The Good News About Being Part of the Problem

How Understanding Your Own Contributions to the Problem Gives You More Power

I hear some version of this almost every week.

“I’ve tried everything. Nothing works. I don’t think it even matters.”

The person sitting across from me is genuinely exhausted. Not “we had a rough month” exhausted. I mean battle-worn, hope-thinning, seriously-wondering-why-they-bother exhausted. They’ve read the books. They’ve had the hard conversations — or tried to. They feel invisible in their own relationship.

And they’re not wrong that something is broken.

But here’s the thing I notice pretty quickly. While they can describe their partner’s patterns in precise detail — the dismissiveness, the defensiveness, the way every serious conversation somehow becomes about something that happened in 2019 — they don’t have a clear enough picture about what they themselves do when things go sideways. And they don’t yet fully see how much influence they still have over the part they do control.

Which is exactly where the work gets interesting.

I’m thinking about one man who came in certain that his wife simply didn’t really care about working on things. He’d tried bringing it up calmly. He’d tried not bringing it up at all. He’d started doing more around the house, planning date nights, being more patient. Nothing shifted. She was the problem. He had tried everything.

When I asked what happened in the moments things got tense, he paused.

“I get loud, sometimes,” he said. “I have a tone. I know I do. And then she shuts down completely.”

He knew this wasn’t helping. What he hadn’t quite seen was that his escalation and her shutdown were a perfectly matched pair. They had built a very efficient system together — one that left both of them exhausted and neither of them heard.

He had spent months trying to change her. He had not spent enough time thinking about his half of the equation, and just as importantly, knowing what real accountability looks like.

This is not about blame. Let me be clear about that.

Relationships in distress usually have two people doing their best with a limited set of tools. Some people go silent to avoid making things worse. Some push hard because staying quiet feels like surrendering. Some run the kindness campaign — all the right gestures, all the considerate moves — but never actually say the true things that need to be said. Too aggressive. Too passive. Too careful.

And most people are carrying some resentment they haven’t fully named. Maybe they’ve told themselves it’s fine. Maybe they’re afraid of what saying it out loud would mean. But resentment doesn’t stay quiet. It seeps into ordinary moments. A tone of voice. A flicker of something cold before you’ve even opened your mouth. The benign question that somehow lands like an accusation. Resentment corrupts.

Your partner feels that. Even if they can't name it.

Here's why all of this matters — and why I call it power.

When you can see your own patterns clearly, you have something real to work with. Not more effort. Not more trying. More clarity.

Maybe you realize you’ve been avoiding the real conversation because you’re terrified of the answer. Maybe you see that you’ve been keeping score instead of building trust. Maybe you recognize that your forcefulness isn’t strength — it’s fear in a louder outfit.

That awareness changes the game. Because now you know what to actually change.

And that clarity does something else, too. It helps you be truly accountable and make better decisions about what comes next.

Some people do this work and discover they haven’t actually done their part yet. There’s still something to try. They stop working harder and start working smarter.

Others do this work and realize something different: they have already changed. They’ve grown, shifted, tried things that mattered — and they’re still running into the same wall. That realization doesn’t feel good. But it’s useful. It gives them the confidence to make a different kind of decision — one they can stand behind, not one they’ll second-guess for years.

Either way, you leave with something more than you walked in with.

The couples who stay stuck longest are usually the ones who have become experts on each other’s faults and strangers to their own.

It’s an understandable mistake. Pain has a way of narrowing our focus. When we’re hurting, we look outward for explanations.

But the only part of this story you can actually rewrite is yours.

That’s not a limitation. That’s the beginning of the real change.

If any of this resonates with where you are right now, I’d be glad to talk.