Should I Give My Partner Another Chance?

The Fine Line Between Hope and Holding On

How many chances are too many chances? When you repeatedly tell your partner what matters most to you, what you need, and what your deal-breakers are, yet you keep getting more of the same or even the opposite of what you’ve asked for, what are your options?

Most of us understand that drawing a line in the sand is meaningless if it’s continually erased, redrawn, or disappears because our partners ignore, deny, or fail to comprehend the significance of what we’ve communicated and where we stand: that our relationship is teetering on a precipice; we are saying ‘no more.’

Deal-breaker situations are fraught; we may find ourselves begging, threatening, shutting down, or a combination of all three. It may feel (and seem) like we are giving ultimatums, when in reality, as messy as it looks, it’s often a pro-relationship stance—a desperate act, a final gasp.

Inherent in our asserting limits—no matter how sloppily we do it—is a longing for reconnection; a desire for the relationship to deepen and grow, not end.

However, each time we set a boundary or communicate a need, and it goes ignored, trust diminishes—on multiple levels. First, we lose confidence in our partner’s ability to follow through and adhere to agreements. Where once we hoped, trusted, and expected them to come home for dinner, call if they are running late, and avoid leaving dishes in the sink and clothes on the floor, now we hope for very little. Expectations, like our spouse initiating sex (at least some of the time), sharing in the parenting, and keeping personal details about ourselves or the marriage private from in-laws and friends, evaporate; instead, we expect very little, which is its own kind of expectation—one of despair.

Though I’d also say we expect a lot, just not what we had hoped for. Instead, we anticipate ongoing disappointment, perpetual betrayal, and being chronically let down.

In simple terms, we become allergic to hope.

The other type of trust that erodes is trust in ourselves; we hear ourselves say no more—that we won’t stay in the relationship as is, that things are not tenable or sustainable, or else…yet, when the same issues recur and our partner continues being their unreliable or unreasonable self in all manner of predictable ways, we capitulate, bide our time, and stay stuck in gridlock. The saying ‘easier to live in a known hell than go to an unknown heaven,’ to deal with the ‘devil you know versus the devil you don’t’ comes to mind. We stay with the devil we know.

Which is what leads me to chance and the perennial questions of how many chances are too many, should I stay or should I go, and is my marriage worth saving?

At its core, these questions are about risk because while chance refers to the possibility of anything happening, risk refers to the possibility of something negative happening.

Humans, as a species, are inherently risk-averse; we seek data, details, and diagnoses to make informed decisions. We convince ourselves that with this arsenal of information, we will minimize losses and avoid heartache. I say this with as much compassion, empathy, and understanding as is possible: it is folly.

The truth is that while we can move the needle and (sometimes) temporarily thwart duress, heartache is inherent in humanness and always on the horizon. So, the question of jeopardy and how many chances are too many is better explored by asking ourselves deep, difficult, and honest questions—questions about consequences and fear, reality and regret. Questions like:

What’s at stake between us?

It’s crucial to think about the cost. Do you have children? Grandchildren? Community ties? How many years have you devoted to building your world—your home, business, savings, and dreams for the future? What significance do they hold for you? Is the emotional cost of maintaining them, of remaining stuck, worth it? This is a fair and important thing to consider—nothing superficial about it. The idea that a relationship is most precious when oozing romance, harmony, and ease is a modern, romantic notion. For centuries, humans formed partnerships based on considerably less glamorous principles. We stayed committed to relationships mainly because it was practical; it behooved us. That said, if there’s less investment of resources or history, it might be better to step away. For most couples, the longer you’re together, the harder it is to separate; eventually, you and your partner become like two fused bones. Though mobility is possible, the effort needed to part ways becomes greater. Ultimately, whatever choice you make, heartache is likely to follow. So, where are you most willing to risk? And what is the cost if you don’t? Either way, be prepared to deal with the fallout.

What keeps me from leaving?

This question is more complicated than it seems, with the factors that keep us in relationships often invisible even to ourselves. In long-term relationships, we often can’t see clearly because we’re too close to the situation, our brains have “automated” our partners and revised memories; this is what brains do. We believe we stay because of love, commitment, and values, but ironically, during a crisis, we often fall short of embodying those very qualities. It’s not that we’re incapable; at one point, most of us loved and cared for our partners deeply, bringing our best selves—cherishing, charming, and providing for them. But as time passes, we lose our way. When that happens, we’re no longer connected to the warmth and hope of those early days; instead, we’re consumed by deep sorrow and loneliness, yet still we stay. Ask yourself, ‘if I knew none of this would change, and my partner was doing their best, would I stay or would I go? What would keep me here?’ And if your answer is ‘nothing,’ ‘I don’t know,’ or some version thereof, then what would prevent you from leaving? Where does your fear live? Where is your self-confidence? It’s normal for confidence to drop precipitously when our relationships are in turmoil. Finding ways to nurture ourselves while we work on what’s possible will always—always—result in healthier love, regardless of where we land.

