Harmony in relationships

“How did my parents and other couples of their generation stay married for multiple decades?” I have often asked myself. Their endurance, so different from the fragile bonds many of us witness today, sometimes feels almost mythical. My own answer has usually revolved around one principal explanation: societal norms, anchored in religion, convention, and often repression, made it both inconceivable and costly to break a marriage. Divorce was stigmatized, sometimes even demonized. To separate was to invite judgment, shame, and hardship.

But these norms, once ironclad, no longer carry the same force. For vast segments of today’s society, they neither apply nor resonate. The cultural scaffolding that once held marriages in place has largely eroded, and so couples form with relative ease, and dissolve with equal swiftness. This leads us to the pressing question: what is the “secret sauce” in our contemporary world for enjoying a lasting relationship?

I do not pretend to have discovered the definitive recipe. Yet, after much trial and error, after journeys of loss, rediscovery, and hard-earned insight, I feel able to write somewhat intelligently about some of the ingredients that might matter most. When two people come together, what unfolds is far more than the simple union of two individuals. A relationship creates a new entity, one that both enriches and challenges each participant. In this sense, a relationship is a kind of laboratory, a living classroom where growth, healing, and transformation are made possible. It asks of us what solitary life often does not: patience, compromise, honesty, and vulnerability.

We all know that there is often a certain je ne sais quoi in the choice of a significant other, an ineffable magnetism that defies logic. Psychologists sometimes refer to it as “limerence,” that intoxicating cocktail of desire, projection, and fantasy that colors the early stages of love. This pull, part physical, part emotional, explains why our views of the other person may be so delightfully, or dangerously, skewed at the beginning.

In this respect, couples who come together later in life, equipped with more experience, often bring a steadier hand to the helm. They may be better able to recognize their biases and see through the haze of infatuation. Yet even with wisdom, we cannot fully escape the enchantment of beginnings. We are all human; we fall, we project, we hope. As the writer Alain de Botton reminds us, “We fall in love with the person who we think can make us whole, but it is a dangerous illusion, for no one can complete us entirely.”

Over time, what once dazzled may begin to fade, and hidden aspects of the relationship, quirks, wounds, or incompatibilities, surface when the honeymoon phase is over. The initial spell gives way to reality, and it is here, in this transition, that relationships are truly tested.

Ideally, the union of a couple should enrich us, adding to, rather than subtracting from, our personal lives. In the “plus column” we might expect joy, laughter, companionship, intimacy, support, and shared adventures. Many of these, of course, can come from friendships too, but what sets the couple bond apart is the intensity, frequency, and sometimes sacred purpose with which these gifts are exchanged.

In the “minus column,” however, we could encounter compromise, diminished freedom, personality clashes, and conflicting expectations. These are not incidental. They are built into the very architecture of human relationships. As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke observed, “For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.”

Let us examine some of those minuses or challenges more closely. The need for compromise arises whenever personal plans, views, or desires collide. Sometimes it is trivial, such as a question of staying home or going out, for example. Other times, it is profound, touching on issues of identity, values, or freedom. True compromise presupposes more than mere negotiation; it rests upon a foundation of shared connection and common purpose, a vision broad enough that each partner can at times yield to the other without feeling diminished, but rather affirmed in the strength of their union. Alongside the need for compromise lies an equally vital element in relationships: the preservation of individuality. The modern shorthand for this element is ‘my space,’ a reminder that while we share a life with another, we remain whole persons with our own rhythms, interests, and inner worlds.

‘My space’ is going to be different from the space of the other. I often think of this through the image of a Venn diagram: one circle for “mine,” another for “yours,” and the overlapping middle for “ours.” The health of the whole depends on how these spaces are honored and balanced. The relative size of such spaces, mine, yours, and ours, and the balance between them, is probably one of the largest sources of contention among couples today. Behind our opinion on the subject, we’d probably find a bunch of unquestioned beliefs.

It is tempting to believe that love alone is enough to sustain the above-mentioned balance. Yet love, in its initial surge, is more like a seed than a fully grown tree. It contains immense potential, but its flourishing requires steady care and attention. Mutual understanding, communication, and forgiveness are the sunlight and water without which the seed withers. Love is not merely a feeling we possess; it is also a responsibility we uphold.

