by Amy Meyers | Aug 6, 2026 | Recent Posts
“Perhaps that is why the people we love most can hurt us the most. They matter. They have access to the places in us that others never reach.”
-Amy Meyers
The Uncomfortable Question: Why Do We Hurt the Ones Closest to Us?
I’ve found myself thinking about a question that feels both uncomfortable and familiar: Why is it that we sometimes say or do things to the people we love that we would never say or do to anyone else?
I know I’ve done this. I’ve been more patient with strangers, colleagues, or acquaintances than I’ve been with the people closest to me. I’ve said things to family members that I would never have said to a friend. And afterward, I’ve wondered: Why did that come out of me? Why did the people I love most sometimes receive the version of me that was less patient, less thoughtful, and less in control?
Why is that?
Why We Feel Safe Enough to Reveal Our Least Defended Selves
Perhaps it’s because our closest relationships often feel the safest. Feeling safe enough to reveal our more vulnerable selves helps explain why this happens. It doesn’t justify it. Love should create safety, not permission to wound.
Yet the people we trust most often become the people with whom we stop managing our emotions as carefully. Is it easier to reveal the most difficult parts of ourselves to those we believe are less likely to reject or abandon us? If so, that doesn’t make it fair. In many ways, those we love most are sometimes the ones who see the parts of us that we work hardest to hide from others.
When I think about the idea of safety, I think about how it allows parts of ourselves that are usually controlled or contained to emerge. This isn’t a conscious act. We don’t think to ourselves, “I feel safe with my parent, sibling, or partner, so I’m going to let my emotions take over.” Rather, I believe we often react most strongly with the people from whom we need the most.
Attachment, Expectations, and Why Loved Ones Affect Us More Deeply
According to attachment theory, the relationships that matter most are often the ones that activate us the most. I’m not referring to displacing our frustration onto someone who had nothing to do with the situation. I’m talking about the raw vulnerability that comes with intense feelings when someone close to us disappoints us or when we feel they “should” understand.
Often, we become upset, angry, or overwhelmed when our expectations of others aren’t being met. If a stranger disappoints us, we may be able to shrug it off more easily. If a loved one disappoints us, the emotional reaction can be much stronger because so much more is at stake. The intensity of our reactions often reflects the importance of the relationship, not simply the severity of the event.
The closer someone is to us, the more we expect. We expect them to understand us without explanation, notice our needs, forgive us, know what we mean (sometimes without us having to say it), and remain loyal. These higher expectations create more opportunities for disappointment.
When Love Makes Us Forget Someone Else Is Separate From Us
One of the foundations of a healthy relationship is being able to see the other person as separate from us. But when we are emotionally activated, we often lose sight of that. Instead, we begin to believe: “If you loved me, you’d already know.”; “You shouldn’t have to be told.”; “Why don’t you understand?”
Often, when we react in ways we later regret, it isn’t because we want to hurt someone. We may be emotionally overwhelmed and unable to access the more thoughtful part of ourselves in that moment. We feel “thrown off.” Our emotions feel bigger than our ability to manage them. We don’t know what to do with what we are feeling, and our reactions become stronger than the situation requires.
The Patterns We Learn in Our Families Follow Us Into Relationships
If you notice this pattern in your adult relationships, it may be connected to patterns you learned in your family of origin. We learn early lessons about emotions, conflict, closeness, and repair. Family members often develop roles that become familiar over time. Someone withdraws. Someone becomes the person who is blamed. Someone rescues. Someone becomes defensive. These patterns can follow us into adult relationships unless we become aware of them.
Most of us don’t like to feel vulnerable. We all have parts of ourselves we would rather not show: insecurity, envy, fear, shame, dependency, anger. With strangers, we often keep those parts hidden. With loved ones, they can emerge more easily.
Sometimes intimacy means another person meets our most authentic self. Sometimes it means they meet the parts of ourselves that are the least defended.
