When Two Become One... Building a Marriage That Can Weather Life

Chapter 6

 Love or Escape: The Quiet Motive Beneath the Choice

There is a question that sits beneath many relationships, though it is rarely asked with honesty: Am I choosing this person, or am I trying to escape something within myself? 

It is a question that requires more than surface reflection, because most people enter relationships convinced they are pursuing love. Yet even the language we use—chasing love—reveals something deeper.

Love, in its truest sense, is not something that needs to be chased. It is something that develops, grows, and reveals itself over time. When there is a sense of pursuit, of urgency, it is worth examining what might be driving that motion.

Often, what is behind that movement is not love at all, but discomfort. It may be the quiet pressure of time, the awareness of aging, the fear of being alone, or the weight of unresolved personal circumstances. It may be financial stress, emotional emptiness, or simply the unease of sitting with oneself without distraction. These are deeply human experiences, and in that sense, they are not unusual. Most people, at some point, seek relief from them. The danger lies not in the discomfort itself, but in how we attempt to resolve it.

The Illusion of Rescue

When a person enters a relationship as a means of escape, the other individual is often unconsciously assigned a role they were never meant to fulfill. They become, in effect, a solution—a way out of loneliness, a distraction from unresolved issues, or a source of validation. The relationship begins not with a genuine focus on the other person, but with a desire to change one’s own internal state.

This creates a subtle but significant imbalance. What appears to be affection may actually be dependence. What feels like connection may be rooted in relief. And while the relationship may provide temporary satisfaction, it is built on a fragile foundation. No individual can consistently carry the weight of another person’s unresolved reality.

Over time, this dynamic begins to show itself. When the relationship no longer provides the same level of escape—when life’s pressures return, or when the other person fails to meet an unspoken expectation—frustration emerges. The same individual who once seemed to offer relief may now appear inadequate. Appreciation becomes conditional, based on how well they are able to soothe what was never theirs to carry.

The Center of Self vs. The Offering of Self

Many relationships struggle not because of a lack of compatibility, but because of a shared orientation toward self. Each person enters with expectations—needs to be met, voids to be filled, discomforts to be alleviated. While this is rarely expressed directly, it shapes the entire interaction.

When both individuals are primarily concerned with what they are receiving, the relationship becomes transactional. Each moment is measured against personal satisfaction.

This approach is often justified by the belief that one should have their needs met in a relationship. While there is truth in that, the problem arises when the relationship is built on that expectation from the beginning.

If the initial motivation is rooted in escape, then the relationship becomes an extension of that motivation. It is no longer about building something with another person; it is about sustaining one’s own sense of comfort.

A different orientation is required for a relationship to endure. It begins with a shift in perspective—from What can this person do for me? to What can I offer this person? This is not about self-neglect or imbalance. It is about entering the relationship with a posture of contribution rather than consumption.

When two individuals approach each other with this mindset, something more stable begins to form. Needs are met not through demand, but through mutual consideration.

The Reality That Remains

Even in the healthiest relationships, life remains imperfect. There will always be aspects of reality that are unresolved, unpredictable, or uncomfortable. No relationship can eliminate these conditions. When a person enters a relationship believing that it will correct what is not quite right in their life, they are setting themselves up for disappointment.

This disappointment does not arrive all at once. It reveals itself gradually, in moments when expectations are not met, when the other person cannot provide the desired relief, or when external challenges persist despite the presence of the relationship. In these moments, the underlying motivation becomes clear. If the relationship was built as an escape, it will eventually be experienced as insufficient.

This is where resentment often begins. Appreciation becomes conditional—present when the relationship soothes, absent when it does not. The other person is no longer seen as an individual, but as a means to an end. And when that end is not consistently achieved, the connection begins to erode.

Choosing With Clarity

To choose a relationship with clarity is to first be willing to face one’s own reality without avoidance. It is to acknowledge the areas of discomfort, the unresolved issues, and the natural challenges of life without immediately seeking to escape them. This does not mean that relationships cannot bring comfort or support. They can, and they often do. But that comfort is a byproduct of connection, not its purpose.

