There are moments in relationships when we find ourselves asking questions that seem impossible to answer. Is this the person I should marry? Are we really compatible? Can we get through what happened? What if I stay and regret it? What if I leave and realize I've made a mistake?
Sometimes these questions come up when we're considering a major commitment, like getting married or having children. Other times, they follow a particularly difficult period in a relationship. Maybe there's been a betrayal, a recurring argument that never seems to get resolved, or a growing sense of distance between two people who used to feel close. Whatever the circumstances, we find ourselves wanting to know something that feels incredibly important: Is this relationship going to work out?
It's an understandable question. When we care deeply about someone, the stakes feel high. We don't want to invest years of our lives in something that might end painfully. We don't want to hurt someone we love, and we certainly don't want to make a decision we'll regret. So we think about it. We analyze the relationship, revisit conversations, imagine different futures, and look for some indication that we're making the right choice. But sometimes, without realizing it, we stop evaluating the relationship we're actually in and start trying to predict the relationship we're afraid we might have. And that's where we can get stuck.
Imagine someone who's been in a relationship for several years. They love their partner, enjoy spending time together, share important values, and can imagine building a life with them. But when the subject of marriage comes up, they hesitate. What if their feelings change? What if they become unhappy? What if they get divorced? Those are legitimate fears, but they're also questions that no amount of thinking can definitively answer. We can't know whether we'll always feel the same way about someone, whether life will present challenges we haven't anticipated, or whether a relationship will last forever.
What we can do is look at the relationship we're experiencing today. Do we enjoy each other's company? Do we feel respected? Can we disagree without tearing each other down? When we hurt one another, are we able to acknowledge it and repair? Can we talk about difficult things, even when those conversations are uncomfortable? Do we share enough of the same values and hopes for the future to build a life that feels meaningful to both of us? These questions may not give us guarantees, but they give us something far more useful: information about the relationship we actually have. And that information matters.
I want to be careful here, because not every fear about the future is simply anxiety about uncertainty. Sometimes our concerns are rooted in things that are already happening. If you're worried that your relationship won't survive because every disagreement becomes hostile, your partner repeatedly breaks your trust, or you feel unable to express yourself honestly, those aren't just imaginary future problems. They're present-day experiences that deserve your attention.
But if you're in a relationship where you generally feel loved, respected, and connected, and your primary concern is that something might go wrong someday, you may be asking yourself to solve a problem that hasn't happened and may never happen. The distinction is important because the work is different. In one situation, you may need to address something that's genuinely missing or unhealthy in the relationship. In the other, you may need to work on your ability to tolerate uncertainty without allowing it to make every decision for you. And sometimes, of course, both things are true. You can have legitimate concerns about a relationship and still be looking for more certainty than life can provide.
I often think that we spend too much time asking whether we've found the right person and not enough time asking how we actually function together when life gets difficult. Because life will get difficult. Even in loving, healthy relationships, people disappoint each other. They misunderstand each other. They experience stress, grief, illness, financial challenges, changes in desire, and periods when they don't feel particularly connected. There will be moments when one person needs more than the other has to give. There will be disagreements that don't have obvious solutions. We can't prevent all of that by choosing the right partner.
But we can pay attention to what happens when those moments arrive. When you're upset, can your partner hear you without immediately becoming defensive? Can you do the same for them? When you disagree, can you remain curious about each other's experience rather than focusing entirely on proving your point? Can you acknowledge when you've contributed to a problem? Are you both willing to make adjustments, even when you believe your perspective is justified? And perhaps most importantly, when things go wrong, do you both demonstrate a willingness to work toward making them better? These aren't hypothetical questions. They're things you can observe, practice, and develop in your relationship right now. You don't need to know how you'll handle every challenge that might arise in the next twenty years. But you can begin to understand how you handle the challenges in front of you today.
There's another part of this that I think is often overlooked. When people are struggling with a relationship decision, they may believe they're trying to figure out whether they can trust their partner or the relationship. But sometimes they're also struggling with whether they can trust themselves. Can I trust my judgment? What if I overlook something important? What if I make a decision that turns out badly? What if I change my mind?
We tend to think that trusting ourselves means knowing we're making the right decision. But I think self-trust is something different. Self-trust is knowing that you can pay attention to your experiences, take your concerns seriously, make thoughtful choices, and respond to what life brings, even when you don't have all the answers. It means believing that if something becomes difficult, you won't simply ignore it. You'll address it. You'll communicate. You'll ask for what you need. You'll recognize when something isn't working and consider what needs to change. And if a relationship ultimately isn't right for you, self-trust also means believing you can acknowledge that reality and make a difficult decision.
This doesn't mean every relationship can or should be saved. Nor does it mean that your willingness to work on a relationship can compensate for a partner who isn't willing to do the same. It simply means that confidence doesn't have to depend on predicting the future correctly. It can come from knowing that you're capable of responding thoughtfully to whatever the future brings.
If you're feeling stuck in relationship limbo, it might help to change the questions you're asking yourself. Instead of asking, "How do I know we'll always be happy?" consider asking, "What happens between us when we're unhappy, and are we both willing to work on it?" Instead of asking, "How do I know I'll never regret this decision?" ask, "Am I making this decision based on what I know and value today, or am I trying to eliminate every possibility of future regret?" And instead of asking, "Can I guarantee this relationship will work?" ask, "What do I already know about us that gives me confidence, and what concerns still need my attention?"
None of these questions requires you to ignore your doubts or talk yourself into staying. In fact, they may help you recognize that a relationship isn't meeting your needs or that the two of you want fundamentally different things. But they can also help you stop treating every possible future problem as evidence that something is wrong today.
There is no relationship decision that comes with a guarantee. Choosing to stay involves uncertainty. Choosing to leave involves uncertainty, too. We can't know exactly how either story will unfold. What we can do is become more thoughtful about the decisions we're making, more attentive to the relationships we're actually experiencing, and more confident in our ability to navigate the hard things when they come.
Because the goal isn't to find a relationship where nothing will ever go wrong. It's to understand whether you're in a relationship where both people are willing and able to work through what goes wrong. And sometimes, that's a much more useful place to begin than trying to figure out forever.
