Luis Maimoni, LMFT

Marriage and Family Therapist in Long Beach, California

Category: Relationships (Page 1 of 4)

How well are you getting along?

Why the Couple Is the Foundation of a Healthy Family System

The most important thing in your relationships is your partner.
More important than:

  • your ex(es).
  • your children.
  • your parents.

Put another way: In a healthy family system, the couple sits at the top of the family hierarchy.
Not above each other.
Above everyone else: kids, pets, and extended family.

This idea reliably makes people uncomfortable, so before anyone starts yelling equality!, let’s slow down.

Families are not democracies, and children (or Labradoodles) are not junior board members. Equal dignity does not mean equal authority.

Hierarchy gets a bad reputation because people confuse it with dominance, authoritarianism, or patriarchy. Let’s reframe the question from “Who’s in charge?” to “Who’s responsible?”

Your children will run the show…

…if you let them.

It doesn’t matter that they lack the brain development, emotional regulation, and life experience required to manage adult responsibility. When no one is clearly in charge, nature abhors a vacuum—and your children will slide right into the space where your better judgment should be.

This is not healthy. For them or for you.

A child who thinks, “I’m in charge!” does not sleep better at night. (For one thing, there’s no bedtime.) And I sincerely hope I don’t have to explain why it’s also not great for the adults.

Being “at the top” doesn’t mean being harsh, arbitrary, or controlling. It means being clear, fair, consistent, and predictable. You guide more than you dictate. You listen—without handing over the keys.

Yes, this applies to pets too

I love animals. I really do.

But prioritizing a pet’s comfort, routines, or preferences over your partner’s well-being is a reliable way to damage a relationship. This most often shows up not with well-adjusted, well-trained pets, but in situations where a pet’s needs are unmanaged or overwhelming—aging pets struggling with incontinence, chronic illness, or frequent vomiting; animals that were never properly trained; or pets whose presence triggers allergic or health reactions in a partner.

In those cases, the issue isn’t the pet—it’s the absence of limits, problem-solving, or shared responsibility. When one partner is expected to simply tolerate disrupted sleep, persistent messes, odors, health issues, or loss of shared space “because the pet comes first,” the message is clear, even if unintentional.

That message is not repairable through reassurance alone.

And in case you’re wondering why I bring this up: I’ve seen the damage “fur babies” can do to adult relationships more times than I care to count—not because the animals are bad, but because the couple isn’t treating their relationship as the primary one.

What about extended family?

Extended family is trickier. Culture, finances, and caregiving realities matter. But the principle still holds: too many people “in charge” creates confusion, divided loyalties, and stress. Children quickly learn to exploit gaps in an unaligned parenting team, and adults burn out trying to keep everyone happy.

A stable family needs a clear center.
And that center must be the couple.

OK, but what about cultures where caring for extended family is expected?

In many cultures, caring for aging parents or younger siblings is not optional—it’s a moral obligation. Multi-generational households are common, functional, and deeply meaningful. None of that contradicts the idea that the couple should be the center of the family system.

The issue is not whether extended family is included.
The issue is how decisions are made, and whose needs are treated as non-negotiable.

A couple can live with extended family and still be the primary unit—if decisions about caregiving, finances, privacy, and boundaries are made together. What becomes corrosive is when these arrangements are inherited by default, rather than chosen deliberately by both partners.

Cultural tradition does not require a spouse to disappear.
Nor does honoring parents require sidelining the marriage.

Problems arise when care obligations are treated as fixed and unquestionable, and the new spouse is expected to adapt silently. That’s not cultural respect—it’s unilateral decision-making dressed up as duty.

In healthy family systems—across cultures—extended family may be deeply honored, supported, and protected. But the marriage itself is not structurally subordinate to them.

Hierarchy isn’t about exclusion.
It’s about clarity.

And clarity is what allows care, commitment, and culture to coexist—without quietly breaking the couple in the process.

OK, but what if the kids are grown?

This is the follow-up question, and it matters.

What happens when people remarry after the kids are grown and out of the house? Who gets prioritized—the adult children or the new spouse?

Short answer: the spouse still gets priority.
Even then. Especially then.

That doesn’t mean abandoning your children. It means deciding who the organizing center of your adult life is.

Marrying into an established family is one of the hardest roles there is. The new spouse doesn’t just feel like an outsider—for all practical purposes, they are. The kids have history, routines, inside jokes, and a lifetime of access. The spouse is the newcomer trying to build trust and feel commitment in a system that existed long before they arrived.

Especially early in marriage, trust-building is one of the most important tasks. And here’s the part people miss: it doesn’t matter what someone says if their actions consistently communicate, “My primary allegiance is to my kids. Or my dog. Or my ex. Or my mom.” In those situations, the spouse will never feel on solid ground.

This is one reason many second marriages struggle early on—not because people don’t care, but because they try to juggle too many competing allegiances at once. Things get much clearer (and often much easier) when spouses intentionally prioritize each other over all others.

The takeaway

Hierarchy in families isn’t about favoritism.
It’s about clarity.

The spouse comes first.
Everyone is still loved.
Nobody is erased.

But when the couple is not clearly centered, families don’t become more equal.
They become more chaotic, less stable.

And chaos is a terrible way to run a household.

How to Fix a Good Relationship

How’s Your Trust Level?

If your relationship is good, a lot is working.

You care about each other.
You function as a team.
You manage life, kids, work, logistics.

From the outside—and probably from the inside—it looks like things are fine.

Of course we trust each other. We’re committed. We love each other.

And usually, that is true.

The relationship isn’t bad. It’s functional. It works.

But good relationships often plateau because, in the day-to-day juggling of work, screens, parenting, and household demands, trust gets taken for granted. When it isn’t actively maintained, it doesn’t collapse all at once. It thins. Quietly. Gradually.

And when that happens, a relationship that looks fine “on paper” can start to feel emotionally thin in practice.

The Thing About Trust

Most people think trust works like an on/off switch.

You either trust your partner or you don’t. If you’re committed, of course you trust each other.

But that’s not how trust actually works in real relationships.

Trust exists on a spectrum—from damaged and unstable to secure and deeply intimate. Where your relationship falls on that spectrum determines how safe, connected, and open it can feel.

