Dear Love, I Want To Feel Safe With You

I see it in their eyes, in the way they hold their breath as they speak, as if the wrong word might shatter the fragile peace between them. I hear it in their voices—sharp with frustration, heavy with hurt, trembling with the exhaustion of trying and failing to connect.

Couples come to me not just with problems, but with pain. They sit across from each other, desperate to be heard, terrified of being misunderstood. The love is there—I can see it beneath the anger, beneath the silence—but so is the fear. Fear of rejection, of judgment, of saying too much or not enough. And sometimes, they wonder if the love is even there at all.

Because when safety is gone, love feels far away. Affection starts to feel like a chore. The warmth that once came easily now feels forced or nonexistent. They tell me, "I know I love them, but I don’t feel it anymore." Or worse, "I don’t know if I even love them at all."

But here’s what I’ve learned: Love doesn’t die in a moment. It fades in the absence of safety. It erodes when words become weapons, when touch feels distant, when every conversation feels like walking on eggshells. And if that’s where you are, I want you to know—you are not broken, and your relationship is not beyond repair. Safety is the path back to love.

I’ve seen it too many times, and I want to give them words for what they’re feeling. Maybe you’ve felt it too, just the way I have. If that is the case, then this is for you.

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Dear Love, (I Want to Feel Safe With You)

I need to tell you something, and I need you to really hear me. Not to fix it, not to argue, not to defend yourself—just to listen. Because I love you, and I want to feel safe with you. But right now, I don’t.

When we fight, my heart races. My body tenses. I don’t know what’s going to happen next—will you raise your voice? Will you walk away? Will you shut down? Or will I? My mind spins, trying to predict how I can keep the peace or make you understand me. But no matter what I say, it feels like my words don’t land the way I mean them to.

And so, I get defensive. I withdraw. I say things I don’t mean. I shut down, not because I don’t care, but because I feel like I’m standing on unstable ground, and I don’t know where to put my feet. I want to be able to talk to you, to be honest with you, to open up—but I need to feel safe to do that. And safety, for me, doesn’t mean the absence of conflict. It means knowing that no matter what, I won’t be attacked, abandoned, or ignored.

What Feeling Unsafe Really Feels Like

When I don’t feel safe with you, it’s like a storm brewing inside me. My stomach knots up. My chest feels tight. My throat closes as if the words I want to say are stuck somewhere between fear and frustration.

I feel like I’m bracing for impact. Even if your words aren’t meant to hurt me, I sometimes hear them through the filter of my fears—fears that I am too much or not enough, that my feelings will be dismissed, that I’ll be left to sit with my pain alone.

When I don’t feel safe, I don’t feel seen. I don’t feel like my emotions matter. And that makes me either shut down or lash out—not because I want to, but because I don’t know how else to protect myself.

And when this happens over and over, it numbs something inside me. The love I once felt starts to feel like a memory. Not because I don’t care, but because I am too exhausted to reach for it.

What Safety Looks Like to Me

Safety looks like you staying present with me, even when the conversation is hard.

Safety looks like you hearing me out, not just listening so you can prepare your response.

Safety looks like you saying, “I see why that hurt you,” instead of, “That’s not what I meant.”

Safety looks like you choosing softness over sharpness, even when you’re upset.

Safety looks like you letting me take a breath when I feel overwhelmed, without making me feel guilty for needing space.

It’s knowing that I can be honest without fear of being punished with silence, sarcasm, or cruelty. It’s feeling like my emotions are welcome in the space between us, even if they’re messy or inconvenient.

Because when I feel safe, I can let my guard down. I can feel close to you again. I can feel love again.

What I Need From You

I need you to make space for my feelings, even when they don’t make sense to you.

I need you to pause when you feel yourself getting defensive and ask yourself, “Am I listening to understand or just to respond?”

I need you to choose kindness, even when you’re frustrated.

I need you to work with me, not against me, when we’re in conflict.

I need you to tell me when I hurt you in a way that invites understanding, not shame.

I need you to show me—through your words and actions—that my heart is safe with you.

And What I Promise You

I promise to work on my own reactions, to not let past wounds turn you into an enemy in my mind.

I promise to tell you what I need instead of expecting you to read my mind.

I promise to soften when I feel safe, to be open when I feel understood, to meet your efforts with appreciation instead of suspicion.

I promise that if we create safety together, I will meet you there—with love, with vulnerability, and with the connection we both crave.

Because I want to feel safe with you. And I want you to feel safe with me too.

Love, Me

The Longing for Connection: When One Partner Feels Dismissed

They reach for their partner, not just with their hands, but with their words, their heart, their soul. A soft question, a gentle invitation to talk, a bid to connect to fix a fight, a deep breath before sharing something vulnerable. But the response is absent, distracted, indifferent. The TV remote clicks, their eyes stay on the screen, the phone beckons, or they are preoccupied with work, or maybe they offer a short, dismissive answer that tells them everything they need to know.

Not now.

Not important.

Not a priority.

The space between them stretches wider, invisible yet undeniable, and a familiar ache settles in their chest. It’s not just about this moment. It’s about all the moments like this—the unanswered texts, the nods without real listening, the empty "yeah, okay" responses. It’s about the pattern, the repetition, the slow erosion of what once felt like love.

