When nothing can be fixed, something may still be held.
Relationships are a shared journey. They often begin with excitement, closeness, and hope, but over time, they also meet moments of struggle and uncertainty. There may come a point when that early sense of promise is questioned, when things feel stuck, or energy begins to fade.
Cracks may appear, and external pressures such as loss, stress, or change may start to strain the relationship. Children may join you, bringing new emotional demands. You may find yourself navigating a terrain you never anticipated or desired.
As intensity builds, difficult questions often arise. Should I try harder? Should I pull away?
Is it possible for all of these tensions to be held within the relationship?
When a couple make the often difficult decision to come to relationship therapy, they may arrive looking for answers. They may hope that the therapist can fix things, that the other person will change, or that they themselves will need to change, even though they have little sense of how that might look.
Often, there is also a feeling of crisis. A sense that something has to shift quickly, that one of them may have to leave, or that something dramatic needs to happen for the relationship to survive.
What I tend to see as the first stage of relationship counselling is something quiet and containing. It is about me getting to know the couple as they are right now, and helping them to hold their relationship safely.
This means slowing things down, not making rash decisions, not jumping too quickly into action, and not remaining trapped in cycles of blame or shame. Instead, it is about holding the relationship steady and taking the time it may need to find some stability, and with that, the possibility of a renewed sense of hope.
We live in a world where many societies and cultures tend to see things in binary terms. Black or white. Male or female. Ill or well. Whole or broken.
Relationships are often understood in the same way. They are either fine or they are broken. If something feels wrong, then the assumption is that it must be fixed, or that the relationship itself must end.
It is worth remembering that not every culture in the world understands human experience in these terms. There are far more fluid, layered, and nuanced ways of thinking about mental health, physical health, and relationship health. Ways that allow for difficulty, contradiction, and change over time, without immediately deciding that something is wrong.
From this perspective, one of the first steps in coming to couples counselling may be to question the idea that the relationship is broken at all. With time, care, and attention, it may be possible to allow things to settle, to be held, and to move towards a different kind of balance, rather than rushing to fix or decide.
Can a relationship become dysregulated?
When my nervous system becomes dysregulated, I tend to go into fix-it mode. I organise things, I problem solve, I look after others and try to protect them from harm. None of these are bad things, but they can move me away from connection.
It may look like connection, but it feels like I am one step away.
When my partner’s nervous system is dysregulated, she tends to withdraw. She seeks ways of regulating herself that give her space and room to breathe. It can feel as if stepping back creates the conditions she needs to settle herself.
With both of these survival patterns in place, can it be that the relationship itself becomes dysregulated, and that we arrive at a point where regulating ourselves begins to threaten the relationship?
Are we incompatible?
Are we tearing each other apart?
What is the point of staying together?
These questions arise in a state of urgency. I am feeling pain. I am feeling it now, and I want it to stop. These are nervous system responses. They need regulating, not fixing.
How do you regulate a relationship?
Can you find a way to stay connected to the relationship and to create some safety?
Can you find a way to hold differences and disconnections without trying to resolve them?
Can you, together, find a way for the relationship to survive?
I can recognise a state of holding in my own relationship. When we lost our daughter several years ago, we both moved into dysregulated states, yet found a way to hold the relationship safely. What I am recognising now is how much we protect each other. The relationship is in survival mode.
It is a strength that we have been able to hold the relationship in this way. It has kept us safe. And yet I am starting to notice how much of our energy has gone into protection. The relationship feels steady, but muted. I find myself longing for more vitality, more spark, more aliveness between us.
Can a relationship be held too tightly?
A relationship can move into a state of holding, which I would describe as survival or protection holding. This often happens in response to loss, trauma, betrayal, or rupture. In these moments, holding becomes necessary. It is oriented towards safety, steadiness, and not making things worse.
This kind of holding can look like care. It can feel very comfortable. It can involve patience, thoughtfulness, and a mutual effort to protect what remains. And in many ways, it is care.
But survival holding can also feel as though the relationship is being held too tightly. As if something is being braced or contained. What can quietly go missing is a sense of risk, a sense of desire, and a sense of movement. The relationship survives, but it stops inviting either person to step forward.
This is where I find myself wondering what holding space can make possible.
A different kind of holding might be described as holding space for each other, or for the relationship itself. This form of holding is less focused on protection, and more on staying in contact.
In this kind of holding, safety may come not from containing things tightly, but from a growing sense that the relationship can tolerate difference, uncertainty, and movement. There can be room for each partner to step closer or further away, without the relationship immediately feeling at risk.
This does not remove difficulty, and it does not guarantee ease. But for some couples, it can begin to feel as though the relationship has a little more space to breathe. Safety may be experienced less as bracing against loss, and more as a quiet confidence that tension, misattunement, and repair can be survived.
In my own relationship, I really value the time we have spent holding things gently and safely. That period of holding has mattered. It has given us somewhere steady to stand, and something to rest into.
I am also aware that we are beginning to move, almost quietly, into a more differentiated place. Not in a dramatic or decisive way, but through a growing acceptance that we may have different directions we need to explore.
What feels new is not the difference itself, but a sense of being able to allow it, and to be comfortable enough to stay connected while we do.
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