Trust isn’t something you establish once and move on from.
It’s something you’re either building or eroding, often several times a day, through responsiveness, attention, and follow-through.

This is why relationships can feel “good” for years and still slowly lose depth.

You Can’t Talk Your Way Into Trust

Even couples who communicate well get stuck here.

There are explanations.
Apologies.
Promises.
Forgiveness.

It’s a lot of words.

But words, by themselves, do not create trust.

Trust isn’t a vow. It’s not a belief or a declaration.

We get into trouble when we hear “I trust you” and assume that makes it true. Or when we say, “Of course we trust each other—we’re committed,” and think the work is done.

Trust is felt, not decided by agreement.

Because we spend so much of our lives in our heads, it’s easy to assume trust lives there too—in thoughts, intentions, and explanations.

It doesn’t.

Trust lives in the nervous system.
And it’s shaped by behavior.

Talking about trust doesn’t build it.

Trust Is Built Through Behavior

Trust is earned when words consistently match behavior—especially when it would be easier not to follow through.

That matters during the routines of daily life.
It matters even more under stress.

Trust builds when someone:

  • Shows up even when they’re tired
  • Keeps their word when it’s inconvenient
  • Makes room for their partner’s needs, not just their own
  • Stays emotionally present instead of disappearing

One moment can move trust slightly in one direction or another. But meaningful trust is built when this alignment happens over time, under pressure, fatigue, distraction, and real-world constraints.

We often overlook these patterns in early dating, when optimism outpaces observation. But first date or twenty years in, reliability compounds. So does disappointment.

Why “Good” Relationships Get Stuck

Most trust breaks aren’t malicious. And with awareness, many are repairable.

The problem is that often:

  • There isn’t enough awareness, and/or
  • No one steps forward to take accountability

When breaks in trust go unexamined and unrepaired, they slowly become the framework for a larger erosion of trust.

Other common contributors include:

  • Confusing communication problems with follow-through problems
  • Chronic depletion that leaves no emotional space for the relationship
  • Repeated injuries without repair

Understanding why something happened can be useful. But understanding alone doesn’t fix anything.

And this is where many couples get misled—into believing that explanation equals repair.

Explanations Don’t Change the Trust Equation

We have a lot of psychological language right now—ADHD, neurodivergence, narcissism, stress, overwhelm. Some of it is real. Some of it is helpful.

What’s not helpful is playing the game of diagnosing your partner as a substitute for dealing with patterns that actually affect trust.

A diagnosis doesn’t change the trust equation.

If an explanation leads to repeated broken commitments, all you have is a reason for the unreliability. It doesn’t change how your nervous system responds to it.

You and your partner may have many tools available:

  • Lists and reminders
  • Systems and supports
  • Treatment supports, including medication

If someone says they’ll pick up a sick child and doesn’t, the nervous system notices.
If someone says they’ll bring home a loaf of bread and doesn’t, the nervous system notices.

Trust isn’t philosophical. It’s practical.
Explanations are no substitute for follow-through.

The Foxhole

From your side of the relationship, once someone consistently doesn’t do what they say they’ll do, one option is to stop asking, stop arguing, and adjust expectations.

Many people do exactly that.

What matters is understanding what that choice costs.

When you stop asking and stop relying, you may be protecting yourself—but you’re also climbing into a foxhole. You’re limiting vulnerability. You’re moving away from intimacy.

Sometimes that is the right choice.
Some partners are not trustworthy, and staying emotionally exposed isn’t wise.

More often, though, this shift happens automatically. The nervous system takes over. Lowered expectations feel safer. And without anyone deciding it consciously, the relationship moves from intimate to merely functional.

The point here isn’t to tell you what choice to make.

It’s to help you notice what you’re doing, why you’re doing it, and what it costs—so your next step is intentional rather than reactive.

How to Tell If Trust Is the Issue

Your nervous system is your trust system. You can make better decisions by giving it better data.

Ask yourself:

  • Do I feel seen and understood by my partner?
  • Are there topics I avoid because they tend to explode?
  • If I ask for something, what are the chances I’ll actually get it?
  • Do I feel lonely even when we’re together?
  • Do I hide parts of myself to keep things smooth?
  • When my partner says something, do I relax—or brace?
  • Can I rely on them, in both small and important ways?

As you notice patterns, you may also discover that you’ve been overriding your own data for a long time.

That matters.

Why This Is Worth the Effort

When trust is solid, intimacy deepens naturally.

Hard conversations don’t feel dangerous.
Repair feels possible.
Vulnerability feels safer.
Curiosity replaces caution.
Conflict becomes information rather than a threat.
The relationship shifts from “me” to “we.”

Without trust, couples slowly slide into co-existence—roommates managing logistics.

To move back toward partnership—to feel connected, supported, and genuinely grateful—love and trust have to be practiced as verbs, not just felt as emotions.

Three Steps to Trust

If you want deeper trust, commit to three things:

  1. Mean what you say.
  2. Say what you mean.
  3. Do both consistently.

That’s the price of a relationship that’s more than functional.

If you have the space, ask your partner how you’re doing on those three.

Because good relationships don’t fall apart from lack of love.
They stall when trust stops being practiced.

And fixing a good relationship usually starts right there.

When “Good Communication” Doesn’t Fix It

The Gottmans are, without question, among the most influential relationship researchers of our time. They’ve studied how couples communicate and have published volumes on how couples should communicate.

For most couples, their tools work beautifully.

But if you’ve worked on your communication skills — really worked on them — and you’re still not getting any closer, you’re not alone.

Sometimes it isn’t a lack of effort.
Sometimes it isn’t a lack of insight.
Sometimes it isn’t even a lack of skill.

Sometimes the problem isn’t how you’re communicating at all.

That’s not a criticism of the Gottmans or their work. Their tools have helped untold numbers of people. But if you’re applying evidence-based tools in good faith and not making progress, it’s worth pausing to ask why — instead of assuming the answer must be you.

Tools Are Powerful — But They’re Still Tools

The Gottman skills are tools. Excellent ones. We know, from overwhelming evidence, that they work.

When they don’t, it’s natural to think, “I must be doing this wrong.”

That’s a fair question to ask.
It’s not fair to assume it’s the only explanation.

