At the root of almost every emotional pain in relationships lies a quiet, barely audible whisper: “They don’t value me again.” We desperately search in another person for that look, that word, that action which will finally prove our worth to us. We wait to be accepted whole.

And in this expectation lies the main paradox. We seek acceptance from another because we cannot accept ourselves. We reject parts of ourselves - our fears, our flaws, our past - and hope that someone will come and love us precisely where we cannot love ourselves.

As long as we don’t look at ourselves, we cannot see the other either. So instead of a living person, we see a function before us. Their task is to heal our wounds. And for them to accomplish this task, we hand them a detailed instruction manual - our ideal image of “how everything should be.” All our expectations are sewn into this image, all our control and all our assumptions.

We check our partner’s every action against this internal instruction manual. And they, a living, breathing, unpredictable human being, of course, never match it. Not because they’re bad. But because they’re human. Alive, chaotic, breathing, with their own wounds and instruction manuals. They cannot be our fictional character.

And then we start keeping a Dossier.

Every time reality doesn’t match the instruction manual - the wrong look, a forgotten promise, a harsh word - we don’t process it. We archive it. We place the grievance, like a stone, in our pocket, because deep down we don’t believe we can handle the situation here and now. We don’t trust ourselves - our ability to openly say: “This bothers me.” Our strength to endure an honest conversation. Our worth to simply leave if the conversation doesn’t help. We don’t believe our voice has weight. And this compromising material, like an “ace up our sleeve,” seems to us the only guarantee, the only weapon in a future conflict when words won’t be enough. Carrying this stone is an admission of our own powerlessness. It’s a problem of total mistrust - both of ourselves and our partner.

We accumulate this evidence so that in the future, when it becomes completely unbearable, we can dump this pile of stones and say: “Look how much you owe me.” It’s the strategy of a bankrupt person hoping to settle their debt with someone else’s guilt.

To avoid feeling the pain of constant disappointments, we invent a brilliant escape - consolation. This isn’t just a painkiller. It’s an escape into the future. It’s a lullaby we sing to ourselves: “Today everything is bad, but tomorrow… ” We close our eyes to the present and console ourselves. We refuse to solve the problem today, hoping that in some magical “tomorrow” it will disappear on its own. But “tomorrow” never comes, and the problem takes root.

We call it hope, but it’s really postponed living. We sit in a waiting room and get angry that the train to our happy future is late. We blame the schedule, blame the station master, blame the other passengers.

But the harsh truth that makes your ears ring is that the train doesn’t exist.

There will be no external salvation. The solution isn’t in another person. It’s in tearing up the instructions, throwing away the stones, and finally acknowledging the obvious: the person we so desperately seek in others - the one who will understand us, accept us, and heal us - is already here.

It’s you yourself.