At the Breaking Point: A Glimpse Inside a Couples Therapy Session

This morning, I knew I had to be at my best.

A lot of couples come to me at low points in their relationships: some weather the crisis, do the work, and move forward. Others come in crisis, go back to baseline, and leave before actually solving the issue.

Carlos and Josie were a crisis-repeat couple: patch it up, avoid the deep work, start again. They kept dodging the need to face their old, scary stories. Their own shit.

Carlos reached out this week on our group chat. Not Josie. That was unusual.

“We need a session. I want to talk about separating.”

I knew there was deep love there. And I felt the pressure to help them see the next step—whether that meant finding a way forward or making peace with letting go.

I logged into Zoom a few minutes early, the way I always do, making sure the camera was set, the sound was working. People assume virtual therapy is somehow less intense. It’s not. If anything, the screen strips away the distractions, forces focus. You can still feel the charge of a couple in crisis. You can still feel the air thick with resentment or longing. You can still get goosebumps.

And then, they were there.

The Cave & The Ledger

Carlos and Josie sat side by side in chairs, staring uncomfortably at the screen. Josie was curled up with a coffee mug in hand like it was some kind of shield.

They weren’t looking at each other.

They weren’t even looking at the screen.

A pause. A breath. Then Carlos spoke first.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Josie exhaled sharply, barely a sound but full of something heavy.

Over the years, their fights had followed a predictable rhythm.

Josie and Carlos had a long-running dynamic, a push-pull of you don’t take care of me and you don’t see what I give.

Josie had grown up in a home where love and security were transactional—you got what you earned, not what you needed. Her father had been stingy with love, stingy with money, and she had learned that no one was going to take care of her unless she fought for it. She also learned that love had to be earned. That to be wanted, you had to figure out what the other person needed from you and deliver it in the exact right way.

Carlos, on the other hand, had been raised by a father who spread his love between two families and never quite landed in either. He had learned that love was fragile, something you had to protect yourself from losing. So he built walls. Retreated.

She fought to be given to.
He fought not to be consumed.

And then, of course, there was the ledger.

Carlos wanted an us. He was always talking about it—projects, investments, shared dreams. Josie, in theory, wanted that too. But then the money fights would come up, and suddenly it didn’t feel like a team. It felt like a transaction. She felt he was taking from her.

This time, the breaking point had been a microwave.

Yes, a microwave.

Because it’s never about the microwave.

It was about Josie feeling like she was once again the one sacrificing. She was the one who had put more in. Who had covered the gaps. And now, when it was time to replace something, Carlos wanted her to pay more.

Josie, already exhausted from the chaos in her job, already feeling her body shifting in ways she didn’t fully understand (perimenopause creeping in like an unwanted house guest), felt completely alone.

Carlos, already exhausted from years of hearing you take from me, you don’t give enough, you don’t care enough, had reached his limit.

"I can’t do this anymore," he repeated, his voice sharper this time, like he needed the words to land.

Josie was still looking down.

Finally, she looked up. Not at him—at me.

"What am I supposed to do?"

Unraveling the Crisis

I let the silence sit for just a moment longer than was comfortable. Then I spoke.

"What’s actually breaking down here? Not the microwave, not the money—what has made this feel unsustainable?"

Carlos exhaled, rubbing his face like he was trying to wipe away the exhaustion. And then, he said something real.

"I’ve been training myself not to love her. I can’t take the hurt."

Josie’s face changed. Just slightly. A flicker of something between recognition and disbelief.

I looked at her.

"What is it like to hear him say that?"

She hesitated, then said, quietly, "It makes me feel like he’s already gone."

Carlos shook his head. "I haven’t been gone. I’ve just been trying to survive in this relationship."

This was it.

For years, Josie had believed the problem was that he didn’t care enough, that he held back. But the truth was, Carlos cared too much. Enough that he had spent years teaching himself to shut it off.

Because for him, love had always been fragile. Something that slipped through fingers. And when Josie started feeling unsafe and guarding herself, he saw it as the beginning of the inevitable end. So he had tried to prepare for it.

The People-Pleasing Trap

But there was another layer to Josie’s resentment.

Josie didn’t give love when she felt it. She gave it when she thought Carlos could accept it.

When she thought he would appreciate it.
When she thought it wouldn’t go to waste.
When she thought she wouldn’t be rejected.

Which meant she wasn’t actually giving it freely.

She was managing it.
Calculating it.
Holding it back when she was mad, offering it when she thought it might soften him.

She had learned this from her father, from a childhood of performing for love, of offering what was wanted rather than what was true.

But love, when given on a schedule, when meted out like a currency, starts to feel like something else entirely.

Carlos could feel that. He could feel the resentment behind the giving. And it made him question if she loved him and truly wanted him.

So he pulled back.

And the more he pulled back, the more Josie didn’t feel safe giving freely.

A cycle. A trap.

So What Now?

I don’t know if Carlos and Josie will stay together. I know they love each other. I know there’s something there. But love alone isn’t always enough.

What matters now isn’t what they say, it’s what they do.

If Josie keeps watching the ledger, keeps waiting to see if he invests first, they will not make it.
If Carlos keeps preparing for the exit, keeps protecting himself from loss, they will not make it.

But if Josie lets herself give love when she feels it, not when she thinks it will land the right way, and if Carlos lets himself stay instead of looking for the door… then maybe.

Maybe.

Couples don’t break because of money. Or sex. Or logistics.
They break because they don’t feel safe in each other’s hands.
That’s the real work.

Are you looking for help with your relationship? Do you feel that a relationship coach could help you working on your couples skills? Is communication an issue? Have you ever considered couples therapy or counseling? As a psychotherapist and relationship coach, I am uniquely positioned to help you through these moments of disconnect and conflict.

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