Do I trust myself?

There may come a time when your partner’s perception and account of what is happening and who is to blame are so radically different than yours that it becomes difficult to discern what’s true; if you are reading this, that time may be now. In reality, research shows that more often than not, both of your perspectives have merit, and the truth is somewhere in the middle. When there is this level of confusion, it can be challenging to know what to do, and so taking chances—staying or going—feels like equally impossible choices. We become what Brené Brown calls high-centered, like a car straddling a curve; we can’t get traction or our tires on the ground, so we spin and spin, going nowhere. Losing trust in ourselves is a natural byproduct of love at times; overconfidence and self-righteous indignation are forms of hubris. But suppose we are stuck in chronic uncertainty and feel we can never trust ourselves. In that case, it is worth considering how our self-trust deficit might be serving our fears. What would happen if we acted from a place of self-trust, as shaky as we feel? Suppose we faked it. Are we avoiding grief, change, or the aftermath of a breakup? Does chronic uncertainty permit us to stay?

Is there mutuality?

Relationships should be two-way streets. Gottman’s’ Masters of Marriage’ thrive and endure because they understand that what’s good for the ‘we’ will be good for the ‘me.’ There’s a two-way system operating between them, with neither partner making unilateral decisions, usurping power, or doing all the heavy lifting. This plays out in all areas of love: sharing in the chores, listening versus speaking, financial decisions, and agreements concerning fidelity, both emotional and physical. When one partner dominates the agenda, the relationship lacks mutuality and, consequently, suffers. The focus on Me becomes the dominant theme, and, over time, the relationship is at risk. If you’re in a relationship that lacks mutuality and consideration, chances are you face two problems. First, you’re likely partnered with someone who struggles to accept influence (or you are that person). Second, you (or your partner) likely struggle to exert influence. If this is the case, it’s possible to develop these skills in couples therapy and shift your dynamics; meaning, it’s worth giving the relationship one more chance and (at the very least) cleaning up your side of the street while gaining healthy standing-up (or standing-down) skills that will benefit you whether ultimately, you stay or leave.

What will I regret?

Nowhere are the stakes and ache of not taking chances or making poor choices more evident than in the World Regret Survey, which has collected over 26,000 regrets from people in 134 countries. Notably, romantic relationships consistently rank among the top three areas of regret. However, what that truly means is harder to decipher. Do we regret staying? Do we regret leaving? Do we regret not bringing our best selves, our bravest selves, our broken selves? What regret psychology teaches us is that people tend to regret most the things they didn’t do—a type of regret psychologists call regrets of omission. The promotion we declined. The move we never made. The colleague we never asked on a date. This is the land of hindsight—where only in looking back can we see what our fears cost us. There’s a common myth in our culture that a life without regrets is a life worth living, something to strive for; I disagree. I believe regrets are like a dowsing stick that guides us closer to water. And while none of us can see the future, a worthwhile question to ask when considering whether to give your relationship one more chance is ‘what might I regret not doing?’ Will I regret giving up prematurely? Will I regret ignoring how I’ve contributed to the problems? Will I regret staying too long, failing to stand up for core values that I’ve long minimized, compromised, and suppressed? Again: where can I bring my courage?

No easy answers

Love (and life) at its best is filled with paradoxes. It might be your partner’s gentle nature that finally drives you crazy and leads to a relationship where you make all the decisions and suffer from some form of domestic dominance fatigue. Alternatively, it may be their confident, assertive charm that wears you down because, in reality, they end up being stubborn, unmovable, self-absorbed, and obnoxious. It’s essential to recognize that when we choose a life partner, we don’t just select a set of strengths and attractive qualities; we also choose a set of flaws and problems. Nobody comes without issues; instead, each of us is like those orange prescription vials we take home from the pharmacy—minus a warning label. Sometimes, I imagine a world where a first date includes warning labels, where each person undersells themselves rather than oversells, and where we shakily and shyly slide a piece of paper across the dinner table that says, ‘Here there be issues.’ But that’s not the world we live in. Our world is flooded with one-to five-star reviews, Botox, and ghosting. Which means, maybe the devil we know is okay sometimes, and perhaps there is no “one” person or “right” choice. Maybe we could all sleep a little better knowing that, in the grand scheme, the stakes are both big and small, consequential but to a degree that is beyond our understanding, and that, more often than not, we have time; there is grace in that.

After all, there’s something to be said for finding the sweet spot between jumping ship and treading water until one drowns, between staying present in the moment and bringing your best self, all the while.

Are you unsure if therapy is right for you both? That’s okay. Taking the first step doesn’t mean you’re committing forever—it just means you care enough to try. We offer a no-pressure consultation where we’ll explore your needs and whether therapy could help. Sometimes one honest conversation can begin to shift everything. Reach out HERE for a free, confidential consultation.