We tend to talk about relationships like they’re puzzles waiting to be solved, as if compatibility is a static fact, not a moving target. Find the right piece, the logic goes, and everything fits. But most long-term couples will tell you it doesn’t quite work like that. It’s less about solving and more about adjusting—gently, consistently, and often without clear instructions.
What we don’t often acknowledge is that many of the “big issues” that cause breakups are unmet needs, clashing lifestyles, emotional disconnection. And, it usually starts small. They begin as assumptions, expectations we never put words to. And if there’s one pattern I’ve seen repeat itself across stories, research, and interviews, it’s this: couples rarely talk about the expectations that matter most, until it’s too late.
Here are five expectations that every couple should talk about early on, not in the heat of an argument or under the weight of resentment, but while things are still good. Especially then. I’ve added some questions that can give you a head start with your conversation.
1. What “being there” actually means
Everyone says they want a partner who’s “supportive.” But scratch the surface, and support looks wildly different depending on who you ask.
Some people want presence – someone who sits beside them quietly when life implodes. Others want solutions: proactive ideas, next steps, and practical help. For some, it’s words; for others, it’s silence. One person might feel most cared for when their partner checks in emotionally. Another might just want space without judgment.
This becomes painfully clear during crises. A parent dies. A job is lost. Someone’s mental health craters. And suddenly, partners who thought they were “on the same page” are staring at each other across a chasm of unmet needs.
Early on, ask each other: When you’re overwhelmed, what helps? What doesn’t? What do you wish people understood about you during hard times? These are not first-date questions, sure, but they’re not third-year questions either.
2. How much emotional labor you’re each willing to carry
You don’t need to be in a hetero relationship to see how unevenly emotional labor often falls. Who tracks birthdays? Who remembers your niece’s food allergy? Who initiates hard conversations when something’s off? Who manages the friend drama, the family tension, the subtle shift in a child’s behavior that might mean something more?
We talk about emotional labor most often in the context of parenting or domestic inequality, but its relevance starts long before that. In every relationship, there’s someone who notices the tension first, and often, someone who waits to be told.
That’s fine, if you talk about it. If you agree that one person’s role is to name the emotional stuff, while the other agrees to stay open to those signals.
But most couples never name it. Instead, resentment builds quietly. One person gets tired of always being the emotional radar; the other gets tired of always being “nagged.” And what started as different styles becomes a fundamental misunderstanding of care.
3. How you each define independence and interdependence
Some people are natural fusers. They love togetherness: shared meals, mutual friends, regular check-ins. Others value solitude fiercely and feel suffocated by constant contact.
This isn’t just about introversion or extroversion. It’s about how people regulate their own sense of identity. One person might feel loved through frequent texts and shared schedules. Another might experience that as control.
When these expectations aren’t discussed, distance grows. One partner might start pulling away in order to breathe. The other interprets that as abandonment and clings harder. That cycle rarely ends well.
Better to ask: What does “us” mean to you? How much “me” do you need to stay sane? There’s no right answer, but there is a right time to have that talk, and it’s early.
4. What conflict should look like
Everyone fights. But not everyone fights fair, or even the same way.
Some people grew up in households where raised voices were a normal part of working through issues. Others were taught that silence is safety. So when conflict shows up—and it always does—one partner might want to talk it out immediately, while the other shuts down completely.
Without conversation, this can turn into a cycle of triggering and retreating. The more one pushes, the more the other disappears. The more one disappears, the more the other panics.
Instead of waiting for the first big argument to realize your styles clash, find out what a respectful fight looks like to the other party. When you’re upset, do you need time alone, or do you want to hash it out right away? What do you need from me in that moment, and what feels unsafe? Those are probable questions that might give you a head start.
5. How you want to grow, together or apart
People change. This is not a threat; it’s a given.
But too often, couples treat change like a betrayal. One person starts going to therapy. The other says, “You’re different now.” Someone gets a new job and starts dressing better. The other feels left behind.
When people don’t talk about what growth means or how they imagine evolving individually while still choosing each other, they end up resenting not just the change but each other.
The best relationships I’ve seen are not ones where people grow in parallel, always at the same rate, in the same direction. They’re ones where the growth itself becomes part of the conversation.
To really understand your partner at this stage, you could ask questions like: What are you working on in yourself right now? What do you hope to become in five years, and how can I support that, even if it scares me a little? These questions don’t just reveal who your partner is. They show you who they want to be. And that’s where the real love lives—not in who someone is today, but in how willing you are to meet each other again and again, as you both change.
Why we avoid these conversations
None of these expectations are revolutionary. And yet, most couples avoid them until resentment forces the issue.
Why?
Because it’s scary. Early on, we’re still trying to “sell” ourselves—to be easy, to seem low-maintenance. We don’t want to bring up something that might make the other person reconsider. So we hold back. We assume. We let our needs whisper, hoping the other person will hear.
But silence is not neutral. It’s a choice. And in relationships, it’s often the most dangerous one.
There’s a quote I love, sometimes attributed to Alain de Botton, that says, “Compatibility is an achievement of love, not a precondition.” You don’t find someone perfectly aligned with your every unspoken need. You choose to learn each other, to reveal yourselves slowly and safely, to make the implicit explicit.
And that learning starts with conversations like these.
Not because you want to turn love into a checklist, but because you want to give it a chance to be real.
