you to listen.

And sometimes, loving someone means noticing the little things. The things that made you fall in love with them in the first place.

Remember the beginning?

The checking in.

The random texts.

The affection.

The compliments.

The little surprises.

Wanting to spend time together.

Wanting to make each other happy.

Making an effort because you genuinely wanted to.

So what happens when the relationship gets comfortable?

Why do we sometimes stop doing the very things that made the relationship feel so good in the beginning?

Getting comfortable shouldn't mean stopping your effort.

You don't have to recreate the honeymoon stage forever. But you should continue showing your partner that they're worth the effort.

Because good relationships don't necessarily stay good by accident. They stay good because both people continue to participate in making them good.

And that's where pride comes in.

Sometimes you have to put your pride aside and really look at yourself. Not just at your partner.

Ask yourself:

What am I doing to them?

How do my words make them feel?

How does my behavior affect them?

Am I listening to understand, or am I just waiting for my turn to respond?

And sometimes, the hardest thing you'll ever have to say is:

"I was wrong."

Not:

"I was wrong, but you..."

Not:

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

Not:

"Well, you did this first."

Just:

"I was wrong. I hurt you. I'm sorry."

That's accountability.

And accountability doesn't make you weak.

It doesn't make you lose an argument.

It doesn't make your partner "win."

It means your relationship is more important to you than your pride.

Because love alone isn't enough.

You can love someone deeply and still hurt them. You can love someone and still make them feel alone. You can love someone and still make them feel unheard. You can love someone and still need to change.

Love is the foundation. But relationships need more than a foundation.

They need communication.

Respect.

Trust.

Honesty.

Boundaries.

Compromise.

Effort.

Accountability.

Affection.

And emotional safety.

A healthy relationship isn't one where two people never hurt each other. It's one where both people care enough to recognize when they've caused hurt and are willing to do something about it.

It's two people who don't just ask, "Do you love me?"

They ask: "Do you feel loved by me?"

And I think that question can change everything.

Because sometimes we love someone exactly the way we know how to love... while completely missing the way they need to be loved.

So maybe a healthy relationship isn't about finding someone who never makes mistakes. Maybe it's about finding someone who is willing to see them, own them, apologize for them, and work on them.

And being willing to do the same.

Because at the end of the day, love isn't just something you feel. Love is something you do.

Until We Speak Again,

A Hopeful Soul

What Partners Should Be Able To Talk About

What Partners Should Be Able to Talk About

One of the biggest misconceptions about healthy relationships is that they don't argue.

I don't believe that's true.

I believe healthy relationships are built on the ability to talk about difficult things without turning every conversation into a conflict.

There are certain conversations every couple will eventually have.

Some are exciting.  Some are uncomfortable.  Some are emotional.

But every one of them matters.

You should be able to tell your partner when your feelings are hurt without being told you're "too sensitive."

You should be able to discuss finances without it becoming a battle over who's right and who's wrong.

You should be able to talk about where you want to live, how you want to spend your money, and what your future looks like together.

You should be able to discuss children—whether they're yours together, from previous relationships, or whether you want children at all.

You should be able to talk about boundaries.

About intimacy.

About trust.

About mental health.

About work stress.

About family.

About dreams.

About fears.

About mistakes.

About expectations.

Even about the uncomfortable subjects that neither of you wants to bring up.

Because avoiding difficult conversations doesn't make problems disappear.  It usually gives them room to grow.

One thing I've learned is that the topic itself is rarely the real problem.  It's how the conversation is handled.

If every disagreement turns into yelling...

If every concern is dismissed...

If every difficult conversation ends with someone shutting down...

Eventually, one person stops talking altogether.

Not because they have nothing to say.

Because they no longer believe it's safe to say it.

And that's heartbreaking.

A relationship should be the one place where you feel safe enough to say:

"Can we talk about something?"

Without immediately worrying about an argument.

That doesn't mean you'll always agree.  No two people agree on everything.

Healthy communication isn't measured by how often you agree.  It's measured by whether both people feel respected even when they don't.

Sometimes your partner won't like what you have to say.  Sometimes you won't like what they have to say.

That's okay.

