What Is, Is — And Other Lies We Tell Ourselves

Twenty years.

That’s how long my wife and I have been in this thing together.

And when I say ‘in it’, I mean all of it…

the seasons of incredible sex and the seasons of almost none,

the financial peaks and the valleys that made us question everything,

a miscarriage that broke us open in ways we’re still integrating,

a child whose ADHD and learning challenges taught us more about patience and unconditional love than any book ever could,

a heart attack in my early forties that recalibrated what actually matters,

and most recently,

uprooting our lives after 15 years in New Zealand, leaving behind the world where we raised our kids, and moving back to South Africa to start again…

I write this from inside the experience, not above it.

Not from a pedestal, not from the other side of the hard stuff.

I write it from within…

As someone who has been a couples counsellor, yes, but more importantly, as someone who is still doing the work every day with the person I chose.

So when I talk about long-term relationships, I’m not theorising.

I’m reporting from the path you and I are on.

The Drift Nobody Talks About

Here’s something I’ve noticed, both in my own relationship and in the dozens of couples I’ve worked with over the years:

Most relationship deterioration doesn’t happen in a dramatic moment.

There’s often no single fight, no obvious betrayal, no clear turning point you can point to and say ‘that’s when things changed.’

Sometimes there is, but more often than not, it happens in the drift.

Slow, quiet, entirely reasonable drift.

The kind where every individual decision makes perfect sense and the cumulative effect is a relationship that has been gradually hollowed out, still standing, still functional, but no longer alive in the way it once was.

And research backs this up.

Dr John Gottman, who has spent decades studying couples, describes what he calls ‘The Distance and Isolation Cascade.’

It’s a pattern where couples gradually stop turning toward each other emotionally, not out of malice, but out of accumulated neglect.

The relationship doesn’t fail spectacularly.

It fades quietly.

And the thing about quiet fading?

It’s easy to mistake for stability.

Hold This Up. Does Any of It Look Familiar?

Now, before we go any further, I want you to sit with the following list for a moment.

Not defensively.

Just honestly.

In your relationship right now:

• Sex is infrequent, or has been for longer than you’d want to admit.
• You and your partner function more like housemates with a shared to-do list than lovers.
• The kids — their schedule, their needs, their activities — have quietly become the organising principle of your entire life together.
• Work takes up most of your real energy. Your relationship gets what’s left over.
• Health and fitness are ‘something you’ll get back to when things settle down.’ They haven’t settled down.
• You’re great as a couple when you’re surrounded by other people. Alone, things are quieter than they used to be.
• A lot of your emotional bandwidth goes to ageing parents, or to the grief and new reality of losing one.
• Evenings default to devices or TV. It’s easier than conversation.
• The deep conversations, about dreams, plans, about what’s next, about who you’re becoming, have become rare.
• The playfulness that used to come so naturally? It’s mostly gone.

Now.

Here’s what I want you to notice: not a single item on that list sounds like a crisis.

Every single one of them has a perfectly reasonable explanation attached to it.

You’re tired.

You’re busy.

The kids need you.

Bills don’t pay themselves.

Your parents won’t be around forever.

All of that is true.

Yet, at the same time, collectively, it adds up to something that is quietly, slowly, taking your relationship away from you.

Scary isn’t it…

‘What Is, Is’ — And Why That’s a Lie Worth Challenging

There’s a phrase I hear often (in various forms), especially in smaller communities, in older generations, in people who’ve been together a long time.

Sometimes it’s spoken out loud.

More often, it’s just a quiet operating assumption that shapes everything.

“What is, is.”

On the surface, it sounds like wisdom.

It sounds like acceptance.

It sounds like the kind of mature, settled peace that comes with time.

But,

It isn’t.

It’s a way of making peace with a status quo we’ve never actually chosen.

It’s convenience dressed up as contentment.

Now, please know that I’m not saying this from a place of judgment.

I say it because I’ve felt the pull of it myself.