Because here’s the thing about tools: even the best tool in the world can cause damage if it’s used on the wrong problem.

A hammer is incredibly useful.
It’s just a terrible way to remove a screw.

You can try.
You can hit harder.
You can tell yourself you just need better technique.

But at some point, the issue isn’t your effort — it’s that you’re using the wrong tool for the job in front of you.

The same thing happens in relationships.

When the tools seem to be failing, don’t start with self-blame — “What’s wrong with me?”
Start instead with a different question:

“What am I trying to use these tools on?”

Because sometimes the problem isn’t that you’re bad at communication.
Sometimes the relationship itself can’t support what the tools are designed to do.

Meet Alex

Alex is loyal. Family-oriented. A “relationships matter” kind of person. He doesn’t walk away easily. When things get hard, his instinct is to lean in — try harder, explain better, be more careful.

He’s doing the things he’s been told to do:

  • Using “I-statements”
  • Trying to see things from his partner’s point of view
  • Taking responsibility
  • Staying calm
  • Making repair attempts

Not perfectly — but honestly.

And it isn’t working.

He’s paying for it. Emotional exhaustion shows up in his body: aches, pain, fog, fatigue. Work is harder. Daily life takes more effort.

Alex doesn’t mind suffering for love or family. He’ll suffer more if it might fix things.

His mind keeps circling the relationship:

What else can I do? What can I do differently? What am I doing wrong?

He finds endless ways to blame himself.

The Loop That Breaks People

Here’s what keeps happening.

Alex uses the skills — not flawlessly, but earnestly.
Things improve. For a while.
Then… back to square one.

It’s never entirely clear why. The same old fight resurfaces. The trust he thought he’d earned turns out not to exist.

Conversations Alex was sure had been resolved reappear — sometimes with screenshots from months-old texts, fragments of half-remembered arguments, details that don’t even sound the way he remembers them.

So Alex tries again. He swallows the hurt, opens himself up, and leans in harder:

  • listens more carefully
  • chooses his words more precisely
  • takes more responsibility
  • works harder to reassure

And still — nothing sticks.

The calm doesn’t accumulate. The relationship doesn’t stabilize. The same conflicts keep returning, just dressed up differently.

His conclusion becomes painfully simple:

“Nothing is working. I must be the problem. If only…”

What’s Actually Happening in These Relationships

Here’s the part Alex missed.

What looked like engagement and repair was actually the relationship equivalent of trench warfare.

While his partner stayed safely in her trench — lobbing grenades — Alex stood upright in the middle of the battlefield, offering himself as a vulnerable target.

And he didn’t mind taking shrapnel if it meant pulling his partner out of her trench.

Put in therapy language: two nervous systems are doing very different things.

  • One person is trying to calm down, connect, and repair.
  • The other is holding on for dear life to self-protection, safety, and avoiding vulnerability.

So while one person is speaking the language of relationship, the other is speaking the language of survival.

Here’s the non-negotiable truth the Gottman tools quietly rely on:

Repair only works when both people are able and willing to move from “me” to “we.”

When someone is highly activated, defensive, or distrustful, their focus isn’t the relationship. It’s self-protection. Winning. Avoiding vulnerability.

People can say they want repair. They may even restrain themselves from using their biggest weapons. But that doesn’t mean they’re able — not just willing — to be open and receptive.

It’s one thing to say you’re open to reconnection.
It’s another for your nervous system to tolerate it.

And if either person can’t move from me toward we, no amount of good communication will save the conversation.

Signs This Isn’t a Skills Problem

If you’re wondering whether this applies to you, here are some common patterns.

The Reset Problem
You have a good talk. Things feel better.
Then a day or two later, you’re right back in the same conflict — often with more irritation than before.

The Moving Goalposts
You do what was asked. You adjust. You try to meet the need.
But it’s not enough. The standard shifts — for you, not for them.

The Vulnerability Boomerang
You open up because it feels safe in the moment.
Later, that disclosure is used against you in a different argument.
Trusting again gets harder — but you try anyway.

The “Me vs. You” Conversations
Not every discussion turns into a battle — but enough of them do.
Both people are depleted. Both are trying to win.
The conversation never truly becomes we — and without that, the skills can’t do their job.

Here’s the hardest realization:

If the other person can’t or won’t work toward we, this isn’t something you can fix by yourself.

Therapy can help people work through fear, history, trauma, and limited capacity. That’s central to the work. But even with effort and good intentions, change isn’t guaranteed — because you can’t do someone else’s work for them.

That’s why therapists repeat a frustrating truth:

You can only work on yourself.

Or, more plainly:

If your partner can’t or won’t move from “me” toward “we,” there is nothing you can do that will magically make them.

Which leads to the next question.

Why You Keep Trying Anyway

For most of us, our families and partners are foundational. And for some people, the potential loss of those relationships doesn’t just feel sad — it feels unthinkable. Like an existential threat.

So they explain more. Try harder. Soften their needs. Choose better words. Stay longer than they should.

And when none of it works, self-blame steps in.

Here’s the twisted logic:

If it’s my fault, there’s still hope.

If I just say it better, try harder, grow more — maybe it will finally click.

Self-blame keeps hope alive.
Even when the cost of hope — sleep, health, and peace — keeps mounting.

A Gentle Self-Check

This isn’t about diagnosing yourself. It’s about noticing patterns.

  • Do you rehearse conversations like you’re studying for a final?
  • Do you spend more time perfecting how to say something than asking whether it’s safe to say it?
  • Do you feel guilty the moment you consider pulling back?
  • Do you feel calm only when they’re calm?

If your relationship has you doing emotional calculus at 2:00am… that’s data.

And sleep isn’t optional. If you can’t sleep, the relationship is costing you more than mood — it’s costing you health.

Here’s What You Can Do

Once you’re willing to consider that the problems might not be your fault, you can play the game differently.

You don’t need to demand new rules. These are changes you can make on your own.

If your partner responds positively, that’s data.
If your partner escalates, accuses, or punishes you for trying, that’s data too.

Reasonable shifts include:

  • Stop using skills to earn safety.
  • Move from trying to fix the relationship to assessing whether we is actually possible.
  • Replace more explaining with more observing.
  • Build support outside the relationship so connection isn’t your only oxygen source.
  • Set boundaries not to control the other person — but to keep yourself intact.

