27/01/2026
People love to say,
“Find someone you have fun with.”
“Find someone who makes you laugh.”
And yes, joy matters. Humor matters. Play matters.
But those ideas have quietly ruined more relationships than they’ve saved.
Because fun is not the hard part.
Fun is what happens when nothing important is being threatened.
Fun is what shows up when your nervous system is relaxed and life is cooperating.
You can have fun with almost anyone when things are light.
You can laugh with someone who would completely disappear when life turns brutal.
And life always turns brutal.
The real question isn’t who you enjoy on good days.
It’s who you can suffer with.
Who you can sit beside when grief enters the room and never leaves.
When exhaustion changes your personality.
When fear makes you sharper, colder, quieter, or louder than you ever meant to be.
When pressure strips you down to instincts you don’t recognize.
Because that’s where relationships actually live or die.
Most people choose partners based on chemistry, shared interests, and how they feel when things are going well.
Almost no one chooses based on this question:
“What happens between us when everything hurts?”
What do you do when they’re overwhelmed and can’t access kindness?
What do they do when you’re scared and not very likable?
Can either of you stay present without trying to fix, control, correct, or escape?
Or does one of you disappear?
Does one of you harden?
Does one of you start blaming the other for the pain that life itself delivered?
This is where closeness is either forged or permanently destroyed.
Because suffering doesn’t just test love.
It exposes the nervous system.
It shows whether someone knows how to stay emotionally present when there’s no reward.
It shows whether they can tolerate your pain without making it about themselves.
It shows whether they see your distress as an inconvenience… or a responsibility.
And here’s the part people don’t want to hear:
If you can’t suffer together, you will never be close.
You might stay together.
You might look functional.
You might raise children.
You might share a home, a bed, a life.
But inside, you’ll be alone.
Because emotional closeness isn’t built in happiness.
It’s built in how pain is handled.
Every unresolved moment of suffering becomes distance.
Every time one person reaches and the other one can’t meet them, something dies quietly inside the relationship.
Hope erodes. Trust thins. The body learns that vulnerability isn’t safe here.
And once the body learns that, love goes underground.
You’ll still say “I love you.”
You’ll still show up to events.
You’ll still function.
But you won’t feel held.
That’s why so many relationships don’t end dramatically.
They just slowly empty out.
Two people surviving side by side.
Two people managing logistics instead of sharing a life.
Two people wondering why they feel lonely even though they’re not alone.
There is a kind of trust that only comes from shared suffering.
Not trust that someone won’t cheat.
Not trust that someone will stay.
Trust that when life breaks you open, you won’t be abandoned emotionally.
Trust that your pain won’t be minimized, rushed, or turned into a problem to solve.
Trust that someone will stay with you when you’re at your least impressive.
That kind of trust changes everything.
It deepens joy.
It steadies love.
It makes laughter feel earned instead of fragile.
And without it, no amount of chemistry will save you.
So yes, find someone kind.
Find someone fun.
Find someone who makes you laugh.
But if you don’t find someone who can walk with you through fear, loss, exhaustion, and uncertainty without disappearing, hardening, or blaming…
You will never feel truly close.
Because closeness isn’t built by enjoying life together.
It’s built by surviving it together
and still choosing to stay emotionally present.
That’s not romantic.
That’s necessary.
And without it, love doesn’t deepen.
It slowly fades while you’re standing right next to each other.
~Derek Hart
Art: Facebook
Empower Wholeness Intimacy