Listening isn't the same as agreeing.

Respect isn't the same as surrendering.

Love isn't the absence of difficult conversations.

It's choosing to have those conversations with kindness, honesty, and a genuine desire to understand one another.

Because the strongest couples aren't the ones who never have uncomfortable discussions.

They're the ones who know they can bring up anything without fearing that the conversation itself will damage the relationship.

If you can't talk about your feelings...

Your finances...

Your future...

Or your fears...

Then maybe the problem isn't the topic.

Maybe the problem is that somewhere along the way, communication stopped feeling safe.

And every healthy relationship deserves a safe place to talk.

Until We Speak Again, 

A Tired Soul

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Leave a comment with your thoughts. Are partners supposed to be able to talk about any and everything? Are there discussion topics that should remain untouched? Let's talk!

The Little Things Matter

The Little Things Matter

When people think about love, they often think about the big things.

The vacations. The gifts. The anniversaries. The grand romantic gestures we see in movies.

But in my experience, relationships aren't built on the big things. 

They're built on the little things. The everyday things. The things that seem so small that we often don't think twice about them.

Things like:

"How was your day?"

"How are you feeling today?"

"I'm going to the store. Do you need anything?"

"Drive safe."

"Text me when you get there."

"Did you eat today?"

Those may seem like simple questions. But they're not really questions. 

They're expressions of care. They're little reminders that someone is thinking about you. That someone notices you. That someone values your well-being.

Sometimes love looks less like roses and candlelight and more like bringing your partner a blanket because you noticed they're cold. 

Sometimes it's making them a sandwich because you know they get busy and forget to eat. 

Sometimes it's filling up their gas tank.

Sometimes it's sending a quick text just to let them know they're on your mind.

The little things say:

"I see you."

"I care about you."

"You matter to me."

And the beautiful thing is that they don't cost much. Most of them are free. They only require effort and intention.

Unfortunately, the opposite is true, too.

When the little things disappear, people notice. Not immediately. But over time.

The "How was your day?" becomes silence.

The good morning texts stop.

The check-ins become less frequent.

The thoughtfulness fades.

And eventually one partner starts feeling invisible. Not because they're unloved.

But because they no longer feel loved.

There's a difference.

Love is a feeling.

Feeling loved is an experience.

And often, it's the little things that create that experience. 

At the end of the day, I don't think most people remember every gift they've ever received. 

But they remember who showed up.

Who listened. Who checked on them. Who made them feel important. Who made them feel loved.

The little things matter.

Until We Speak Again,

An Observant Soul

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Leave a comment below. What are some of the little things that make you feel loved or appreciated?

Consideration

I think one of the most overlooked qualities in a relationship is consideration.

People talk about love. They talk about trust.

They talk about communication. But consideration is rarely mentioned, even though it's woven into all three.

So what is consideration?

To me, consideration is taking your partner's feelings, needs, limitations, and circumstances into account before making a decision or taking an action.

It's asking yourself:

"How will this affect the person I love?"

And sometimes, the smallest acts of consideration can make the biggest difference.

It's keeping the house quiet when your partner is sleeping because you know they had a long day. It's understanding that their need for rest is just as important as your desire to be awake.

It's discussing major purchases before spending large amounts of money.

Not because you need permission, but because you're a team. Your decisions affect each other.

It's not pressuring your partner to do things they're unable to do—whether physically, emotionally, financially, or mentally.

It's respecting their limitations without making them feel guilty for having them.

It's avoiding topics you know will upset them unnecessarily. 

It's paying attention when they tell you something hurts them. It's remembering what they've shared and using that information to care for them better.

Consideration says:

"I hear you."

"I see you."

"You matter to me."

The opposite of consideration isn't necessarily cruelty. 

Sometimes it's simply thoughtlessness. Sometimes people become so focused on their own wants, needs, and interests that they forget to consider how their actions affect the person standing beside them.

And that's where problems begin.

Because when someone repeatedly feels unconsidered, they begin to feel unimportant.

They begin to feel unheard. They begin to feel like their comfort, opinions, and feelings rank lower on the priority list. 

