In my office, I often notice a certain kind of experience that people find hard to put into words. Nothing dramatic has usually happened—no shouting, no obvious betrayal, and no single moment that clearly explains what went wrong. Still, one partner might describe a constant sense that something’s missing. They might say things like, “I tried to reach them,” or “I brought it up,” or even, “I was right there,” yet it still feels as if no one is truly present.
Previously, I might have expressed this more bluntly. Now, my perspective has shifted. Often, what we observe isn’t a deficiency in capacity to love but rather a habitual response pattern that hasn’t been critically examined. Repeated actions become automatic over time. As Aristotle stated, our character is molded by our repeated behaviors, not by isolated acts.
Let me offer a simple example, not because the situation itself is extraordinary, but because it is so common that many people overlook what is actually happening within it.
A couple embarks on a long-anticipated trip. Early in their journey, one partner injures her ankle. While not serious, it needs rest. The following day, they plan to join a walking tour they’ve already paid for. When she mentions she probably can’t handle a full day of walking, her partner responds practically. He briefly acknowledges her situation and resumes preparing, assuming he should still go since it seems most sensible.
From a purely logical perspective, this makes sense. The tickets are already paid for, and the injury is not severe. It could be seen as wasteful for both to stay behind. However, this isn’t how the injured partner perceives the situation. She doesn’t focus on the decision itself but on the lack of consideration surrounding it. There is no moment to reflect on how she might feel being left alone or to discuss whether she is comfortable. There’s no shared dialogue about what would be best for both. While one might view this as efficiency, she experiences it as emotional distance.
If we remain focused on the decision, we will miss the pattern. The issue is not simply whether he should have gone or stayed. The issue is that one partner consistently defaults to practicality without first establishing emotional connection, while the other hopes that this connection will eventually emerge on its own. Over time, both positions become more fixed. One becomes increasingly efficient and matter-of-fact, the other increasingly sensitive and, eventually, resentful.
This is where responsibility needs to be more fully understood. It’s easy to blame the partner who seems distant, but there’s work to be done there, especially in learning to slow down, ask questions, and stay present during moments that don’t come naturally. The other partner isn’t free of responsibility either. She may have seen this pattern for a long time but haven’t addressed it directly. She might soften her needs, postpone the talk, or tell herself it’s not worth mentioning.
By the time she speaks up, the issue feels more significant than the moment called for.
This is why I speak so often about awareness as the first step toward change, not in a way that leads to self-blame, but in a way that restores a sense of agency. When both people begin to see the pattern they are participating in, the dynamic becomes something they can work on together, rather than something they defend themselves against.
What makes this pattern particularly painful is that it touches on a very basic human need, the need to feel seen and considered. This is not about constant emotional reassurance or extended discussion. It is about a simple acknowledgment that “you are here, and what you are experiencing matters.” When that is missing, even briefly, it can register more deeply than people expect. Not because the moment is large, but because it fits into a pattern that has been forming over time.
The good news is that change in this area does not require dramatic intervention.
It usually begins with small adjustments. The more practical partner can begin by pausing before moving into problem-solving, asking a simple question, and allowing space for an answer. The more emotionally attuned partner can begin by naming the experience clearly and early, without waiting for it to build into frustration. These are not complex skills, but they do require intention, especially when they run counter to long-standing habits.
At a deeper level, this work also calls us to reflect on what we understand love to be. If love is reduced to a feeling, then it will fluctuate with circumstance. But if love is understood, as Thomas Aquinas describes it, as willing the good of the other, then it necessarily involves effort, attention, and at times, a willingness to move beyond our default responses. There are moments when our natural tendencies are not sufficient, and we are asked to draw from something beyond ourselves, to act with patience, care, and a greater sense of purpose.
In my relationship, I tend to prioritize practicality and efficiency. For example, I now choose to drive to the lake with my husband instead of going separately, even though it might be more logical to leave at different times. Spending five hours together in the car is more valuable for my marriage than the convenience of traveling alone.
Being “absent,” or lacking presence in the moment, is rarely, if ever, helpful in a relationship. Connection, or tuning into the feelings of your spouse or loved one, may take some practice if this was not part of your brain’s default pathway. However, now that you have read this, and you are aware that you might be hurting your partner by focusing on “doing” rather than “being” (human, and therefore a human being), you will gain a lot of ground in your relationship.