When a person enters a relationship from a place of stability—when they are not attempting to flee from themselves or their circumstances—they are able to see the other person more clearly. They are able to engage without distortion, without assigning roles, and without expecting resolution for issues that belong elsewhere.

In this space, love is no longer confused with relief. It is not something that replaces reality, but something that exists alongside it. It is expressed not through urgency, but through consistency. It is sustained not by what is received, but by what is given and shared.

Ultimately, the question remains simple, though its implications are profound: Are you choosing this person, or are you choosing what you believe they will take away from you? The answer to that question shapes everything that follows.

Take a Moment With This

• Reflect on your past or current relationships and consider what initially drew you in. Was it the person themselves, or the way they made you feel in relation to something you were experiencing?

• Think about areas of discomfort or unresolved issues in your life. Have any of your relationship choices been influenced by a desire to avoid those realities?

• Consider the difference between seeking support and seeking escape. How have those two motivations shown up differently in your experiences?

• Reflect on what it would look like to enter a relationship from a place of wholeness rather than need.

• 
  

Guided Exercise

Take a few quiet minutes and write down what, if anything, you may be trying to escape in your life right now—whether it is loneliness, uncertainty, pressure, or something else. Then, write a second list of ways you can begin to face or address those realities on your own. This exercise is not about isolation, but about clarity—so that any relationship you enter is a choice made from strength, not from avoidance.

*How do I express how important this book is to folks who are daily inundated with "products?" I'll simply be sharing each chapter as a blog on this website, and I'll post them to Facebook.

I really, really believe this is so important to folks in marriages, contemplating marriage, dating, contemplating dating, or simply thinking about getting back into the game.

The book itself is on Amazon (  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H1WQYTDJ  ) but I'll be presenting (in order ) each of the 50 chapters here daily .

When Two Become One... Building a Marriage That Can Weather Life

Chapter 5

Whole Before We Join: Choosing Healing Over Repetition

There is a quiet but critical responsibility that comes with entering a relationship—one that is often overlooked in the urgency to feel connected again. It is the responsibility to arrive whole. Not perfect, not without history, but honest and resolved enough within oneself to offer a clean presence to another person. Without that, what we call “baggage” is not simply a metaphor. It becomes an active force within the relationship, shaping perceptions, reactions, and expectations in ways that have little to do with the person standing in front of us.

Baggage is the unresolved weight of previous experiences carried forward into new situations. It is the residue of betrayal, disappointment, guilt, or even familiarity with unhealthy patterns. When these experiences are not examined and addressed, they do not disappear. They travel. And when they travel into a new relationship, they often arrive unannounced, influencing behavior beneath the surface.

An individual who has been betrayed may enter a new relationship with a heightened sense of caution, interpreting neutral actions as potential threats. Trust becomes difficult, not because the new person has earned suspicion, but because the past has left its imprint. On the other side, a person who has caused harm in a previous relationship may carry an unspoken guilt, leading to overcompensation, insecurity, or self-sabotage. In both cases, the new relationship becomes entangled with unresolved history, and an innocent person is asked to navigate a reality they did not create.

The Illusion of Moving On

One of the most common responses to the end of a relationship is the desire to replace what was lost as quickly as possible. The absence left behind can feel immediate and uncomfortable. A presence that once filled time, attention, and emotional space is suddenly gone, and the instinct is to restore that feeling. In that urgency, it becomes easy to move from one relationship into another without pause.

But what often appears as moving forward is, in reality, a continuation of the past. When healing has not taken place, the new relationship is not approached as something entirely new. Instead, it becomes an attempt to recreate, repair, or replace what was experienced before. The individual may believe they are seeking a different outcome, but without awareness, they are often drawn to familiar patterns—sometimes even to the very dynamics that caused harm in the first place.

This is where the psychological depth of relationships reveals itself. People can become accustomed to certain emotional environments, even unhealthy ones. If conflict, inconsistency, or mistreatment defined a previous relationship, those patterns can begin to feel normal. Without healing, there is a tendency to gravitate toward what feels familiar, even when it is not beneficial. In some cases, individuals may unconsciously seek out partners who mirror those past dynamics, mistaking familiarity for compatibility.