People often assume that loving someone means communication should become easier. In reality, the more vulnerable the relationship, the stronger our defenses can become. We criticize rather than admitting we are hurt. We become angry instead of acknowledging fear. We withdraw instead of risking rejection. These reactions are often attempts to protect ourselves from pain, but they can create pain for the very people we are trying to stay connected to.
Conflict Is Inevitable – Repair Is What Strengthens Relationships
I think it is impossible to never hurt the people we love. No relationship is without conflict, and I believe relationships without any conflict are not necessarily healthier. Sometimes the absence of conflict means feelings are being pushed aside rather than addressed. Eventually, those feelings may emerge in other ways—through resentment, distance, or emotional disconnection.
Relationships grow stronger through repair. Through communication. Through honesty. And yes, even through confrontation.
Many people fear confrontation not because conflict itself is harmful, but because many of us have experienced confrontation delivered in ways that felt harsh, blaming, or attacking. But confrontation does not have to be mean or destructive. It can be gentle and clear. It can sound like: “I want to talk about something that happened because I care about our relationship.”
I’ve talked more about this idea of healthy confrontation in a short podcast episode, because learning how to have difficult conversations is an important part of maintaining meaningful relationships.
Love Requires Responsibility, Awareness, and the Courage to Return
Some of the most meaningful conversations in my own relationships have evolved out of conflict. They were not easy. There was fear that the relationship might be permanently damaged, and there was discomfort in facing truths I needed to hear. But I started with: “I don’t like how I handled that. Can we talk about it?”
Through those conversations, I became more aware that my intention and my impact were not always the same. I may not have intended to hurt someone, but that did not erase the experience they had. I became more attuned to how I could express my thoughts and feelings in ways that were more honest, compassionate, and less hurtful.
The goal is not perfection. None of us will respond perfectly every time. The goal is awareness, the ability to recognize when our emotions have taken over, to take responsibility for our actions, and to be willing to repair when we cause harm.
Love is not measured by whether we avoid hurting one another. It is measured by our willingness to return, take responsibility, and rebuild the trust that allows us to feel safe in the first place.
by Amy Meyers | Jul 22, 2026 | Recent Posts
“When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”
-Viktor Frankl
I am a rare gem. I listen. I am empathic. I’m inquisitive without being intrusive. I have a sense of humor. I have much to offer. These abilities have created a lot of disappointment in others who don’t know how to listen when needed: wanting folks to meet me where I’m at, the way I do for them. I’m the type of person who has always been more of a listener than a talker. And that serves me quite well as a therapist; or perhaps that is in part what led me to be a therapist. Personally, I choose very carefully what I share and with whom. However, when I have established a close relationship, the person will know all of me: my personal experiences, thoughts, and feelings. I’m a deep thinker and a deep conversationalist. And I’ve gotten very comfortable expressing myself. However, I haven’t always – and still don’t often – get back what I offer to others. We all want to be emotionally held: we want to feel we have someone’s undivided attention, someone attuned to us, and someone who is right there with us. We don’t want to be told “it will get better” or “it could be worse,” or to hear your story in this moment. We don’t want to be advised what to do (in some cases). We want you in the trenches with us. We want to feel you are on our side; we want your empathy. We want your ear. For some of us, offering this space comes naturally. Being in the helping professions and the education we receive helps us to develop this ability even further. If you have this ability, you, too, are a rare gem. And I’m sure you are appreciated. But how do we receive this in return?
Disappointment bears a heavy weight. We are invested in people, especially our friends and loved ones. The emotional letdown drains us and leaves us feeling depleted and even depressed. And lonely. Being consistently disappointed also calls into question our worth: If someone really cared or really loved us, they would be who we needed them to be. Feeling chronic disappointment in others requires grieving: grieving the relationship you don’t have and one you wish you had. You are entitled to emotional support. So, do we accept people’s limitations, or do we try to get them to be what we need?
