Relationship Hierarchy Pt 3.
The One
This article was supposed to come out last week—fittingly, on Valentine’s Day. A post about intimate relationships on the holiday dedicated to them—how perfect. But it didn’t happen. Why?
Well, I have a tendency to write about things I’m currently experiencing or have worked through myself. I want my words to be authentic, drawn from real-life experiences. But in doing so, I often find myself asking, “Am I truly living up to what I’m writing about? Am I practicing what I preach?” Last week, that question hit me harder than usual.
To publish an article every week, I typically set aside two hours on Friday mornings—my only window of uninterrupted writing time. The rest of my week is filled with running my gym, coaching, programming workouts, studying for a new certification, cooking, taking care of my dogs, and everything else life throws my way. I’m spoken for most of the time. However, that Friday morning, before my first client at 9 AM, something unusual happened—my fiancée also had the morning free.
Normally, I would have gotten up, grabbed my laptop, and started writing. But I paused. How ridiculous would it be to sacrifice intimate time with my fiancée to write about intimacy? Instead of simply experiencing it, I would be off intellectualizing it. That realization hit me hard. The more logical decision was to set my writing aside and choose presence over productivity. So, I did. On the day dedicated to love and connection, I chose to live it rather than just write about it.
A week later, here we are. And honestly, that’s the issue with so much of what we see in society today. Whether it’s fitness influencers, politicians, or thought leaders, there’s an overwhelming amount of people who present an image—carefully curated videos, articles, and posts that make it seem like they have all the answers, that they embody everything they talk about. But when you peel back the curtain, they’re just as flawed as the rest of us. They don’t always practice what they preach. And the same goes for our intimate relationships—no one should be placed on a pedestal, including our partners.
We’ve talked about self-relationships and relationships with family and friends, but intimate relationships hold a unique power: they serve as the greatest mirror to ourselves.
What does that mean? It means that our partners often reveal our deepest insecurities, our biggest areas for growth. And in those moments, we have a choice: we can run, fight, blame, or we can reflect, respond, and grow.
Think back to disagreements you’ve had in a relationship—assuming it wasn’t an abusive situation—chances are, the argument stemmed from a clash of perceptions. It’s always a two-way street. If something triggers you, there’s a reason, and that’s where the real work begins.
For example, one of the recurring points of tension between my fiancée and me has been her tendency to get deeply wrapped up in work. She’s constantly on the go, sometimes working late, always mentally engaged in her business. On the surface, that shouldn’t be an issue—it’s admirable. But it stirred something deep in me: an old wound from growing up with a workaholic mother who was an incredible provider but emotionally distant. It took three or four arguments before I realized the issue wasn’t just about her work-life balance—it was about my fear that she would become like my mother, that history would repeat itself. That was unfair to her.
It’s not that my feelings weren’t valid—it’s that our arguments held up a mirror to something deeper inside me. And here’s the kicker: you can’t get to this level of self-awareness in a relationship unless you’ve already done the work on yourself. You need a framework for personal growth, a willingness to be vulnerable, before you can start asking, “Where is this reaction really coming from?”
And that brings us to one of the most crucial aspects of intimate relationships: vulnerability.
I consider myself radically honest—I'll share deeply personal things with just about anyone, sometimes even when they don’t ask, because I believe the world needs more vulnerability. But the truth is, most people have had their vulnerability weaponized against them. Maybe as children. Maybe in past relationships. They opened up, shared something personal, and were met with abandonment, ridicule, or betrayal. So, they built walls.
That’s where we come in as partners.
I believe that in a relationship, it is our responsibility to create a safe space for our partners to be vulnerable. A space free of judgment, free of retaliation. When someone feels truly safe to open up, the growth that follows is incredible.
My fiancée entered our relationship guarded. Her past experiences with vulnerability led to heartbreak and abandonment, so when we first started dating, I couldn’t understand why she didn’t open up more. Why she kept certain emotions tucked away. But I didn’t push—I held space. The more I remained calm, emotionally stable, and nonjudgmental, the more she slowly started to open up. And the more she saw that her vulnerability wouldn’t be used against her, the more trust and love we built.
As men, we’re often told to be vulnerable, to express our emotions—but when we do, many women (and society at large) don’t know how to hold that space. And I think that’s because we haven’t been taught how or why it’s important. You can’t force someone to provide emotional safety; you have to lead by example. And if your partner truly loves and cares for you, they will learn how to hold that space in return.
So, what should we actually be looking for in a partner?
Not just attraction. Not just passion. Not just the “spark” we’re conditioned to chase. Because often, that spark? It comes from trauma bonds—our unresolved wounds finding their counterpart in another. And while that may feel intoxicating, in the long run, it often brings out the worst in us.
Instead, I believe we should be looking for calm. Stability. Emotional awareness. The ability to grow—both separately and together. A partner who calls us out on our bullshit in a loving, constructive way. Someone who helps us integrate our past rather than repeat it.
Instead of chasing the spark, we should be seeking the slow burn. The steady ship. A relationship that, while not always easy, feels safe and expansive. Not one defined by constant turmoil, but by moments of peace, of growth, of mutual support.
That doesn’t mean relationships are effortless. Quite the opposite. A healthy relationship takes work—not because you’re constantly fighting, but because you’re constantly evolving. You’re being asked to reflect, to compromise, to lead, to follow, to hold space, and to allow space to be held for you.
At the end of the day, our intimate relationships should be places of growth and reflection. So, ask yourself: Who am I becoming in this relationship? Who is my partner becoming? Do we truly see each other? Do we uplift each other or tear each other down? Do we create peace or chaos?
When we start asking these questions, we might find ourselves attracted to different kinds of people. Or, if we’re already in a relationship, we may begin to see it in an entirely new light—one where we act with greater intention, lead by example, and cultivate the kind of connection that is built to last.