This isn’t giving up.
It’s getting honest about what the situation can — and can’t — support.

If You Saw Yourself in This

If you read this and thought, “Oh. That’s me,” here’s the hard truth:

This is an incredibly difficult pattern to climb out of alone.

Not because you’re weak — but because the part of you that wants to leave is tangled up with the part of you that believes connection is non-optional.

Working with a therapist who understands attachment, nervous system activation, and boundaries can help.

You might not need more communication skills.
You need a better map.
And sometimes, a steady guide makes all the difference.

Boundaries: They Don’t Work Until You Do

This Post Is for People Who Struggle to Set and Keep Boundaries

Chatting with William

This post isn’t about how to set boundaries. I’ve already written that.

But my friend William—thoughtful, kind, and a former therapist himself—explained to me after reading that piece to say, gently, that something was missing. Not wrong. Incomplete.

Specifically: what has to happen inside before boundaries work on the outside.

A Thoughtful Challenge From a Friend

William has lived a lot of life. He’s not interested in winning arguments—he notices patterns, reflects on them, and then says something that makes you pause.

That’s what he did here.

He pointed out that boundaries haven’t always occupied the central place they do now in psychotherapy. Early therapy focused more on intrapsychic boundaries—ego, superego, conscious and unconscious. The interpersonal boundary boom really took off later, especially in the 1980s and 90s, alongside 12-step work and increased attention to addiction, abuse, and trauma.

Fair point.

But then he named something more important.

The Shadow Side of Boundary Setting

William described watching people set boundaries with pressured speech, fear in their eyes, sometimes even rage—like they were bracing for a fight. Less self-respect, more defensive maneuver. He wondered whether some boundary setting was really about control, or about a frightened part of ourselves trying desperately not to get hurt again.

I didn’t disagree.

I’ve seen people avoid boundaries because they’re afraid of the reaction they’ll get. Afraid someone will get angry. Afraid the relationship will change. Afraid something long-standing might fall apart. These are often relationships with history—family, partners, people who’ve been around for decades.

That fear keeps people from doing what needs to be done. By keeping the smaller peace, they set the stage for a biggerwar—one that tends to break out later, louder, and uglier.

I can’t tell you how often I’ve said this in my office: Good fences make good neighbors. Good boundaries make good relationships.

And if a relationship can’t survive a boundary around something you truly can’t live with? That’s not a failure. Painful, yes—but also clarifying. Why are you working so hard to preserve a relationship that only functions if you keep abandoning yourself?

As God told Abraham in Genesis 12:1: Get thee out.

Why Late Boundaries Turn Into Rage

When William mentioned rage, it might have sounded like an exaggeration. It isn’t.

If you don’t set boundaries, people will take advantage of you. Call it fair or unfair—it doesn’t matter. Humans do what humans do, usually without much awareness of why they’re doing it.

As toes get stepped on again and again, resentment builds. When resentment builds long enough, it hardens into anger. And when anger goes unaddressed, it turns into rage.

At that point, boundaries finally get set—but they’re explosive, damaging, and hard to sustain. They’re powered by emotion rather than conviction. Once the emotional surge fades, the boundary collapses.

The way to avoid rage-boundaries is simple, though not easy: set boundaries earlier.

The Boundary Is With Yourself First

This is where William shared a story that really landed.

Years ago, he called his friend David to talk through a boundary he was planning to set. David listened and then said,
“It sounds like the person you really need to be setting boundaries with is yourself.”

That’s the heart of it.

Before you say anything to someone else, you have to get clear within yourself:

  • What can go
  • What cannot go
  • What you are—and are not—willing to live with

When that clarity is real, it changes your presence. And that presence changes how conversations go. It even changes which conversations you decide to have at all.

William was reminded of something Louise Hay once said—paraphrased, but true to her spirit: if you don’t like what someone is doing, don’t try to change them.

Say “no thank you,” and move toward the kind of relationship and environment you want to participate in.

No drama. No punishment. Just living in line with what you’ve already decided.

Why Boundaries Fail: It’s Not the Words

The number-one reason boundaries fail is simple: they’re never actually set. They’re wished for rather than made. A close second is that they’re framed as requests instead of limits.

But even when people do everything “right,” many still assume boundaries fail because they didn’t say them properly. Wrong words. Wrong tone. Too soft. Too harsh. If only they’d rehearsed better.

In my experience, boundaries don’t fail because of wording. They fail because the person setting them doesn’t yet believe them.

You can’t hold a boundary you don’t mean.

I learned this years ago as a new parent. Our young child loved climbing into our bed at night. We said “no” and put him back—again and again. Minutes later, a warm, loving, beautiful child was right back where he wanted to be.

It wasn’t until my therapist told me—rather memorably—that boundaries are like curses in Harry Potter lore: you have to mean them.

Once the boundary was internally settled—this is no longer happening—things changed. Same words. Different intention.

Healthy Boundaries Start With Internal Conviction

The earlier post was about boundary mechanics. This one is about why boundary work keeps therapists like me fully employed.

If boundary setting feels anxious, brittle, or explosive, that’s not a sign you’re failing. It’s a sign more internal work is needed—the work of deciding, quietly and firmly, what you’re no longer available for.

Once that decision is made, boundaries tend to come out cleaner. Calmer. Less like a threat and more like a fact.

William didn’t convince me boundaries are outdated. But he did remind me—and I think he’s right—that boundaries work best when they aren’t weapons, ultimatums, or last-ditch attempts to control outcomes.

They work when they reflect something already decided inside.

And those are the boundaries that last.

To Be (or Not To Be) Emotionally Vulnerable

Star Crossed Lovers

(With sincere apologies to Romeo, Juliet, and anyone who would rather build IKEA furniture than talk about their feelings.)

Every so often, a client will look me straight in the eye and ask a question so honest, so raw, that the whole room goes still. Recently, a man asked me:

How can I bring myself to emotional vulnerability?

His wife had encouraged him to come to therapy — not an uncommon origin story — and to his credit, he was genuinely trying. The quaver in his voice said everything. There was hope in it, a little fear, and a quiet plea not to mess this up.