You can let folks know what you need. It may not come naturally to them, but they may have the capacity to provide it if they are coached. Perhaps we only need one person with this capacity. And accept that as enough. Or maybe you need to expand or change your social circle and find that person who can offer you more.
I have done all of that. And I have worked hard to accept people for what they do provide. But the ultimate freedom has been shifting my lens from focusing on people’s limitations to realizing my specialness. It has made me value my worth and allowed me to stop expecting, searching for, and being disappointed in what I may not be getting. This has helped neutralize my upset and resentment. Recognizing that I possess strengths others may not have has become a source of empowerment rather than a source of frustration. I don’t know if I can convey the life-changing aspect of this stance. I highly suggest giving it a go.
by Amy Meyers | Apr 28, 2026 | Recent Posts
“The hours we spend with ourselves are the foundation of every true friendship; solitude is not absence, but preparation.” – May Sarton
We are living in a culture of loneliness. In fact, it is now referred to as the epidemic of loneliness experienced by approximately 80% of Americans. The number is staggering. Apparently, this began in the 2010’s and was certainly exacerbated by the isolation created by COVID-19. Even our Surgeon General has warned that loneliness can affect physical, mental and societal health. Gen Z is considered the loneliest of generations due to an increased reliance on social media. I deplore social media in some respects due to its propensity for competition for a better life, the proclivity for dis/misinformation, online bullying, and the breeding of an inability to communicate and connect. But that’s probably another blog. However, the response to loneliness seems to be an immersion in social media which ironically creates a false sense of kinship while avoiding true connection or as an attempt to resolve the feeling of loneliness. Another result of the access to social media either creates or rectifies an inability to be alone with oneself. The ability to be with one’s own company proves challenging, whether it’s in a doctor’s waiting room, public transportation, having a meal (sometimes even when with another person) or being at home. Just pick up your phone.
I consider myself to have the freedom to be alone and range from enjoying it, soliciting it, embracing it, or on some days, tolerating it. How about you? Do you seek it out? Do you actively enjoy it or simply accept it? Does it make you depressed? Do you need to be active most of the time? Do you want to be engaged with others most of the time? Perhaps there is a difference as to when it feels like a choice vs. imposed (ie: no one is available). When the latter occurs, I work towards accepting it and leaning into it.
One-night last week I was pleasantly aware of just how much I was enjoying some alone time in a way I may not have experienced before. What created this, I wondered? I craved it. After an extremely busy, non-stop period of work and personal obligations which rendered me both exhausted and surrounded by people all the time, I decided to take the East River ferry in Manhattan during daylight and return from the seaport at nighttime with city lights abound. The breeze on the ferry was delightful. I took a walk along the river and found myself seated on a wooden lounge chair, next to a couple. Only they didn’t seem like a couple. The woman had on an engagement ring, though the vibe between them was undetectable; it could have been a first date, a deep friendship, a looming marriage – somehow I couldn’t capture it. I was having fun trying to figure it out. They were happy to engage in conversation with me when I lightheartedly asked them about the nature of their relationship. Bold? Perhaps. Intrusive? Maybe. But I tend to have a style that works, she said in defense. I pride myself on my ability as a therapist to read people well, but something was amiss. Was it me? Was it them? It turned out that they were good friends who were completing their final semester of their MBA. We engaged in conversation and after a short while, the man left to attend a social event. The woman and I talked easily for another two hours. She was half my age, but we had much in common: the same humor, an immediate comfort, and an ease with reflection and sharing personal thoughts with depth.
Was I truly alone that night? I took a one-hour ferry ride each way. I sat by myself for a short while before engaging. But perhaps the “moral” of the story is 1)Being confident about being alone makes the time more enjoyable; 2) Enjoying one’s own company is essential to meeting others (how can others like us if we don’t like ourselves? If we’re anxious or sad, what are we projecting to others? If your internal voice is not kind, start replacing your voice with the kinder voice of others; 3) Being confident unconsciously attracts others. We all know the idea that we get what we put out. If we choose to remain anonymous, we will remain alone (whether at that moment in time, or as a general state); 4) Being alone allows opportunity. If I were with someone I knew, would I have made the effort to engage with someone else; someone new?