Over time, resentment starts to grow. Not because of one major event. But because of hundreds of small moments.

The loud television while they're trying to sleep. The purchase they weren't consulted about. The interrupted conversations. The repeated disregard for something they've clearly expressed.

Each moment may seem insignificant by itself. But together, they send a message.

And that message is:

"What matters to you doesn't matter as much to me."

That's a painful message to receive from someone you love.

The truth is, consideration isn't difficult.

It doesn't cost money. It doesn't require special skills.

It simply requires awareness. It requires slowing down long enough to think about another person's experience.

And honestly, I think that's one of the purest expressions of love.

Not flowers.

Not gifts.

Not fancy dates.

Just consistently showing your partner that their feelings matter.

Because when two people actively consider one another, they create something beautiful:

A relationship where both people feel valued.

A relationship where both people feel respected. A relationship where both people feel loved.

And at the end of the day, isn't that what we're all looking for? 

Until We Speak Again, 

A Thoughtful Soul

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Leave a comment below. What are your thoughts on consideration? Do you feel like it's important?  Let's talk!

Gaslighting

When You Start Questioning Your Own Reality

One of the most damaging things a person can experience in a relationship isn't yelling.

It isn't cheating. It isn't even the arguments.

It's being made to question your own reality.

That's gaslighting.

Gaslighting happens when someone repeatedly dismisses, minimizes, denies, or twists your experiences until you begin doubting yourself.

At first, it's subtle.

You bring up something that hurt your feelings. They tell you it never happened. Or they say you're remembering it wrong. Or maybe they tell you you're being too sensitive.

You let it go.

But then it happens again. And again. And again.

Eventually, something strange starts happening.

You stop trusting yourself. You begin second-guessing your memory.

You replay conversations in your head over and over trying to figure out whether you misunderstood something. You wonder if you're overreacting. You wonder if you're the problem. You wonder if you're crazy.

The worst part is that gaslighting doesn't usually destroy your confidence overnight.

It happens slowly. One doubt at a time. One dismissed feeling at a time. One rewritten conversation at a time. 

Until eventually you find yourself apologizing for things you didn't do. Explaining feelings you shouldn't have to justify. And questioning things you were once certain of.

I've learned that one of the biggest signs of gaslighting isn't confusion about the other person. It's confusion about yourself.

When you find yourself constantly thinking:

"Maybe I'm imagining things."

"Maybe it wasn't that bad."

"Maybe I'm too emotional."

"Maybe I'm the problem."

That's when it's time to stop and pay attention.

Healthy relationships don't make you question your sanity. Healthy relationships don't require you to constantly defend your emotions. Healthy relationships don't punish you for having feelings.

That doesn't mean your partner will always agree with you. They won't. And that's okay.

Disagreements are normal. Different perspectives are normal.

But there's a difference between disagreeing with someone's feelings and convincing them they shouldn't have those feelings at all.

One is communication. The other is manipulation.

The sad thing about gaslighting is that many people don't realize it's happening until they've already lost confidence in themselves.

They've spent so much time seeking validation from someone else that they've forgotten how to trust their own instincts. Their own memories. Their own emotions. Their own voice.

If any of this sounds familiar, I want you to remember something:

Your feelings are real. Your experiences matter. Your perspective deserves to be heard. And just because someone refuses to acknowledge your reality doesn't mean your reality isn't true.

One of the most important lessons I've learned is this:

Trust yourself.

Not every feeling is a fact.

Not every memory is perfect.

But if someone consistently makes you feel like your thoughts, feelings, and experiences don't matter, the problem may not be your perception.

The problem may be the way you're being treated.

And nobody deserves to live in a relationship where they have to constantly question their own reality.

Until We Speak Again,

A Confused Soul

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Leave a comment below. Do you feel like you're being gaslit by someone? A spouse or partner? A friend? Your boss? A family member? Let's talk about it.

What I Need When I Go Quiet

What I Need When I Go Quiet

When I go quiet because I feel like my words don’t matter, what I need most is not to push me further into silence. 

When I go quiet, it means I’m overwhelmed—not absent.

And in those moments, what I need most isn’t pressure. It isn’t repetition. It isn’t frustration from the other person because I’m not responding the way they expect.