Now, emotional vulnerability is a deceptively dangerous topic. My therapist brain immediately flashed to Shakespeare. Emotional vulnerability did not go great for Romeo and Juliet. Two teenagers felt very big feelings, very fast, took absolutely no time to think things through, and ended up in a double coffin. Gorgeous poetry. Terrible outcome.

So before we sprint up the balcony shouting declarations of love, let’s slow this down.

A brief disclaimer before diving in:
I’m speaking here about men because that was the context of the session — not because women can’t be distant or men can’t be emotional. Socialization is a powerful force, and emotional shutdown happens across the gender spectrum. Please don’t shoot the messenger.

Alright. Let’s begin.

You Didn’t Become Stoic by Accident (Armor On is Armor Earned)

If someone has told you you’re emotionally shut down, I want you to hear this clearly: It’s not your fault, and it isn’t random. Stoicism is not a personality flaw. It’s an adaptation — usually a necessary one.

Some combination of:

  • chaos
  • trauma
  • criticism
  • bullying
  • unpredictable or unavailable caregivers
  • cultural expectations, including “boys don’t cry” conditioning
  • poverty
  • families where emotions were… optional

…taught your nervous system that emotions were bad – dangerous, inconvenient, sometimes good but mostly not. So your system built armor. And the armor worked.

It kept you safe when safety wasn’t available any other way. It helped you stay functional in environments where chaos, neglect, or hostility would have swept you away.

You didn’t misread the room.
You adapted to it.

And your emotional system is still protecting you. That’s why opening up now is like walking into battle without your shield. Opening up can make you question your own judgment.

But… Do You Really Want This?

Emotional vulnerability is not something you dabble in. You don’t “try it on.” You choose it. Intentionally.

Romeo and Juliet didn’t hesitate. They saw the balcony, jumped straight into love, and never looked back. Beautiful. Terrible. Not recommended.

Before you follow suit, ask yourself:

  • Do I actually want this? Or is this for someone else?
  • Am I ready for real version of being real? Or am I hoping for the Instagram version — the one with soft lighting, no mess, and zero emotional consequences?

Because here’s the truth you won’t see on a greeting card:
If you choose vulnerability, you will get hurt. Not all the time, not dramatically, but pain is part of the package.

So is joy.
So is closeness.
So is warmth, tenderness, genuine connection, and that rare feeling of actually being understood.

You don’t get Juliet’s balcony without risking her heartbreak (neither did Romeo).
It’s all one system.

And — this part is important — your emotional system will fight you on this. It will fire alarms. It will insist “unsafe!” It will nudge you toward every classic defense men use: making a joke, shutting down, changing the subject, withdrawing, intellectualizing, or suddenly being very interested in checking the thermostat.

If any of that happens, it doesn’t mean you’re failing.
It means your nervous system is doing exactly what it was trained to do — and you’re right on schedule.

You Don’t Know What You Don’t Know

People who grew up in emotional safety learned emotional skills early. It wasn’t formal training; it was just the water they swam in.

But you?
You learned survival, not vulnerability. And survival requires a completely different skill set.

Here’s the memo you missed while you were busy not drowning:

Emotional vulnerability is selective.

It does not mean opening your chest cavity to every human you meet. It means learning when to open up, who gets access, how much to share, and when to put the lid back on.

If you didn’t learn emotional skills early, you’re not broken — you’re just untrained. And grown-ups can learn.

Some of those skills include:

  • noticing what you feel, and not dismissing it
  • learning the language of emotion
  • choosing appropriate moments to open up
  • reading your partner’s signals
  • pacing yourself

These are learnable. They’re not personality traits; they’re skills.

You Will Survive the Pain(s)

Let’s get honest: vulnerability stings. Not all the time, but enough.

But here’s the thing — you’ve survived far worse than anything emotional vulnerability will throw at you. The events that required your armor were likely far more intense, cruel, chaotic, or destabilizing than the discomfort of letting someone you love see your inner world.

You survived all of that.
You’re here.
You’re stronger now than you were then.

Your emotional system may not trust that yet, but it will learn — gradually — that you are no longer a child without power or choice. You’re an adult with more internal resources than you know.

Pain and joy share the same doorway.
You can’t numb one without the other.
Opening up gives you both — the hurt and the healing.

A DIY Map to Emotional Vulnerability (Compressed So This Doesn’t Turn Into “War and Peace”)

Every one of these deserves its own article, but here’s the abbreviated version:

  • Build emotional awareness.
    Just start noticing what you feel — even if you don’t know why.
  • Learn the vocabulary.
    It’s hard to share an emotion you don’t have a name for.
  • Believe your body.
    Your body reveals your truth before your mind does.
  • Try mindfulness (the real kind, not incense-and-gongs).
    Just pause during the day to ask, “What’s happening in me right now?”
  • Therapy helps.
    Dangerous journeys are most dangerous when taken alone.

If you want more depth, Google and ChatGPT will keep you busy for a long time. Or, reach out to me via my contact page.

Start Small: Emotional Reps

Please don’t sprint toward a balcony. Let’s start with small steps.

Try:

  • admitting when you feel nervous
  • sharing one honest preference
  • letting yourself sit in discomfort for ten seconds longer
  • revealing one feeling instead of closing the door completely

These are emotional push-ups — mildly uncomfortable, occasionally annoying, and guaranteed to make you stronger if you stick with them. You’re learning your internal landscape — not for anyone else’s sake, but for your own.

Why Vulnerability Might Be Worth It (And When It’s Not)

The upside of vulnerability includes:

  • deeper connection
  • letting your partner feel emotionally loved, not just logically loved
  • feeling alive again instead of numb
  • a richer relationship
  • a fuller sense of your own humanity

But there are times when vulnerability is a bad idea:

  • if you’re divorcing
  • if you’re in a dangerous or abusive relationship
  • if your home is not emotionally safe
  • if vulnerability would expose you to harm

Vulnerability is powerful — and like anything powerful, it should be consensual, safe, and well-timed.Ultimately, the choice belongs only to you. Choose slowly. Choose intentionally. Choose wisely.

And if you ever want help navigating the terrain?

Well… that’s why therapists exist.

No balcony scene required.