What steps can you take to address loneliness?
- Know when you’re ready to “put yourself out there”
- Take a risk: reach out to someone you would like to spend time with but hasn’t called you.
- This takes accepting vulnerability.
- Say yes to invites even if you’re not in the mood.
- Limit social media use.
- Consider what you like about yourself; if you’re stuck, ask friends.
- Find an organization or group with whom you have a shared interest.
- Join a support group.
If you’re really feeling stuck, have difficulty mobilizing towards efforts that may shift your feelings, and potential situation, reach out to a mental health professional. Loneliness makes people feel that they are flawed; and there is a lot of shame attached to it. That’s social media; that’s our society. You are NOT inadequate. You’re not a failure. You’re not unlikeable. And you’re certainly not alone in your loneliness (remember loneliness is experienced by 80% of Americans!). If you feel alone in your feeling of loneliness, consider that others may just be very good at concealing it, maybe even overcompensating by posting on social media. Work on shifting your perception of yourself. Take charge. Be tender to yourself. And know that you deserve to feel better.
Maria’s Response to “On Loneliness”
Amy’s recent blog on loneliness brought up more for me than I expected. Not in a dramatic way — more like a quiet recognition. A familiar tension I’ve been carrying lately without fully naming: the push and pull between craving connection and wanting to be alone.
For weeks now, I’ve felt this growing urge to connect. To be around people. To have conversations that don’t feel rushed or shallow. And I’ve been putting in the effort. I’ve been reaching out, saying yes, showing up. But the more I try, the more drained I feel. It’s confusing — doing the very thing I say I want, and still feeling like I need to retreat afterward. Like I’m overextending just to meet the baseline of connection.
And I think what I’m realizing is… connection takes energy. It’s not effortless, even when it’s good. And when you’ve spent years giving — to friends, to partners, to work, to family — you start to feel that cost more acutely. You become more careful. You start asking yourself: how do I keep showing up for others without disappearing in the process?
Over time, I’ve learned how to protect my peace. Not in a walled-off, “never let anyone in” kind of way — more like an internal recalibration. I know what it feels like to be around people and still feel lonely. I know what it feels like to keep giving until there’s nothing left. And now, I’m a little more selective. I listen for how I feel around people — if I’m energized or exhausted after. That tells me a lot.
Recently, I spent the day at the beach with a friend. It was simple — we swam, ate, talked, did nothing, did everything. And suddenly it was hours later. I didn’t check my phone once. I didn’t feel like I had to. I felt safe, present, unguarded. And it made me realize how rare that feeling has become.
We talked about how certain relationships — friendships, dating, family — have taken a toll. About how some people are takers, knowingly or not. And how we’ve both had to learn, sometimes painfully, to notice when we’re giving too much. At one point, I shared something I’d once heard: that life is like riding a train — people get on and off at different stops, but you’re searching for the ones who stay with you to your destination. It’s not always about who leaves, but about learning not to chase after the ones who weren’t meant to stay.
Amy’s reflections made me think about how we often glorify solitude — and I do think there’s power in being alone, in liking your own company. I’ve worked hard to get to that place. But sometimes I wonder… When does solitude become self-protection? When does it shift from restorative to isolating? And how do we know the difference?
That’s the space I’m in right now. Wanting connection, needing solitude. Trying not to swing too far in either direction. Still learning how to give without overgiving. Still learning that not every quiet spell is loneliness — and not every connection is worth the cost.
So if you’re in that in-between space too — not quite isolated, but not deeply connected either — I hope you know you’re not doing it wrong. It just means you’re being careful with your energy. It means you’ve probably been through enough to know what it feels like to be emptied out, and you’re trying not to let that happen again.