Still, love does not ask us to surrender our freedom or individuality. True intimacy grows when two people choose one another not out of dependency or fear, but from a place of inner wholeness that honors that individuality. This is why self-knowledge is so essential: the more we understand and accept ourselves, the more capable we become of meeting another at depth. Conversely, the unresolved wounds we carry within us often resurface in our partnerships, demanding healing at some point. In this way, relationships mirror our inner world, exposing both our strength and our unfinished work.

Relationships are also inseparable from the broader context of culture and time. The challenges faced by couples today are not the same as those of past generations. Economic pressures, shifting gender roles, technological distractions, and the pace of modern life all exert their influence. We navigate not only the terrain of our personal histories, but also the collective currents of our age. Some of these currents support growth; others pull us toward fragmentation. Our ability to adapt, respond, and remain anchored amid them reflects both our personal resilience and our shared commitment.

In earlier generations, particularly those of my parents, the “ours” space was given overwhelming priority. Women, more often than not, were expected to shrink their “mine” circle to nourish the shared one. Modern women, rightly, have reclaimed their personal space, demanding a more equitable “ours.” Yet this evolution, necessary as it is, has made the balancing act far more complex.

One partner may wish to carve out a wide sphere of personal space, while the other may lean much more heavily on life as a couple. Between these poles, a range of paradigms is possible. In some couples, both partners value large personal spaces, allowing their shared life to occupy only what remains (an arrangement that, taken to the extreme, can resemble a “friends-with-benefits” dynamic). In other cases, both willingly subordinate their individuality to the couple, letting shared life consume almost their entire existence. It may also happen that one partner consciously or unconsciously adapts to the other’s decisions, or, in contrast, that one claims significantly more personal space than the other is willing to concede. Finally, some couples flexibly and opportunistically adjust the balance between their spaces, modulating the relative weight of each according to the circumstances.

Each model carries its own risks. The first, while reflecting a modern paradigm, can undermine the very purpose of a committed union, relegating it to the margins. The second suffocates individuality, leaving no oxygen for personal growth. The third resembles an accident waiting to happen, for few people, except perhaps the most highly evolved, are free of strong ideas about what a couple “should” look like. The apparent stability of the first two scenarios wanes as they move toward their extremes. The fourth and fifth, by contrast, may be unstable by design, producing clashing expectations that quickly erode trust.

If there is a more sustainable path, it would seem to lie not at the extremes of the first two paradigms above, but closer to the middle. Yet even here the challenge is steep: a balanced distribution of personal and couple space requires substantial agreement on how to weigh each, a task rarely simple even in the best of circumstances. Compromise in this arena is treacherous: yielding against one’s true inclinations may preserve the relationship for a time but often proves more intention than reality. Moreover, the balance point is rarely fixed. As each partner evolves, so too does the dividing line, which may shift unevenly across different domains of life: greater independence in some areas, greater fusion in others.

Seen from this perspective, modern couplehood seems especially fragile, almost predisposed to failure. At times, the “minus” column of relationships appears to outweigh the “plus.” Yet the question lingers: is this truly the case? The truth is that relationships have always been difficult. To create some type of harmonious living entity, a couple relationship in this case, by merging two individuals that may not be harmonious or at peace with themselves in the first place sounds like a very tall order. Almost impossible, some could say, unless the couple makes extensive and intelligent use of certain enduring virtues, such as patience, self-awareness, humility, flexibility, and perspectives of wisdom. For all the challenges that beset couple relationships, we cannot overlook the countless ways they enrich our lives. Beyond companionship, they offer a singular mirror through which we come to know ourselves more deeply and a pathway toward a fuller individuality, one capable of embracing not only the partner at our side but the wider world around us.

This brings us to the thorny subject of freedom, especially the perspective that we may experience a diminished version of this attribute in a relationship. In principle, a relationship should never encroach upon the freedom of its participants. But freedom, in the context of love, is not license. It is choice, the conscious choice to bind oneself, to commit, to invest. When we freely enter a relationship, we are not abandoning freedom but exercising it in a profound way: choosing to share a destiny. Consciously entering a relationship is the result of exercising freedom, an exercise that must necessarily encompass a mature awareness and acceptance of what it entails. This redefined sense of freedom in the context of a relationship represents a voluntary reframing of the way we intend to walk the path of life from now on, fully aware of the potential implications of this choice.