Because moving back to South Africa after 15 years in New Zealand, re-entering a place that is both home and foreign, rebuilding professionally, socially, and relationally, forced my wife and me into a kind of existential audit that we hadn’t signed up for.

It surfaced questions we’d been too busy to ask.

And some of the answers were uncomfortable.

But discomfort isn’t a sign you’re doing something wrong.

Sometimes it’s a sign you’re finally doing something honest.

Psychologists studying relationship satisfaction consistently find that couples who regularly reassess and actively invest in their connection report significantly higher long-term fulfilment than those who operate on autopilot.

One large-scale study at Northwestern University found that simply reflecting on, writing about, and thinking deliberately about your relationship measurably improved marital satisfaction over time.

Intentionality, it turns out, is not optional.

It’s what keeps a relationship alive.

So,

Some Questions Worth Sitting With

I’m not going to prescribe a programme.

I’m not going to hand you a 30-day plan.

What I am going to do is offer you a few questions, gentle but real.

The kind you might avoid if you’re not careful.

The kind that, if you let them, might open something up.

And I want to encourage you to take your time with these.

Maybe even share them with your partner.

• When last did you and your partner genuinely laugh together, not at something on a screen, but at something between just the two of you?
• If a close friend asked your partner, in private, how they were really doing in the relationship, what do you think they’d honestly say?
• What’s one thing you used to do together that you’ve quietly stopped, and neither of you has mentioned it?
• Is the life you’re building together still one you’ve both actively chosen, or is it mostly just the one that happened?
• When did you last surprise each other, not with a gift, but with genuine curiosity about who the other person is becoming?

That last one tends to land quietly. Give it a moment.

One Thing. That’s All.

I’m not asking you to overhaul anything.

I’m not asking you to book a couples retreat or have The Big Conversation tonight.

What I’m asking is smaller than that, and more important.

Reintroduce play.

This isn’t a metaphor.

I mean actual, literal play.

The kind you used to do together before life got so full.

The kind that has no purpose other than enjoyment, connection, and the simple reminder that you actually like this person.

It could be sex, more of it, different of it, approached with more presence and less performance.

It could be dancing in the kitchen when a good song comes on.

Sitting by the fire with a bottle of wine and no agenda.

Swimming naked in your own pool under the stars.

Taking a weekend away, just the two of you, no kids, no itinerary.

Going to live music or theatre regularly if that’s your thing.

Walking or running together in the early mornings.

Playing cards.

Going camping.

Finding the thing that makes you both feel lighter, and doing it again.

The specifics don’t matter as much as the principle:

Play is where the roommate dynamic dissolves.

It’s where the person you chose, the one underneath all the roles and responsibilities, shows back up.

Research in positive psychology consistently shows that couples who engage in novel, exciting activities together experience measurably higher relationship satisfaction.

Arthur Aron’s work at Stony Brook University demonstrated that shared novel experiences trigger the same neurological reward systems as early romantic love.

Essentially, play can biologically reawaken attraction and connection.

You don’t need a spark.

You need a habit.

Pick one thing.

Something you both might enjoy, or something you’ve never tried but are both curious about.

Put it in the calendar, not as a reminder, but as a commitment.

Do it this week.

Then do it again the week after.

Don’t wait for the relationship to feel better before you start.

Start, and let it make things better.

A Final Word

You’ve built something real.

Twenty years, or fifteen, or ten, however long you’ve been in it, that’s not nothing.

That’s a life.

That’s a person who has shown up for you through versions of yourself you’re not sure you’d recognise anymore.

‘What is, is’ gets to be a story you challenge, not because what you have isn’t valuable, but because it is.

Because you and your partner deserve more than a relationship that simply persists.

You deserve one that still surprises you.

That still chooses you.

That still has room for joy, play, and genuine, unhurried connection.

You got here by doing the best you could with what you knew, with the energy you had, in the season you were in.

That’s not failure, that’s being human.

But seasons change.

And so can this.

The question isn’t whether your relationship can be more alive than it currently is…

The question is whether you’re willing to be the one who starts.

— Written from inside the experience.