Hold my Hand: The Work of Staying Connected

There’s a difference between being in love and building love - between falling and staying. What I’ve learned, especially with my wife, is that love isn’t a constant high. It’s a living, shifting thing that asks us to keep showing up, especially when it would be easier to check out.

When she and I first got together, it was raw and real. We were both strong-minded, both carrying our own scars. We brought passion, independence, and a good dose of stubbornness to the table. We loved big, but we also clashed big. And in those early days, our fights weren’t always fair - they were loud, sometimes reactive, and more about being heard than hearing.

But something held us there. A sense that underneath the friction, there was something worth building.

That ‘something’ turned out to be safety. Not the absence of conflict, but the presence of trust. A feeling that said....I can fall apart in front of you, and you won’t use it against me. I can say the thing that scares me, and you won’t walk. I can be flawed, and still be loved.

Getting to that place wasn’t easy. It took us years to learn how to argue well - to listen without preparing a defence. To repair after the heat had cooled. To come back together and say, “I still choose you,” even when we didn’t like each other very much in that moment.

These days, my wife and I are more connected than ever.....but not because we avoid the hard stuff. Quite the opposite. We talk about everything. Even the things that sting. We circle back after arguments and say, “im sorry for...” or "I now realise what you meant was....." We check in. We debrief. We learn.

And we’ve learned that love needs space as much as it needs closeness. She is fiercely independent. So am I. That means we’ve had to make peace with the distance that sometimes comes with that. When we pull away, it’s not disconnection - it’s reflection. And when we come back, it’s with more clarity.

What we’re working on now is deepening that rhythm. Turning the emotional check-ins into a regular practice. Making time for us, not just the kids, the work, the projects. We’ve been partners in the practical - now we’re investing more in being partners in the emotional. In the quiet. In the playful. In the moments that aren’t about planning or fixing, but just being.

We’re being more deliberate with connection - carving out time for date nights, little weekends away, shared rituals that aren’t just about survival, but about closeness. For a while, we lost that in the blur of raising kids. We thought the relationship would just take care of itself. But it doesn’t. It drifts if you don’t steer it.

We don’t try to mould each other into something else - we meet each other as we are. It’s about respecting the differences, loving what’s unique, and challenging each other to grow without losing ourselves. Not to change who we are, but to become better versions of who we already were - with each other, not for each other.

And if I’m honest, we still drop the ball sometimes. We get task focused. We assume the other is fine when they’re not. We move too fast, say too little. But we’re trying - not to perfect the other person, but to show up, again and again, in the mess and beauty of real partnership.

Why? Because that’s what best friends do - they show up, they try, they keep leaning in. Because what we’ve built together? It’s worth every bit of the effort.

So if you’re in a relationship that matters to you, ask yourself: Do you feel safe to be seen? And more importantly, do you offer that same safety in return?

That’s not softness. That’s strength. That’s how love grows up.

That’s living true.

If you’ve just read this and something in your gut is stirring, ask yourself (or sit with your partner):

1. When was the last time I looked at my partner with curiosity, not judgment?
   Have I stopped trying to understand them because I think I already know?
2. Am I showing up as the person I’d want to come home to?
   Not the perfect version....just the honest, kind, and present one.
3. What stories am I telling myself about them....and are they true?
   Have I let resentment or assumptions take the place of conversation?
4. Have I made it safe for them to be vulnerable with me - or just quiet?
   There’s a difference. And silence doesn’t always mean peace.
5. What would reconnecting look like today, not in theory, but in action?
   A message. A cup of tea. A walk. Something small. Something real.
6. What have I stopped doing that once made them feel loved - and why did I stop?
   Did life just get busy, or did I start believing it didn’t matter?
7. Do I know what they’re carrying right now - emotionally, mentally, practically?
   And if I don’t… when did I last ask?
8. What’s one way I can choose us today - even if things feel hard or distant?
   A gesture. A truth. A little act of repair.