Of course, shared life does not mean identical life. A healthy couple can accommodate separate pursuits, a hobby, a weekend with old friends, an occasional solo trip. But when separations become the rule rather than the exception, when “mine” consistently overshadows “ours,” tensions inevitably follow. The art lies in knowing when independence nourishes love and when it erodes it.

Many couples regard their past experiences as largely separate from their current relationship, and on the surface, this seems a rational perspective. Yet, the past rarely remains confined; it inevitably intertwines with the present. As this happens, couples inevitably encounter situations in which one partner wishes to dedicate time, attention, or resources to matters or people from their earlier life (assuming, of course, such wishes do not contravene agreements or reasonable expectations within the couple). In these moments, open communication becomes essential. It is not only reasonable but constructive to seek our partner’s views when plans from the past intersect with the present. In a healthy, mutually supportive relationship, partners naturally act as sounding boards, offering insights, guidance, or simply a listening ear. The exercise of personal freedoms should feel organic, as should the communication surrounding them. When shared naturally, these practices strengthen the “ours” space, cultivating connection without diminishing individuality. If such openness and reciprocity are absent, or if one partner is unwilling to engage in this way, then one may well question the purpose of the relationship. A couple’s relationship thrives not merely by coexisting, but by actively integrating each other into the life they choose to share.

Relationships, like bank accounts, can be viewed as operating on deposits and withdrawals. Deposits are acts of affection, attention, support, and care. Withdrawals are requests, needs, or demands. A healthy relationship requires both partners to make regular deposits. If one continually gives and the other continually takes, imbalance and resentment soon invariably follow.

Some individuals, whether through upbringing or temperament, struggle with this reciprocity. They may justify their lack of investment by appealing to personal freedom or by compartmentalizing love into a separate corner of their lives, one that is not to be mixed with other areas, such as friends, family, or work. Some may interpret this impervious approach to relationships as a sign of detachment and maturity. There is detachment, alright, but not necessarily maturity. But as Carl Jung once said, “Where love rules, there is no will to power; and where power predominates, love is lacking.” True love requires mutuality, not aloofness.

To be clear, not every deposit must be material or dramatic. Often, the smallest gestures, a listening ear, an affectionate glance, or an act of consideration, are the most powerful. However, they must be consistent and flow from both sides. Otherwise, the relationship becomes parasitic rather than symbiotic.

It is evident that, beyond our individual tendencies toward deposits and withdrawals, the personality traits of each partner exert a profound influence on the health and trajectory of a relationship. Consider, for example, the contrasts between introversion and extroversion, selfishness and altruism, intensity and calm, openness and narrow-mindedness, optimism and pessimism, or neuroticism and equanimity. Each of these traits can amplify or mitigate the dynamics of giving and receiving within the relationship, shaping how partners interact, respond to challenges, and nurture, or deplete, the “ours” space. When combined, these differences create a vast landscape of possible scenarios, some harmonious, some fraught with tension, and others balanced only intermittently. In effect, compatibility in a relationship is rarely a simple matter of shared values or intentions; it is a complex calculus of character, temperament, and the interplay of strengths and vulnerabilities. Navigating this intricate terrain is both the challenge and the fascination of couple relationships, revealing that no two partnerships are ever exactly alike and that understanding one another requires both patience and perceptiveness.

Through a partner, we learn who we truly are. We are mirrored, challenged, and stretched. We discover both our limitations and our capacity for transcendence. As the philosopher Søren Kierkegaard suggested, “The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly the one you’ll never have.” To shy away from love for fear of pain is, perhaps, to deny ourselves the fullness of existence.

The task, then, is not to eliminate the difficulties of relationships, for they are inherent, but to meet them with maturity, patience, and self-awareness. A couple is not simply two individuals sharing space; it is a living entity, fragile yet resilient, demanding yet generous.

The “ours” space should feel like a home, safe, nourishing, alive. But it should never become a crutch or a substitute for our own responsibility to cultivate happiness. If we rely on a partner to provide all meaning, all comfort, all joy, we risk suffocating the relationship under the weight of our dependence. Love thrives not when two halves seek completion, but when two wholes choose to share.

Ultimately, relationships, like life itself, are not about guarantees. They are about intention, effort, and presence. If we can bring these, sincerely and consistently, then the “secret sauce” may not be a secret at all. It may simply be the courage to love fully, knowing both the risks and the rewards, and the humility to grow through the process, together.