The Universal Longing to Be Seen

In every couple, there is a yearning—a fundamental need to be seen, to be heard, to be valued. This is the heart of intimacy. Love isn’t just grand gestures, public displays of affection, or anniversaries marked on a calendar. It’s in the quiet, daily moments where connection is either nurtured or neglected.

For many people in relationships, this need for emotional closeness, for conversation that feels like home, is the essence of their love. It’s not about being needy; it’s about being human. Yet time and time again, their bids for connection go unanswered, met with resistance, indifference, or even irritation.

They ask, Why won’t they talk to me?

They wonder, Why do they pull away when I just want to be closer?

They start to question, Am I asking for too much?

The Pain of Emotional Rejection

When a partner constantly rejects emotional bids—whether by ignoring, dismissing, or shutting down—it creates more than just a momentary wound. It sends a message: I don’t want to meet you here.

This rejection doesn’t always come from cruelty or indifference. Often, it’s rooted in misunderstanding. Many people in relationships don’t experience the same emotional hunger for deep conversation or affirmation, to spend time together, in the way their partners do. They may see the relationship as stable, functional, without need for constant emotional tending. Love, for them, might feel like presence—simply being there, going to work, paying the bills, fixing things around the house.

But for their partners, love isn’t just presence—it’s participation. It’s engagement. It’s feeling like the most important person in the room.

And when that doesn’t happen? When their need for connection is treated as an inconvenience rather than a privilege?

The loneliness within a relationship can be far more devastating than the loneliness of being alone.

The Silent Drift Apart

Over time, this disconnect can take its toll. A partner who once reached out with hope starts to retreat in resignation. They stop sharing, stop trying, stop expecting. The warmth in their voice cools, the laughter dims, the kisses, if at all there, become perfunctory rather than passionate.

And then, one day, the other partner looks up from their phone, from their work, from their distractions, and realizes the spark is gone.

What happened? they wonder.

They don’t see the countless moments where their partner needed them and they turned away.

They don’t see the slow buildup of disappointment, the way their partner started to protect themselves from the pain of hoping things would change.

They don’t realize that love doesn’t disappear in a single moment, but in the steady accumulation of neglect.

Bridging the Gap: Learning to Turn Toward Each Other

It doesn’t have to be this way. Love, even when bruised and weary, can be revived. But it requires effort, awareness, and most of all, the willingness to show up for each other in ways that matter.

For the partners who struggle to connect, this doesn’t mean they are broken or incapable of love. It means they might need to learn a different language—the language of emotional presence.

The Intent to Respond: A Crucial Element of Connection:

For a bid for connection to be met with warmth and engagement, the intent to respond must be present. Without intent, even the most well-meaning efforts to connect can go unnoticed or ignored. Intent is not just about acknowledging a partner’s needs—it’s about actively choosing to prioritize them, to make space for them, and to show up consistently.

But what allows a person to have that intent? What are the prerequisites that enable them to turn toward their partner instead of away?

1. Emotional Awareness – A person must first recognize their own emotional state and capacity. If they are overwhelmed, stressed, or emotionally shut down, they may struggle to engage, even if they want to.

2. A Willingness to Be Present – Connection requires attention. A partner who is constantly distracted—by work, technology, or personal stressors—may unintentionally create emotional distance.

3. Empathy and Curiosity – Responding to a bid for connection is not just about hearing words but understanding the emotions behind them. Cultivating curiosity about a partner’s inner world fosters a deeper emotional bond.

4. A Safe Emotional Space – If a person feels criticized, unappreciated, or emotionally unsafe in the relationship, they may hesitate to respond. Emotional safety is built through mutual respect, kindness, and an absence of judgment.

5. The Belief That Connection Matters – If a partner does not see emotional closeness as essential to the relationship, they may not prioritize responding to bids. Aligning values on emotional intimacy can help bridge this gap.

Responding with Intention:

1. Listen with intention. When they speak, hear them, not just with your ears, but with your heart. Look at them. Acknowledge what they’re saying. Ask questions. Be curious about their world. Just because their world is different from yours, doesn’t mean that it is not relevant or important.

2. Validate, don’t fix. When they share something vulnerable, resist the urge to offer solutions. Instead, acknowledge their feelings. "That sounds really hard. I can see why you feel that way."

3. Make time for connection. Just as a car needs fuel, a relationship needs moments of closeness. Whether it’s five minutes before bed or a date night once a week, prioritize time together.

4. Respond to emotional bids. When they reach out—whether with a joke, a touch, a sigh—respond. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture. A simple "I hear you" can make all the difference.

Love is in the Small Moments

Relationships are not defined by the big milestones, but by the thousands of small moments in between. A gentle touch on the back as you pass by, a text that says "thinking of you," a pause in your busy day to really look at your partner, and sometimes prioritizing them over everything else, just for a ritual of connection.

When love feels distant, it’s not about grand romantic gestures or sweeping declarations. It’s about turning toward each other in the little moments—choosing connection over convenience, presence over passivity.

And for those who have spent years reaching out, longing to be heard, aching to feel truly seen—your feelings are real. Your need for connection is not too much. Love should never feel like begging.

The question is, will your partner turn toward you before the distance becomes too great to cross?

Or will they only realize what they lost when it’s too late?

If I had my way, I hope they would hold you close, so that your relationship thrives.