The Work of Becoming Well

Healing is not an abstract concept. It is a deliberate process that requires time, honesty, and, often, guidance. It involves examining past experiences without denial, understanding one’s own role within those experiences, and making a conscious effort to release what no longer serves a healthy future.

This is not a process that can be rushed. It requires a willingness to sit with discomfort rather than escape it. It asks for reflection rather than distraction. And in many cases, it benefits from outside perspective. Seeking support—whether through conversation, counsel, or professional therapy—is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign of responsibility. It reflects a commitment to understanding oneself at a level that allows for healthier decisions moving forward.

To be well within oneself is to reach a place where past relationships no longer dictate present behavior. It is to know that one is not reacting to old wounds, but responding to current realities. It is to engage with another person as they are, rather than through the lens of what has been.

Respecting the Next Beginning

There is also a moral dimension to this process. Entering a new relationship while carrying unresolved issues is not only self-limiting; it is unfair to the other person. They deserve to be seen clearly, without the distortion of past experiences. They deserve to be engaged with on their own terms, not as a substitute for someone else or as a participant in an unresolved narrative.

When healing is prioritized, relationships are approached with greater clarity and stability. Decisions are made with intention rather than impulse. Boundaries are established not out of fear, but out of understanding. And the connection that develops is not built on the need to fill a void, but on the willingness to share a life.

Taking time between relationships is not a delay; it is preparation. It is the difference between repeating patterns and creating something new. It allows for the emptiness to be understood rather than avoided, for the lessons of the past to be integrated rather than ignored, and for the individual to return to a place of balance before inviting someone else into their life.

In the end, healing is not about forgetting what has happened. It is about ensuring that what has happened no longer controls what will happen next. It is about becoming steady within oneself, so that any future relationship is built not on reaction, but on readiness.

Take a Moment With This

• Reflect on your past relationships and consider whether any unresolved experiences may still be influencing how you think or respond today.

• Think about the difference between missing a person and missing the feeling that person provided. How have those two experiences shaped your decisions?

• Consider whether any patterns—healthy or unhealthy—have repeated themselves in your relationships. What might those patterns be teaching you?

• Reflect on what it would mean for you to feel fully at peace with your past before entering something new.

• 
  

Guided Exercise

Set aside a quiet moment and write a letter—not to be sent—to your previous relationship. Acknowledge what you learned, what affected you, and what you are choosing to release.

Then, close the letter with a clear statement of what you will carry forward differently. This simple act can help bring clarity and closure, allowing you to move ahead with greater awareness and intention.

*How do I express how important this book is to folks who are daily inundated with "products?" I'll simply be sharing each chapter as a blog on this website, and I'll post them to Facebook.

I really, really believe this is so important to folks in marriages, contemplating marriage, dating, contemplating dating, or simply thinking about getting back into the game.

The book itself is on Amazon (  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H1WQYTDJ  ) but I'll be presenting (in order ) each of the 50 chapters here daily .

When Two Become One... Building a Marriage That Can Weather Life

Chapter 4

Beyond the Feeling: What Love Becomes Over Time

When I look back on what I believed love was in my younger years, I can say with honesty that I did not truly understand it. Like many, I experienced what I thought was love more than once.

There was a high school relationship that felt intense and consuming, the kind that convinces you it is permanent simply because of how deeply it is felt in the moment. Then life moved forward. I joined the military, encountered new environments, new people, and new relationships. Each time, the feeling returned—strong, convincing, and persuasive enough to be called love.

Yet with time, a pattern revealed itself. Each experience felt real while it lasted, but none of them endured. What I began to question was not the sincerity of those feelings, but their accuracy. Were they truly love, or were they something else that we simply labeled as love because we lacked a better understanding?

The Mislabeling of Infatuation

There is a phrase often used to describe certain individuals: “they love to fall in love.” What that phrase actually points to is not love, but a cycle of attraction to novelty. The excitement of someone new—the freshness, the curiosity, the emotional and physical intensity—can be powerful. It produces a sense of urgency and connection that feels meaningful, but in many cases, it is rooted more in immediate gratification than in anything enduring.

