On emotional effort in relationships: the dance of expectations

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on emotional effort in relationships, what we bring into them… and the value of presence, care, and mutual tending.

Not just in romance, but in friendship. Family. Collaboration.
That space between people, where there is love or not…

I’ve also been reflecting deeply on the expectations I place on my relationships. And to be honest, when several people mirror something back to you, there’s something to it. 

I’ve come to see that my fear of abandonment sometimes leads me to grip too tightly. And I understand how that can feel suffocating.

Love, in its broadest sense, should not feel like pressure. 

But I also see something else. Culturally, it seems like we’ve become afraid of giving. Afraid to stretch beyond what’s comfortable or convenient. Afraid that our efforts will fall flat or that we won’t be enough. 

So, we don’t try. We stay in the safe zone, in what is known and manageable. 

When did we stop showing up wholeheartedly? When did giving become so inconvenient? 

And in all this I’m trying to figure out when I need to soften, and when I need to stand firm. Still trying to understand when I’m expecting too much, and when I’m betraying myself by expecting too little.

When something you value deeply begins to feel imbalanced… which of course is always relative, there’s always two sides to every story, and not because someone was unkind…
But because life slowly, and almost unnoticeable, tilted the scales, then it gets you thinking…

When love feels heavy to receive

In the midst of these reflections, a few conversations took place around me, putting voice to something I was experiencing in my heart.

One friend admitted that writing me a birthday message came with pressure.
Not from anything I’d said, but from an internal fear that it wouldn’t be enough, that she’d disappoint me. That she felt a pressure to match my way of giving, but maybe, if I’m being honest, there is a part of me that subconsciously is longing to be met the same way.

To be seen the same way, or from the same place. And that is something I need to free people from. But I’d be lying if I said I never expect. I’m trying to find that thin line of balance between honoring my standards and letting people be free.

From another friend I experienced that when I express how much I care, how deeply I see him, it creates a sort of anxiety. Because he doesn’t know how to respond or take it in. It feels like too much, too big, too vulnerable… or maybe even too real.

And I can understand that, sometimes my way is intense, and not everyone is built for that.

Still, I wonder if we as a culture have become so unfamiliar with emotional effort in relationships that even receiving care makes us tense?

When did effort become so inconvenient?

We live in a time that celebrates independence and productivity. A culture that values what is measurable and practical over what is emotional and intangible.

We’re praised for being efficient, for keeping our homes in order, our days tightly scheduled and our lives visually impressive.

But meanwhile, that beautiful (and essential- in my opinion) art of showing up for one another is slipping through the cracks.

We’ve started prioritizing the material over the relational. Choosing maintenance over presence and convenience over connection. So,… we’ve replaced emotional effort in relationships with convenience and control.

But in my eyes… that’s just upside down. Because, what are we really here for? And what is actually important? Fixing a window or showing up to those we supposedly care about? When we are standing by the end of this crossroad called life, what will be look back at and actually value and be grateful for? The relations or the things/achievements?  

When emotional effort in relationships feels one-sided

We all have different rhythms in life.
Sometimes people are genuinely stretched thin.
And sometimes, they’re simply choosing to pour their energy elsewhere.

I don’t resent anyone for that. It’s completely fair.
And that doesn’t mean people aren’t kind and that one can’t love them deeply.
But I also can’t keep stepping into a dynamic that leaves me unseen,
not because someone doesn’t care, but because they no longer have space for the kind of friendship I value.

And I’ve realized that I can’t keep overextending myself in the hope that one day it will feel equal.

That’s not love.
That’s a kind of self-abandonment… which I have a tendency to.

So I’m learning to return to myself.
Not to become self-contained or walled off, but to place my center back inside my own being, rather than in (and in the expectation of) how others respond.

Love is free, but relationships need mutuality

I believe in love that doesn’t demand a mirror image. I’m not asking for people to give like I do. And actually, I need to have a really close look at where I’m giving from – I’ve become aware of that thanks to the aches of these last months.

But I’m also learning that when effort becomes a one-way street over time, it’s no longer a connection, it’s a performance.