Families Are the Best Reason for Boundaries. Ever.

Everywhere you look, there’s advice on how to “get along with family.”
Keep the peace. Keep it light. Pretend everyone gets along because… “we’re family.”

Right. And I’m the Tooth Fairy.

Here’s what never makes a decorative pillow:
Families are wonderful, messy, loving, infuriating bundles of history and triggers.
Being around them can turn even the most therapized adult into their 10-year-old self in three seconds flat.

You spend years individuating — building a life based on your values — and then you reunite with family and suddenly Dad’s cigar and Uncle Oscar’s fourth-martini politics trigger a suffocated rage you’d forgotten you’d ever felt.

Family gatherings are stressful for plenty of reasons, but here’s one of the biggest ones:
They drop us right back into the places where we once had zero power.
That’s why it may be worthwhile for you to think of boundaries as survival skills for family gatherings.

News Flash! Requests ≠ Boundaries! 

We’re socialized to be nice, and to make polite requests:

  • “Please don’t bring up politics.”
  • “Maybe cut back on the alcohol?”
  • “Can you smoke outside?”

Requests keep the peace in the moment but accomplish very little, because you’re asking someone to stop doing something they’ve been doing for a very long time. Not happening — not because they don’t love you, but because this is who they are. So let’s have a look at what an actual boundary looks like:

Request: “Please stop raising your voice.”
Boundary: “If you raise your voice, I’m stepping away.”

One depends on their cooperation.
The other depends on your spine.

Boundaries don’t control the room. They clarify you — your choices, your comfort, your plan.

Boundary Buffet: Help Yourself!

Instead of:
“Would you please be careful about how much you drink this year?”
Try:
“If things get rowdy, I’m leaving early.”

Instead of:
“Please don’t smoke that cigar.”
Try:
“If there’s smoking indoors, I’ll be outside.”

Instead of:
“Maybe skip the weed at dinner?”
Try:
“If substances come out, I’m out.”

Instead of:
“Let’s avoid politics.”
Try:
“If politics come up, I’ll change the subject or step out.”

Boundaries Aren’t About Them. They’re About You. 

If you’re like most of us, it’s uncomfortable to ask someone to do something that will help us enjoy a family event. Try thinking of it this way:
You’re not controlling others. You’re letting people know how you’ll take care of yourself when certain “family specials” pop up.

Even if you did want to change their behaviors, they’re the only ones who can make that change. So, it can be helpful to reframe the idea of setting a boundary from being about someone else’s behaviors to being about our own – our actions, our limits, and what we’re willing to participate in.

Put another way: You’re not telling people what to do — you’re telling people what you will do.

That’s it. No threats. No ultimatums. Just clarity.

Hosts, Guests — It Doesn’t Matter

Whether dinner is at your place or someone else’s, your boundaries belong to you.

You don’t need permission.
You don’t need consensus.
You don’t need the family vote.

And here’s the kicker: setting boundaries may have consequences. You might not get invited to your nephew’s birthday party. You might miss Uncle Vito heading to the kids’ table to demonstrate his ability to burp the alphabet in one heroic, horrifying go.

But that’s the point: you choose what you endure — or don’t.

The Bottom Line

You cannot fix your family. It’s not your job.
Your job is to take care of yourself in the beautiful, chaotic circus you were born into.

Boundaries make that possible.
They protect your peace.
They create space for real connection — the honest, grounded, sustainable kind.

Everything else is optional.

The Money Series: Talking About More Than Dollars

A friend of mine once said, “You should write about money. Couples fight about it all the time.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I figured I’d dash off a quick post about it — but once I started digging, I realized that money isn’t just about math. It’s about meaning. Safety. Trust. Power. Love. The more I explored, the juicier it got. One post turned into five.

This series looks at how money becomes emotional currency in our relationships — why it can spark so much tension, and how we can build a shared language that balances connection and accountability.

When couples understand what money means — not just what it does — they stop fighting about receipts and start talking about reality: safety, fairness, and partnership.

You can read the posts in any order; like life and arguments, there are no prerequisites.

If something here lands, pause before moving on. Some truths rise slowly, given warmth and time.

And if you have ideas for future topics, send them my way — just like my friend did. (I owe him one for this.)

Money Talks

  • What it’s about: Why every “money talk” is really an emotional conversation in disguise — and how to start those talks without turning them into fights.
  • Payoff: Finally figure out why your “budget chats” go nuclear — and how to stop arguing about numbers that aren’t really about numbers.
  • Reading time: ~4 min
  • Read it here →https://www.luisthetherapist.com/moneytalks/

Self-Worth and the Price Tag

  • What it’s about: The invisible link between money and identity — how our self-esteem, childhood messages, and social comparisons shape our financial habits.
  • Payoff: See how your wallet became your self-worth — and how to quit letting dollar signs decide your value
  • Reading time: ~5 min
  • Read it here →https://www.luisthetherapist.com/self-worth/

Love, Power, and the Checkbook

  • What it’s about: A deeper dive into how couples unconsciously replay old power scripts — from “Grandpa’s checkbook” to modern-day Venmo drama.
  • Payoff: Learn to stop re-enacting your grandparents’ relationship in 4K — and start sharing money without power plays or silent resentment.
  • Reading time: ~7 min
  • Read it here →https://www.luisthetherapist.com/money-and-power/

Separate Accounts, Shared Lives

  • What it’s about: The great modern debate — separate, joint, or hybrid accounts? And what those choices reveal about trust, autonomy, and fairness.
  • Payoff: Figure out if you’re protecting your independence or just keeping score — and find a setup that doesn’t feel like a cold war with debit cards.
  • Reading time: ~5 min
  • Read it here →https://www.luisthetherapist.com/separate-accounts/

The Household Budget: Where Money Meets Meaning

  • Reading time: ~6 min
  • What it’s about: Turning numbers into a living plan — one that reflects shared priorities, not just expenses.
  • Payoff: Turn your budget from “ugh” to “us” — and maybe stop having that same fight about groceries every month.
  • Read it here →https://www.luisthetherapist.com/householdbudget

Love, Power, and the Checkbook

The House That Looked Like Order

Before apps and automatic transfers, there was the kitchen table — the quiet command center of family life. That’s where the smell of Grandma’s fresh-baked cookies filled the air, homey artwork lined the walls, and a starburst clock kept perfect time — an optimistic little sun presiding over the daily order. Everything about that house said warmth, routine, and safety, or at least looked that way.

