There’s something we don’t often say out loud, but many of us have felt:

“If you really loved me…”

You’d know how to make this better.

You’d never hurt me like that.

You’d know exactly what I need.

You’d say the right thing, do the right thing, show up the right way—without me even having to ask.

It sounds romantic on the surface. But beneath that expectation lives something much older, much deeper: a hope that this time someone will finally give us what we didn’t get before.

What most of us don’t realize is that we’re not just loving our partners. We’re trying to heal through them.

We carry old wounds—abandonment, neglect, rejection, betrayal—and without realizing it, we place those wounds in the hands of the person we love most. We don’t say it directly, but the feeling is clear:

“Don’t just love me. Heal me.”

And when they don’t—when they miss a cue, fumble a moment, or trigger something deep—we react not just to the present moment but to all the pain we’ve stored underneath it.

That’s when the fights don’t make sense.

That’s when the emotion seems bigger than the situation.

That’s when the dynamic starts to feel heavy.

Because we’re not just arguing with our partner.

We’re unconsciously confronting everyone who hurt us before them.

So what can we do instead?

How do we begin to untangle this weight—and return to love without assigning someone else the job of fixing us? We start by asking ourselves:

>> What do I expect my partner to know without me saying it?

>> Where am I hoping they’ll make up for something I never received?

>> What part of my pain doesn’t actually belong to them?

These questions don’t come with easy answers. But asking them is a form of liberation.

Because here’s the truth: Your partner can support your healing. They can hold you, witness you, walk with you.

But they cannot rewrite your story for you.

That’s your work.

And when you do it—when you take ownership of your own wounds and stop outsourcing your healing—you actually create more room for connection, not less.

You come into the relationship as a whole person.

Not perfect, not without pain. But responsible for your own heart.

That changes everything.

This isn’t about pretending you don’t have needs. It’s about learning how to own them. Name them. Share them clearly. And receive love with open eyes—not through the fog of old expectations.

It’s also about compassion.

Because the truth is, your partner is probably carrying weight, too. They have their own unspoken hopes and unresolved stories. And if you’re both waiting on the other to fix what came before…well, no one gets to rest.

But if you can meet each other in honesty—if you can say, “Here’s what I’m still learning to hold. Can you stand beside me while I do?”—you create something sacred.

Not a love that saves you.

But a love that sees you.

And that might be even more powerful.

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