The one question we forget to ask ourselves in love – and why
I recently had a deeply emotional conversation with a close friend. He’s been in a relationship for 12 years, and as he described it, his partner was like a storm — intense, unpredictable, yet strangely magnetic. Together, they built a life, raised two kids, and created a shared reality that seemed solid from the outside. But somewhere along the way, they lost each other. Then he paused. His eyes filled with tears.
“We love each other, but I don’t think we’ve been kind to each other anymore.”
That sentence — raw, fragile, and quiet — hit me like a truth bomb. Because here’s the painful reality: so many of us are in love with people who don’t treat us well. And we don’t even notice. Or worse, we do see, but we explain it away.
The psychology of why we stay
We don’t fall in love with a person; we fall in love with a pattern. Especially when that pattern mirrors the emotional climate we grew up with. If love in our childhood was inconsistent, we unconsciously associate emotional instability with emotional intensity. The more erratic someone is, the more we’re drawn to them. We mistake unpredictability for passion. We chase what we couldn’t fix in childhood, hoping that this time, if we try hard enough, we’ll finally earn the love that was never given freely.
But this isn’t love.
It’s a re-enactment of old wounds.
Our brains release dopamine not when we get what we want, but when we’re about to get it. The anticipation. The “maybe.” The “almost.” So, when someone shows up inconsistently, we become addicted to the hope of connection rather than the connection itself. We wait. We suffer. And we call it love.
Instead of seeing their emotional unavailability as their limitation, we internalize it: “I’m not enough.” So we try harder. We dress better. We shrink ourselves. We become low-maintenance. We think, "Maybe if I change, they’ll finally love me how I need." But here’s the truth: someone’s inability to love you isn’t proof of your inadequacy. It’s proof of their limitation. So why don’t we ask: Are they kind to me?
Because here’s the thing — if we ask and the answer is no, we must face a terrifying truth. We’ve built an emotional home with someone who never offered us shelter. Our love has become a story of self-betrayal dressed up as loyalty. The "we" we talk about to others only exists in our imagination.
The revolution of asking the right question
Asking “Is this person kind to me?” is radical. It’s a moment of clarity. And clarity is the first step to freedom. It’s not about whether they say they love you. It’s about whether you feel loved in their presence. It’s not about whether they come back when they leave. It’s about whether they even show up in the first place. It’s not about their brokenness. It’s about whether you’re willing to keep bleeding for someone who won’t stop cutting you “accidentally.”
Five profound shifts to begin with
If this resonates with you, here are five profound shifts to begin your journey of self-return:
- Acknowledge the fantasy: Write down what you love about them and what you hope they’ll become. Most pain isn’t from who they are, but from who they’re not. Naming that fantasy helps you stop grieving an ideal and start honoring your reality.
- Recognize genuine kindness: Did they remember your bad day? Did they follow up after you shared something vulnerable? Did they ever create space for you to fall apart without judgment? Kindness isn’t always grand gestures. It’s the small, repeated acts of presence.
- Revisit past wounds: What does their love feel like, and when have I felt this? Often, romance is just an old wound being replayed in a new form.
- Shift the focus: Instead of imagining how difficult life must be for them, focus on what it feels like to be with them. Empathy is powerful, but it’s dangerous when it becomes self-abandonment. What do you need?
- Grieve who you had to become: Grieve not just the person, but who you must become to keep them close. Let your grief teach you what you’ll never settle for again. You’re not hard to love — you need someone who loves you without you having to earn it.
The quiet exit back to yourself
It’s all about recognizing when love stops nourishing you and starts draining you. Understanding that love without kindness is just chemistry wearing a mask.
You are not asking for too much when you ask to be treated well.
You are not being dramatic for needing emotional safety.
You are not ungrateful for wanting consistency.
You are simply waking up from a beautiful, painful dream.
And in that waking moment, you get to decide:
- No more starving in relationships that only feed on your effort.
- No more calling it love when it feels like self-erasure.
- No more shrinking to fit the hunger of someone else’s brokenness.
Could you ask the question? Not because it’s easy. But because it’s yours. Because the moment you ask, “Is this person kind to me?” — you start to remember the shape of your own heart. And from that place, you will choose differently. Softer. Stronger. Truer. Love is not supposed to hurt like this. Love is supposed to be at home. And you, dear soul, have always belonged to yours.