That sense of security came from the appearance of order. Bills got paid, dinner appeared, and the world seemed to make sense. What your memories may not include are the unspoken assumptions and quiet sacrifices — the cultural constraints and gender roles that kept the gears turning. The invisible machinery made home feel safe, even if it wasn’t always fair. (Spoiler: emotional labor wasn’t even called labor yet.)

Bacon, Grease, and the Golden Rule

Back then, Grandpa brought in the bacon and was honored for the sizzle; Grandma cooked it and used the grease to keep the household running. On the surface, it looked efficient, even loving — everyone had their role. But that tidy division of labor came with a grease stain — the kind that doesn’t wash out: built-in inequity.

Those old-fashioned values leaned on what was called the “Golden Rule,” the expectation of fairness. But the truer saying, then and now, is “Whoever has the gold, makes the rules.” Money talks, and the rest of us make do. Grandma? She “made do” with plenty of love, a smile, a sigh, and a spotless kitchen. Grandpa got the last pour of bourbon and the final say — or so he thought.

Modern Money, Same Old Tension

These days, there’s no predetermined answer to who earns the money, who manages it, or who decides how it’s spent. Some couples merge accounts, others split them, some go halfsies in the name of fairness — but none of it cancels out the quiet (or not-so-quiet) conflicts over safety, control, and trust. The Golden Rule still applies, separate bank accounts notwithstanding. (Venmo didn’t solve patriarchy; it just made reimbursements faster.)

The Math Doesn’t Add Up

Splitting everything 50/50 sounds fair in theory but rarely works in practice. So much starts out unequal — income, labor, caregiving, emotional bandwidth. Who’s caring for kids, aging parents, pets, or holding the family’s emotional center? And that’s before we even talk about the fact that people naturally want different things.

And then there’s the invisible labor — the person who plans, anticipates, and reminds; who knows when the bills are due, when the insurance renews, when the kids’ tuition hits. That’s not just organization — it’s mental load. It’s the emotional weight of making sure everyone else feels secure, often without acknowledgment or help. And yes, it’s work. (No pension, but lots of receipts.)

Money is Power

Sharing money is sharing power, and you can’t balance dreams, safety, and groceries on the same scale. It’s less about math and more about trust — tuning into your partner, understanding why you each need what you need, and saying it out loud. (Pro tip: do that before the credit-card bill arrives.) Skip the debate over who pays what, and ask instead: What does money mean to you right now? What are you afraid of losing? What would make you feel safe? Those questions build more security than any spreadsheet ever could.

The Grandparents in the Wallet

Our relationship with money doesn’t start in adulthood; it starts in childhood. We watch how our parents and caregivers earn, spend, save, and fight about it — and then we copy, rebel, or overcorrect. Maybe you grew up in a house where money was tight and every purchase had to be justified. Maybe it was plentiful, but used as proof of love or control. Either way, the story you learned back then shapes how you handle it now.

Some people calm their anxiety by tracking every dollar, believing that if they stay on top of the numbers, nothing bad can happen. Others feel safest by letting someone else handle the money — not because they don’t care, but because watching the numbers rise and fall makes them nervous. And some of us do both, depending on the week.

That’s why “You handle it” isn’t always about convenience — it can mean, I don’t want to feel this anxiety right now. And “I’ll handle it” isn’t always about competence — it can mean, I can’t relax unless I’m in control. What looks like a simple division of labor is often two nervous systems negotiating for safety.

When couples start talking about money, they’re really talking about trust, fear, and the ghosts of old family stories — ghosts that still whisper what’s “normal,” what’s “enough,” and who’s supposed to be in charge.

Whose Wallet Is It Anyway?

So how do you figure out who should “run” the money? Start by dropping the idea that you can share a life but keep your finances separate from it. You’re already financially intertwined — pretending otherwise just hides the power dynamics that are already at play. Not everyone has to love spreadsheets or take on the heavy lifting, but like any other power issue in a relationship, the agreement should be clear and consensual. Talking about it doesn’t make things awkward; it keeps them honest.

Begin with three conversations — ideally before someone’s holding the credit-card bill like a subpoena:

  1. Trade Family Stories. Ask each other what money was like growing up — who controlled it, who avoided it, and what that felt like. You’ll learn more in ten minutes of story than in a year of spreadsheets.
  2. Talk About Triggers. What parts of money make you anxious or shut down? Taxes? Overspending? The “what ifs”? Knowing each other’s danger zones helps you assign roles that fit strengths, not fears.
  3. Decide on Transparency. Whether one of you pays the bills or you both do, agree that neither is “in charge.” You’re both custodians of shared trust. Check in regularly — not to audit, but to connect.

The goal isn’t perfect equality; it’s collaboration without fear. When the system starts to wobble, go back to curiosity: What’s happening underneath this money fight? Nine times out of ten, it’s not about the numbers — it’s about safety, respect, or the need to feel heard.

Cookies, Bourbon, and an Old Grease Stain

And maybe, just maybe, picture Grandma and Grandpa again — sitting at that kitchen table, the smell of cookies still in the air, the checkbook open between them. Imagine Grandma leaning in this time, pen in hand, eyes locked with Grandpa’s. They’re not fighting; they’re smiling — possibly because she just found out he can bake too. The cookies are still warm, the bourbon’s still poured, and the old grease stain’s finally wiped clean.

This time, the power isn’t making a mess. They’ve learned to cook without splatter — less smoke, less cleanup, more flavor. It takes less energy to make it work, and it leaves a little extra for what matters most: another round of cookies… and bourbon.

Moving In Together? Don’t Skip the Stress Test

Before you move in…

Paperwork ≠ Intimacy

Thinking about moving in together? Let’s clear something up: no amount of paperwork or negotiation will guarantee a good outcome if you haven’t really gotten to know each other.

Paperwork doesn’t build intimacy. A lease won’t make your partner kinder, tidier, or less obsessed with leaving socks in creative places. And it definitely won’t change the way they load the dishwasher.

