You’d think we’d be better in a relationship the second time around. But that’s usually not the case. Statistically, second and third marriages are more likely to end in divorce than first marriages. That’s a confronting reality, especially for those who have already lived through the breakdown of a relationship and hope to avoid it from happening again.
A common assumption is that the problem was the person we were with. Maybe it was a chemistry issue, an ongoing conflict or something else. When all else has failed, the solution seems obvious—find someone better, more compatible and everything will work out.
To be fair, there’s some truth to that. While it’s rarely the case that one person is entirely at fault and the other completely without it, not all relationships are equal. Sometimes one person brings far more dysfunction into the dynamic than the other. In those cases, pairing with a more emotionally secure partner will likely lead to a healthier relationship. That doesn’t mean they have nothing left to work on—it simply reflects that they were operating from a stronger foundation.
But what if that’s not your situation? What if you were the more dysfunctional one? That’s the part I’ve had to come to terms with.
While every relationship consists of two people, I’ve come to realise that the most consistent factor in my failed relationship . . . was me. That was a hard truth to come to, but a necessary one. Because for people in my position, simply finding someone new won’t solve anything.
Think about it. If the core issues are internal, changing the person doesn’t change the pattern, it just relocates it. The same tendencies, reactions and blind spots will show up again no matter who you’re with and will cause trouble all over again.
My experience was painful. But it was also a necessary wake-up call. It forced me to confront parts of myself I hadn’t wanted to see and rethink what actually makes a relationship work. So, I thought I’d share what I’ve learnt on my journey so far.
communication is good, emotional safety is better
“Communication is key” is one of the most common pieces of relationship advice shared. And for good reason—good communication is essential. But communication isn’t the foundation, it’s the result of something deeper: emotional safety.
Emotional safety is what allows someone to say what they actually feel, not just what feels acceptable to say. It’s the sense that even the most difficult emotions and uncomfortable truths—whether anger, loneliness or resentment—can be expressed without fear of it blowing up in your face. It means you don’t have to edit yourself to keep the peace or be accepted but can be fully and authentically you with another person. When this is missing, communication breaks down before it even begins.
The truth is, when it doesn’t feel safe to be honest, people will just stop being honest. They’ll hold back from what they’re feeling and learn to bury their issues.
In my own experience, I am able to look back and recognise how often I failed to provide that safety. When honest truths were expressed, I responded in ways that shut them down. I was defensive, I minimised, I tried to fix things instead of just listen. Even subtle reactions can communicate to someone that it’s not safe to be honest.
When that happens consistently, your partner will stop bringing things to you. They’ll cease trying to communicate. Not because everything is fine, but because it doesn’t feel like it will go well if they do. When conversations don’t happen, the relationship becomes fragile. Not from direct conflict itself, but from the absence of the kind that actually resolves things.
A helpful way to think about this is how fire departments manage high-risk areas. Rather than just waiting around for a massive, catastrophic wildfire, they carry out controlled burns, clearing away built-up fuel before it becomes dangerous. It’s the same in relationships.
Those tough conversations can feel threatening, but when there’s emotional safety, they act like controlled burns. They clear what’s been building and reduce pressure, creating space for understanding and growth.
Without them, everything stays hidden and the pressure builds until eventually something small sets it off. What looks like a sudden collapse is often the result of an accumulation of months, years or decades of unspoken frustrations.
This is why emotional safety matters so much. It allows problems to be addressed early and conflict to be turned into something that strengthens rather than destroys.
So yes, communication does matter. But without emotional safety, it never really gets off the ground.
work on yourself, for yourself
If emotional safety is foundational, why do so many of us struggle to create it for others?
In my experience, it’s not a lack of intent, it’s a lack of capacity. When I was faced with difficult feedback, especially things that reflected back on me, I didn’t handle it well. I reacted in ways that shut it down. While I could justify those reactions at the time, the issue wasn’t the conversation itself, but my response to it.
I simply didn’t have the capacity to hear certain truths about myself. So when my partner would express how she felt, my instinct wasn’t to understand, but to defend, correct, escape or accuse her of what she was saying about me. In reality, that was what she was actually feeling. As a result, my avoidant responses weren’t solving anything—they were just invalidating her emotional world and damaging the relationship in the process.
The best way forward would have been to build my capacity—not to only hear what she was saying, but to respond in a way that would lead to repair, not rupture. But that kind of change doesn’t come from surface level effort. It requires deeper work—understanding why something triggers you, why defensiveness shows up and why certain truths feel threatening.
This work has to be, at least primarily, intrinsically motivated.
When your relationship is on its last leg, it’s easy to become outcome driven. You want to fix things, win them back, change their mind. But if that’s your chief motivation for doing the work, it will eventually stop.
If things start to improve, the urgency fades and the effort drops off, because it feels like you’ve done enough. If things don’t improve, the effort fades for a different reason—namely, because it seems like nothing is changing. Either way, the change doesn’t last.
That’s the problem with outcome driven growth aimed at changing a person’s mind—it’s unstable because it depends on how the other person responds. The only sustainable path is to work on yourself, for yourself. Not to win someone back, to prove a point or to stop hearing things you don’t like—but to understand why you react the way you do and to learn to respond differently.
When you do that kind of work, it changes the way you show up, not just in one relationship, but in all of them.
don’t need them, choose them
When someone can’t manage their internal world, they often begin to rely on their partner to do it for them. Over time, this creates a lopsided dynamic, where one person becomes the caregiver and the other becomes the dependent, leaning on that support without learning to stand on their own.
Of course, caring for each other is part of a relationship. But when one person avoids their own baggage and the other carries it, equilibrium is lost. One gives far more than they receive and over time leads to exhaustion and a growing sense of discontent for the person carrying the load.
Looking back at my relationship, I hadn’t developed the ability to manage my emotions. So when I found someone willing to shoulder that for me, it felt deeply satisfying. But satisfying doesn’t necessarily mean healthy.
Eventually, I began to operate from a place of need. Without realising it, I came to believe that I couldn’t live without this person. She was my whole world!
We’ve all heard this idea—and maybe even sung along to it. Harry Nilsson sang, “I can’t live, if living is without you.” James Arthur sang, “You’re nobody ‘til somebody loves you.” And Whitney Houston sang, “I have nothing, nothing, nothing, if I don’t have you”.
These ideas sound romantic in love songs, but they’re not so great in a relationship. The pressure it puts on the other person is enormous. It’s a weight no-one should have to bear.
I’m convinced a healthier approach is to come from a place of want, not need. Two people who retain their identity, take responsibility for themselves and choose to share their lives. There is care, love, commitment and support—but not absolute dependence.
Getting there, of course, is a journey, especially if you already tend toward dependence. For me, learning about attachment styles and applying that knowledge to my situation has been hugely enlightening. It’s helped tremendously in understanding what’s been driving my behaviour in relationships and how to become better moving forward.
The last two years have been the most difficult and painful time of my life. But it’s also been incredibly fruitful. To anyone who’s gone through a long-term relationship breakdown, I’m so sorry. I know how hard it is. I know the feeling of a heartache so deep that it feels like it’s going to consume you. I know what it’s like to want to give up.
But I also know there’s another side to the story. I know that you can get through this. And I know the brokenness can lead to healing.