What I need is understanding. 

I need them to notice that something shifted in me—and care enough to pause, not escalate. I need them to understand that when I stop talking, it isn’t because I ran out of things to say. 

It’s because I don’t feel safe saying them in that moment. I need them to understand that silence isn’t defiance—it’s self-protection.

First, I need space.

Not the kind of space that feels like punishment or silence used as a weapon—but space that feels safe. 

Space that says, “I’m here when you’re ready.” Space that doesn’t demand immediate answers from a mind that’s still trying to settle.

I need them to stop and ask their self, “Did I just make her feel unheard?” instead of assuming I’m just being distant or dramatic.

I need them to give me the benefit of the doubt, not the assumption of wrongdoing.

I also need calm.

Raised voices, intensity, or pushing for a response while I’m already overwhelmed only makes it harder for me to come back into the conversation. 

It doesn’t help me open up—it makes me shut down further.

I need them to soften their tone instead of raising it. I need them to slow down instead of speeding up the conversation like we’re trying to win something. I need them to recognize that when I feel dismissed, I don’t just shut down the argument—I shut down emotionally.

I need them to say things like, “I hear you,” even if you don’t fully understand yet.

What helps most is patience.

Knowing that I don’t have to explain everything in the heat of the moment. Knowing that the conversation doesn’t have to be forced out of me before I’m ready.

Because I will come back. I always do.

I just need time to process what I’m feeling without being judged for it. I need reassurance, too.

Not pressure like “you need to talk right now,” but gentle reminders like, “We can talk when you’re ready,” or “I’m here when you want to explain.” 

That kind of response doesn’t make me feel trapped. It makes me feel safe enough to eventually open back up.

And when I do come back, I need listening. 

Not interruptions. Not corrections in the middle of my thoughts. Not the conversation being redirected away from what I’m trying to express.

Just listening.

Because part of why I go quiet in the first place is because I don’t always feel heard when I speak.

I don’t need perfection from the people I love. 

I just need emotional safety. 

I need to know that my silence won’t be used against me later.  That my triggers won’t be dismissed.  That my need to step back doesn’t make me difficult or less worthy of being understood.

I need them to reassure me that my feelings matter, even when we don’t agree. And most importantly, I need them to care more about connection than being right in that moment.

Because when I go quiet, I’m not leaving the relationship. I’m waiting for it to feel safe enough for me to come back into it.

Until We Speak Again,

A Quiet Soul

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Leave a comment below. How do you feel when people misunderstand your silence? Let's Talk! 

Why I Go Quiet

Why I Go Quiet

People sometimes think silence means nothing is wrong. Or worse—they think silence means I don’t care. But that’s not always true.

Sometimes silence is actually what happens after I’ve been pushed past my emotional limit.

For me, one of my biggest triggers is being yelled at. 

Not normal disagreement. Not raised voices during excitement or conversation. 

I’m talking about yelling that feels sharp, loud, and intense enough to make my body react before my mind can even catch up. 

And when that happens, something in me shuts down.

I don’t always respond right away. I don’t always defend myself. I don’t always explain how I feel in that moment. 

Instead… I go quiet. And from the outside, it probably looks like I don’t have anything to say.

But that’s not what’s really happening.

What’s really happening is I’m trying to regulate everything inside of me at once.

I’m trying to process the present moment while my mind is also pulling me back into things I’ve experienced before. 

My body reacts like it’s in danger, even if the situation isn’t physically dangerous. 

And in that state, words don’t come out clearly. They get stuck. 

So I go silent. Not because I don’t care.

But because I care too much and I don’t trust what might come out if I speak while I’m overwhelmed. 

Silence, in those moments, is protection. It’s me trying not to make things worse. It’s me trying to hold myself together when I feel like I’m falling apart internally.

The hardest part is that people don’t always understand that silence. 

They may think I’m ignoring them. Or being stubborn. Or shutting down the relationship. 

But really, I’m just trying to survive the emotional wave hitting me in real time. And sometimes I don’t know how to explain that without feeling misunderstood anyway.

So I wait. I go quiet.