Compatibility Isn’t Just the Good Times

Nobody moves in thinking they’re incompatible. But most of us make that decision based on how we’ve experienced our partner at their best. True compatibility shows up when you’ve also seen them at their worst.

Stress Reveals the Real Story

Here’s why: when life is easy, we tend to show up as our best selves. We’re generous, collaborative, and open. Early in a relationship, we even keep our “party manners” on. But under stress, we default to our attachment style — the protective, defensive self. That’s when the anxious partner clings, the avoidant partner pulls away, and the secure partner is left wondering what just happened.

Want to dig deeper? Here’s a primer on attachment styles, one of the most well-researched theories in relational psychology: Attachment Styles and Relationships (The Gottman Institute).

Love Alone Isn’t Enough

Bluntly: the person you think might be “marriage material” has a dark side. We all do. Stress is what brings out the rough edges. And if you’re counting on “love will find a way,” the divorce statistics suggest otherwise.

The Big Four Questions Before You Move In

The usual advice about moving in covers the basics:

  • Motives. Love + joy? Great. Saving money? Congratulations, you’ve just found the world’s priciest roommate.
  • Boundaries. Love without them burns out. Boundaries without love isolate. Pick your poison.
  • Power. Money, assets, anger, even the “need to please.” Equality’s a myth. Fairness is the goal.
  • Commitment. If you’re doing it “to see what happens,” what usually happens is resentment.

All of these matter — but they assume compatibility. And you can’t measure compatibility until you’ve seen how your partner (and you) respond when things go wrong.

Try a Stress Test

Now, you can’t exactly banish your partner to Siberia or create stress on purpose by hiding their underwear. But you can take a trip together — somewhere unfamiliar, long enough and bumpy enough to test how you both cope when life isn’t picture-perfect. At the very least, you’ll learn whether your partner snores like a chainsaw before the honeymoon.

Vacations aren’t cheap. But they’re a whole lot cheaper than moving in, moving out, and way, way cheaper than divorce.

Bottom Line

Moving in together isn’t just about splitting Wi-Fi. It’s about building a life. And before you do that, make sure you know not only who your partner is when things are easy — but who they are when things get hard.

 

Money: Separate Accounts, Same Fights

Column J: Hidden Resentments

According to a YouGov survey, 28% of couples fight about money. Worse, research on everyday marital conflicts finds that money related disputes tend to last longer, recur more often, feel more significant, and are less likely to be resolved than fights about other topics.

Money isn’t just money—it’s love, safety, fairness, freedom, and the irritation stemming from “Why did you blow $550 on new headphones when we can’t afford to fix the dishwasher?”

So, let’s bust a myth: “Separate bank accounts mean we won’t fight about money.” Cute idea. Too bad it doesn’t work.

You don’t get financial freedom just because you each have your own debit card. You still share a mortgage/rent, groceries, insurance, and the joy of streaming bills. Separate accounts don’t erase interdependence—they just make it easier to pretend.

The “I’ll Pay X, You Pay Y” Illusion

Dividing bills sounds so tidy: “You cover rent, I’ll take utilities.” Done, right? Wrong. That’s not a financial plan—it’s a roommate agreement.

Here’s what that neat little math “solution” ignores:

  • Income gaps = power gaps. The partner earning less often feels like they have less voice in how money is spent.
  • Not all contributions are financial. Housework, childcare, and emotional labor don’t show up in a checking account, but hey: this is a relationship blog. Ignore those contributions at your peril.
  • Hidden resentments thrive in silence. What feels “fair” to one partner may feel forced or inequitable to the other.

The truth is, “I’ll pay X, you pay Y” is a shortcut. And shortcuts in relationships usually mean skipping the hard stuff—like values, fairness, and trust… foundational elements of a healthy intimate relationship.

California Reality Check

Quick disclaimer: I’m a therapist, not your lawyer. If you need legal advice, talk to one.

For married couples in California (and other community property states), separate accounts don’t actually mean separate assets. You might feel more independent, but the court may see it differently.

Which brings us back to the real question: Are you using separate accounts for healthy autonomy—or as a way to keep secrets? If you can’t show your partner your bank statement, but you’re fine letting them see you drool in your sleep, we might need to talk about your definition of “healthy autonomy”.

Relationship First, Money Second

Money fights aren’t usually about money.

Fights about money – and agreements about money – are fights and agreements about the relationship. So before you even touch the numbers, ask yourselves: What kind of team do we want to be?

  • Do we want an all-in partnership with full financial transparency?
  • Or do we want to allow for individual autonomy—and if so, how much?

Put bluntly: if you’re ready to share a life together but not your financial truths, don’t be surprised when trust issues show up in both places.

Separate (but still huge) factor: your family of origin shaped your comfort with money long before you met your partner. If no one ever taught you to budget, or money was a taboo topic in your house, then you’ve got some extra work to do. You can’t commit to what you don’t understand.

Household Finance Hack

Here’s a hack that works for most couples:

  1. Start with values. What matters more—security, fun, generosity, growth? Name them together.
  2. Fund “Ours” first. Housing, food, insurance, kids, savings, shared goals. Take care of the team before the individuals.
  3. Then carve out discretionary dollars. Note: dollars, not categories. That means your slice of money is yours to spend—no judgment. If you want three boxes of donuts, a new purse, or the latest Apple Watch, that’s your business. No snark from your partner required.
  4. Automate visibility. Use apps like Mint, YNAB, or Monarch to track spending and categorize it automatically. That way no one partner ends up stuck playing Accountant of Doom at the kitchen table with a spreadsheet.
    • And here’s the key: everyone contributing to the budget gets to see the budget and the spending. Even if a partner isn’t at all interested in the money, knowing they can see whatever they want to see whenever they want to see it is a sure fire way to build trust and safety.

Bottom Line

Separate accounts don’t stop fights. Shared clarity doesn’t guarantee peace either—but it gives you a fighting chance. Autonomy only works if it’s framed as “this is for me” and understood as “it’s still part of us.”

Your money system is an expression of your relationship. Decide what kind of relationship you want, and let the money plan reflect that. Otherwise, you’re just roommates with benefits and joint Wi-Fi (and maybe a couple of shared streaming passwords).

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