And I’ve performed too much. I’ve compensated too much.
Moved too far out of myself to meet others where they are, while forgetting to notice if they were willing to meet me too. By that I mean, if there’s a willingness from both sides or not to nurture the bond. 

But maybe it’s just about rhythm. Some dances require two.
And I’m learning to figure out when the music has stopped… or the track has changed.

The tight grip

There’s a part of me that has held on tightly. Not to control, but to preserve connection.
To keep love from slipping away. Which, yes, actually is control.

But I’m learning to make that grip softer.
To let love have air, even if that means letting some things fade.
To walk the talk I believe in, and allow others to meet me or not.

Because I don’t want anyone to feel like loving me is a task, or that responding to me is a test.

I don’t want to become smaller in my expression, but I also don’t want to place others in a space they don’t have the capacity or willingness to hold. We are all where we are at, when we are.

So I’m practicing (practicing, not succeeding) walking in a new way in which I love deeply, but not overwhelmingly due to a fear.
I express without expectation.
I offer without attachment.
I let people be free, while being free myself too.

Honoring the different languages of love

I’ve missed things too, not noticing when others were making an effort.
Subtle gifts and gestures.
Attempts to care in ways I didn’t recognize because I was too focused on how I thought love should look.

I’m learning that love has many different dialects and that not everyone speaks mine.
And that doesn’t mean they don’t care. And I’m learning to expand my catalogue.

But care does need to be felt.
And if it’s never spoken in a language I can hear, then it’s okay to step back.

When love evolves 

I was sitting with a friend of mine a while back. She is older than me and has a kid.  

We spoke about life, and love, and I asked her what she thought about reciprocity. She told me it shifts over time. She told me that after having children, love becomes less about being met, and more about the gift of actually feeling something, even if it isn’t returned. 

I asked about care in friendships. She said that things take on different value with time. 

That even rejection or a fleeting moment of connection can be a gift, because it stirs something real in you. 

And I asked how to get there. 

And then she said something that really stayed with me: “You can’t skip phases. You have to live them all, the longing, the ache, the sting, the desire. Only then can love become less about outcome, and more about offering.” 

She also told me how she quietly retires from the bonds that are no longer aligned. Her words didn’t dismiss my questions. They expanded them. They reminded me that there’s no arrival or finish line, but a process. There’s only where we are now, and what we’re meant to feel, learn, instead of the idea of becoming some enlightened being who never expects or never feels hurt, being beyond it all.

What I choose

I believe in presence, I don’t really care about perfection.
When emotional effort in relationships isn’t a burden, but a shared value and practice.

I want to give freely, but not endlessly into an empty wall.
I want to be met, not identically, but intentionally.

And I’m learning to being willing to say no,
not with anger, but with clarity, when something consistently doesn’t feel mutual.

Because this to me isn’t about being right (our thoughts keep changing with our experiences), but about daring to be real.

I believe friendship is a living thing, and that it needs care and watering. And if someone says yes to that connection, but then shows up only when it’s easy or convenient, that’s not neutrality. That’s neglect. I believe we are here to love, to reflect, to challenge and to grow together and to show up for one another. It’s the relations that hold us accountable, and makes us want to behave our best.

This world doesn’t need more self-sacrifice disguised as loyalty.
It doesn’t need more perfectly curated lives that are emotionally empty.
It needs more heart.
More courageous presence.
More people who care. More poetry.

I don’t believe in a world where we shy away from discomfort, where we choose convenience over care, where we only give what’s easy to give, or what fits neatly into our calendar. But, to speak of my own incongruences, I also don’t believe in control disguised as closeness.

And if these are the things I value, then I need to be the first to live this and live by this… which is what I’m practicing and learning.

For anyone who has felt too much

For those of us who believe in emotional effort in relationships, the path isn’t always easy, but it’s honest, and it’s worth it.

I guess we aren’t here to be shadows in other people’s lives. I believe we are here to bring warmth, movement, insight.
To invite depth, but, careful, not demand it…

We are here to learn when to stay, and when to simply step away to protect the sacredness of what love means to us.

It’s about self-trust… 

And to everyone who’s shaped me along the way,
even through discomfort… thank you.

You’ve helped me remember that I don’t need to shrink to be loved.
I just need to be honest and authentic enough to love wisely.