This piece was written by one of our dear readers—a woman with something real to say. Each month, we handpick the best submissions for Dear Reader because we’re after that PROVOKED bite: truth, intelligence, and heart. These stories come from women our age—women who’ve lived enough to know better and still care enough to tell it anyway. Because being seen and heard matters. Because storytelling is how we stitch ourselves to one another. And because when one woman speaks her truth, another finally recognizes her own. — Susan Dabbar, Editor-in-Chief
For years, I expected one person to hold everything. That wasn’t fair—or sustainable.
Years ago, I told a therapist how frustrated I was that my husband didn’t always want to have lengthy conversations about whatever was making me anxious. “He’ll want to move on, but I just need to talk about it more,” I said.
“So, your expectation from him is endless emotional support?” she asked.
“Well, yes,” I said. But the question struck a nerve. Is it realistic to get unlimited support from one person, even the one we’ve vowed to spend forever with?
You and Me Against the World
I’ve always been captivated by the idea that a romantic partner could be my everything: a companion, lover, cheerleader, problem solver, and keeper of intimate secrets. In middle school, I watched The Little Mermaid, the Disney film about a mermaid with a resplendent voice who ditches her family, friends, and the entire ocean to marry a human prince.
As a teen, I was hooked on Sweet Valley High, a book series about popular twin girls with an enviable roster of devoted boyfriends. In my 20s, I swooned over the self-sacrificing male leads in movies like Titanic and The Notebook. What made these men so appealing was their seemingly limitless empathy, patience, and emotional availability.
Maybe it’s no surprise that we have such high expectations for our marriages. “It’s true that we are asking a lot more, especially when it comes to these more psychological and love-based needs, than we did in the past,” said Eli Finkel, social psychologist and author of The All-or-Nothing Marriage, on a 2025 episode of the Hidden Brain podcast.
But reality isn’t a Disney movie. I’ve noticed a recurring theme among Generation X women: We love our husbands, and we’re frustrated they don’t engage deeply and constantly in our emotional lives.
Abby Medcalf, psychologist and host of the Relationships Made Easy podcast, told me this issue is “something I talk about with clients a lot.” Those books and movies we find so compelling set us up for disappointment because men and women process problems differently, Medcalf said. While women work through emotional challenges by talking, men are wired to find solutions internally. That doesn’t mean one approach is right and the other is wrong, Medcalf emphasized. It does suggest we might need to recalibrate our expectations.
When we launch into an emotional conversation—from deconstructing our obsession with the steamy television show Heated Rivalry to sharing worries about a relative who’s struggling—our husbands assume we’re looking for advice. But what we actually want to do is talk, sometimes a lot. We’re looking for “comfort, not solutions,” Medcalf said.
If we tell our spouse we need them to listen and validate our feelings, they’re usually happy to do so. “They love a target,” said Medcalf.
But there are limits, I’ve learned.
He Can’t Fix My Worries
While I wrote this article, both of my kids were home sick with a particularly awful strain of influenza B that was circulating at school. As I ferried ibuprofen to their rooms, refilled humidifiers, and prepared sad meals of dry toast, a familiar, sharp anxiety swirled in my chest. I’ve always been a worrier. But after my mother died from cancer and I faced some serious diagnoses of my own, my garden-variety fretting morphed into persistent health anxiety.
One morning in the throes of caring for our kids, my husband and I were sitting on the floor between loads of laundry. I blurted out the what-ifs running through my head: What if the kids develop secondary infections? What if these coughs linger? What if they have to repeat the entire school year?
He looked at me. Both of us knew my fears were extreme and unlikely. “You always do this,” he said. “Of course they will get better.”
But even after he reassured me and we confirmed a plan to follow up with their doctor, I remained distraught. My husband was frustrated, and I couldn’t blame him: Nothing he’d tried had worked.
“Our men think that they’re responsible for our happiness,” said Medcalf. When we’re upset, “they’re trying to figure out how to fix it, and then they get mad that you’re not better,” she added.
What I Needed Instead
That miserable stretch of days made me realize my spouse shouldn’t be my only source of emotional support. While “us against the world” sounds terribly romantic, it also leads to crying on the floor, surrounded by unfolded laundry.
Going forward, I’m trying to cultivate a broader network of social support—the type Finkel said we had before we heaped all of these emotional needs onto our marriages. My sister and I have started trading daily audio messages, sharing whatever is on our minds. I’ve initiated a standing dinner date with a local friend whenever our husbands are out of town. And every week, I meet virtually with a trusted colleague—who my husband calls my work wife—to talk through any professional challenges we’re facing.
Nurturing a deeper connection to myself has helped, too. Swimming is the one activity that forces me to process my feelings; there’s no distracting myself with Reddit or Instagram when I’m submerged in water. That morning when I was spiraling over what-ifs, I almost skipped my usual swim. But I went to the pool anyway, slogging through the water as tears clouded my goggles, feeling a bit lighter with every lap.
None of these strategies is the same as therapy, which brings me to my biggest realization. My longtime therapist—the one who asked if I expected endless emotional support—retired two years ago, and I’ve resisted finding someone new. I wasn’t eager to start over; plus, I figured I’d absorbed enough of my therapist’s wisdom that I’d be fine on my own.
As it turns out, I wasn’t.
After I finished this article, I reached out to a clinician who had been recommended to me months ago. We’re meeting soon, and I’m glad.
I have a lot to talk about.