That kind of experience has a predictable trajectory. It rises quickly, fueled by imagination and desire, and then gradually declines as familiarity replaces novelty. Over time, the details of the other person begin to come into clearer view. The small habits, the differences in personality, the imperfections that were either unnoticed or overlooked in the beginning, become more apparent. And with that awareness, the initial feeling begins to fade.

This is where many misunderstand what they are experiencing. They interpret the fading of infatuation as the loss of love, when in reality, love has not yet had the opportunity to form.

What Remains After the Feeling Fades

If a relationship continues beyond that initial phase, something more substantial begins to emerge. It is no longer driven by excitement or emotional highs. Instead, it becomes grounded in familiarity, understanding, and choice. You begin to see the person not as an idealized version of who you imagined them to be, but as they actually are.

This is where the true test begins. You notice the things that might irritate you—the habits, the inconsistencies, the ways in which they differ from you. At the same time, they notice yours. And yet, despite these realities, there remains a connection that is not easily dismissed.

This is where my understanding of love began to shift.

Love, as I have come to understand it, is not the intensity of the beginning. It is what remains when that intensity settles. It is a deep, enduring appreciation for the individual—not because they are perfect, but because you have come to know them in their entirety and still choose them.

After decades of marriage, my perspective has become more grounded. What we often elevate as love in its early stages is, in many ways, overrated—not because it is unimportant, but because it is incomplete. It is a beginning, not a definition.

What endures is something quieter and far more deliberate.

Love is a chosen commitment. It is not driven by neediness or dependency, nor is it sustained by constant excitement. It is not the inability to live without someone, but the decision to continue living with them, fully aware of who they are. It is a commitment to the person beneath the surface—their character, their mind, their presence in your life.

There is a steadiness to this kind of connection. It does not rely on emotional highs to validate itself. It exists in the everyday moments, in shared experiences, in the understanding that both individuals are imperfect and yet still willing to remain.

That commitment is tested over time. There will always be opportunities, distractions, and moments when something or someone new may appear appealing. In fact, there is an interesting reality that often goes unspoken: when a person is in a committed relationship, they may appear more attractive to others. Whether it is perceived stability, confidence, or simply the fact that they are no longer seeking attention, it can draw interest.

But maturity reveals itself in how one responds to those moments. Love, in its truest form, is not shaken by passing attraction. It is anchored in a deeper understanding of what has been built and what is worth preserving.

A Steady Presence

What I have come to believe is that love is not about fireworks. It is not about the constant feeling of excitement that often defines the early stages of a relationship. Those moments have their place, but they are not the foundation.

The foundation is presence. It is the quiet, consistent decision to be there—for the other person, and with the other person. Not out of obligation, and not out of fear of being alone, but out of a genuine and settled desire.

Love is not something that overtakes you without your involvement. It is something you participate in. It is a deliberate alignment of your actions with your values. It is the willingness to remain, to invest, and to continue building something that cannot be sustained by emotion alone.

Over time, I have come to see that what we call love is less about what we feel in a moment and more about what we choose over a lifetime. It is not the urgency of the beginning, but the steadiness of the continuation. And in that steadiness, there is something far more meaningful than anything that can be produced by excitement alone.

Take a Moment With This

• Reflect on your past relationships and consider how many were driven primarily by excitement or novelty. What changed once that initial feeling began to fade?

• Think about the difference between wanting someone and choosing someone. How have those two experiences shown up differently in your life?

• Consider the qualities that have allowed certain relationships to endure. What was present in those connections that went beyond surface attraction?

• Reflect on your current understanding of love. Has it evolved over time, and if so, in what ways?

• 
  

Guided Exercise

Set aside a few quiet minutes and write a brief description of what you believe love truly is today—based not on idealized ideas, but on lived experience. Then, review your description and identify whether your past or current choices align with that understanding. The goal is not perfection, but clarity—so that your future decisions reflect what you now know to be real.

*How do I express how important this book is to folks who are daily inundated with "products?" I'll simply be sharing each chapter as a blog on this website, and I'll post them to Facebook.

I really, really believe this is so important to folks in marriages, contemplating marriage, dating, contemplating dating, or simply thinking about getting back into the game.

The book itself is on Amazon (  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H1WQYTDJ  ) but I'll be presenting (in order ) each of the 50 chapters here daily .