And later—when I feel safe again, when my thoughts are clear again—that’s when I can talk. 

That’s when I can explain what happened inside me. 

That’s when I can say, “When voices get raised, something in me shuts down. I need space in those moments, not pressure.”

I used to feel ashamed of that silence. Like I was broken for not reacting “normally.” But I’ve learned something important. 

Silence isn’t always avoidance. Sometimes it’s self-preservation.

And the right people—the safe people—don’t punish you for that silence. 

They try to understand it. They give you space to come back to your voice when you’re ready to use it again.

Until We Speak again,

A Quiet Soul

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Leave a comment below. You don't have to be silent here.

The Silent Partner

It really sucked when I couldn’t vent to my partner just because it wasn’t something he was interested in. 

Meanwhile, he felt totally comfortable venting to me about anything and everything. 

I’d sit and listen, support him, be present—but when it was my turn to talk? I’d get cut off. Dismissed. Rushed into silence. 

Like what I was saying didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.

So, I held it in. I became the “silent partner.” And let me tell you, it wasn’t healthy.

But what was I supposed to do? 

We were so good together in other ways. We laughed, we loved, we showed up for each other. 

But when it came to communication—my communication—it felt like I was on mute.

And it wasn’t a one-time thing. It happened over and over again. 

The pattern was always the same: I’d get shut down, go quiet, and carry it around until the weight of it broke me. Then there’d be tears. Tension. A blow-up. 

Only then did he realize how deeply it affected me. I tried to tell him calmly, directly, but it went in one ear and out the other. And still, it kept happening.

Every time I bottled up my emotions, a little part of me dimmed. A little part of my spirit got quieter. And it wasn’t because I ran out of words—it was because I stopped believing they’d be heard.

I didn’t want to be the silent partner anymore.

I wanted to feel safe to speak, to vent, to feel. I wanted the same space I gave. The same care. The same attention.

Because communication isn’t just about talking—it’s about listening, too. And I deserved to be heard.

Until We Speak Again,

A Silent Soul

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Never Been Married

I've been to countless, beautiful weddings, heard countless 'when you know, you know' or 'your time will come', and have even practiced saying my wedding vows in the mirror. But here I am, 41 years old, and never been married.  

There are many views on what a marriage is and how it should be. There are many reasons why people get married; love, children, security. Why did you get married? Is it anything you imagined? Are you happy? Do you regret it?

I've met some wonderful people and felt some pretty intense emotions on my love journey, but we just didn't have that "mmph". Something was missing....that spark or sense of certainty. It didn't feel like a forever thing. I was close though...so close I could taste it. I was, or thought I was, in love with this beautiful man. He showed me the love I never knew existed and was a complete gentleman. For 3 years, I thought he was my forever...that we were endgame.  Then, out of nowhere, at the height of Covid, in 2020, he ends it...shattering my heart into a million pieces.  He said he wanted a baby, and my tubes are tied. Knowing I couldn't give him what he wanted, my world went dark for a while, but I never gave up on love.

What do I think being married would be like? When I envision my married life, I see love. I say love first because it's the most important part of the marriage. I also see struggle, intimacy, pain, confusion, happiness, compromise, sacrifice...I know it's not all "cupcakes and rainbows", as someone used to tell me. Just like any other relationship, we'll make our happiest memories together, but also have heated discussions; some will linger longer than they should, and some won't be resolved overnight. That's part of any relationship.

To me, being married means considering your person's feelings in most decisions; buying/renting a house or car, having a baby, financials, where to spend holidays, birthdays, etc.,... It's trusting someone to be open and vulnerable with; confiding in that person. It's making a sandwich for your person because you know they forget to eat when they get too busy or when your person holds you when you're having a bad day. It’s knowing no matter what, you have each others backs. It's taking on each others issues and solving them together. It takes communication, honesty, and trust. Most importantly, love. Without any of these, I believe a marriage cannot last. 

But, what do I know? I can only imagine what my married life would be like. Until then, I'll keep living my life, loving fully, and believing when it's meant to be, it will be.

Until We Speak Again,

A Loving Soul

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Leave a comment below. What are your thoughts on marriage?