— Late November 2026

Written by Francine Van den Acker — Founder of SoulRise Global

Not everyone experiences work in the same way. Some people approach it primarily as a source of necessity, routine or stability. Others—whether they are employees, independent professionals or entrepreneurs—have built an important part of their identity around competence: they know how to organise, take responsibility, anticipate problems and find solutions, even in the most complex circumstances.

This reflection is about those people: those who are accustomed to being reliable, self-sufficient and resourceful in their professional lives; those others turn to when something stalls and who often manage to keep things moving when everyone else stops. Yet in their emotional lives, the same people may find themselves rereading a message, interpreting a silence, waiting for a reply or wondering why a connection is not progressing, despite everything they are willing to offer.

The common factor is not the kind of work they do. Employment may unfold within defined responsibilities and boundaries; entrepreneurship often requires living with risk, personal exposure and uncertainty. In the public sector, as in the private sector, levels of initiative and engagement vary widely. What matters here is the strategy that has been learned: when something is not working, step in, try harder and find a solution. In relationships, however, that strategy encounters a fundamental limit. We can contribute to building a connection, but we cannot create another person’s availability, commitment or reciprocity on their behalf.

How can we be so effective in our professional lives and feel so much less certain in relationships?

Professional strategies do not always work in love

In professional settings where responsibility, initiative and problem-solving are recognised, taking action can produce tangible results. If something stalls, we look for a solution. If information is missing, we find it. If a project is at risk, we identify another way forward. Over time, we may learn that greater effort improves our chances of success—although outcomes never depend on us alone.

This logic does not apply in every workplace, and it cannot be transferred automatically to relationships. At work, we may sometimes compensate for an inefficient organisation or another person’s limited contribution. In intimate relationships, however, continually compensating for someone else’s absence does not create reciprocity; it can conceal its absence. When a conversation slows, we introduce a new topic. When the other person is unclear, we work harder to understand them. When they withdraw, we search for the right message to bring them closer again.

The risk is that, without realising it, we begin to carry the other person’s part as well. The relationship still appears alive, but largely because we continue to sustain it. The competence that makes us effective professionally then becomes a form of emotional over-responsibility.

A relationship is not a problem to solve. It is an encounter to build together.

When responsibility becomes excessive

Being available, present and understanding is a strength. The problem begins when we feel responsible not only for our own behaviour, but also for the overall direction of the relationship.

We may recognise this in a number of familiar signs:

• we are almost always the ones who start or restart the conversation;

• we ask many questions while the other person asks very few;

• we constantly search for the right tone so as not to push them away;

• we find explanations for their absence or inconsistency;

• we fear that the connection will end if we stop doing something;

• we spend more time interpreting the person than actually getting to know them.

None of these behaviours is necessarily a problem in isolation. What matters is the overall pattern. If the relationship goes quiet every time we stop carrying it forward, perhaps we were not participating in a reciprocal exchange; perhaps we were sustaining, almost single-handedly, something the other person was not truly building.

The role of the person who always manages

People who are used to being the reliable one often carry a very specific identity: the person who does not cause problems, adapts easily and finds a way to make things work. In a relationship, this position can make it difficult to express doubt, ask for reassurance or say that something is not enough. We fear appearing demanding, fragile or insufficiently understanding, and end up presenting a highly self-sufficient version of ourselves that seems able to tolerate almost anything.

The paradox is that the other person may become accustomed to receiving a relationship that is already organised: we suggest, reassure, explain and repair. This is not necessarily malicious. Quite simply, when someone always compensates for what is missing, the absence becomes less visible and the other person has fewer opportunities to assume their share of responsibility.

Expressing a need does not diminish our strength. On the contrary, it allows us to discover whether the person in front of us is able to hear that need, negotiate it and respond with genuine presence. Emotional competence does not mean having no needs; it means refusing to hide them simply to keep a connection alive.

Why we keep searching for explanations

Competent people are used to understanding. They want to identify causes, consider every possibility and avoid hasty conclusions. This ability is valuable, but in relationships it can turn into an endless search for justifications.

Perhaps they are shy. Perhaps they are extremely busy. Perhaps they are afraid of being hurt. Perhaps they do not know how to express themselves. Perhaps the distance worries them. Perhaps they simply need more time.

Any of these explanations may be true. Yet none of them changes the essential fact: at that moment, the person is not creating the continuity we need.

We do not have to decide that they are unkind, selfish or incapable. It is enough to recognise that what they are offering is not enough for us. Understanding another person’s reasons does not oblige us to accept a situation that keeps us permanently waiting.

Good intentions are not the same as availability

A person may be sincere when they say that they care about us and, at the same time, lack the emotional space, time or ability to build a relationship. They may feel attraction, affection or curiosity without being able to turn those feelings into reliable presence. This is one of the hardest realities to accept, because it encourages us to believe that if the feeling exists, the behaviour will eventually change as well.

But intention, availability and relational capacity are not the same thing. Intention concerns what a person would like to offer. Availability concerns what they can genuinely offer at this point in their life. Capacity becomes visible in the way they communicate, face difficulties, honour agreements and take the other person into account.

Looking at these three levels helps us move beyond the single question, ‘Are they interested in me or not?’ Sometimes interest is present, but the conditions required for a relationship that feels healthy are not. Recognising this does not invalidate what we felt; it simply prevents a possibility from becoming a promise that the other person never truly made.

Uncertainty makes us want control

At work, we are used to reducing uncertainty through action. We make a call, send a reminder or prepare a plan. In relationships, however, we cannot control another person’s interest, availability or feelings.

This lack of control can be deeply uncomfortable. A silence or a cool response may trigger a stream of thoughts: ‘Did I say something wrong?’, ‘Should I write?’, ‘Perhaps they think I am not interested?’

Sending another message can bring immediate relief because it gives us the sense that we are doing something. But the relief is short-lived. If no reply arrives, or if the answer remains vague, the analysis begins again and we feel compelled to intervene once more.

The point is not to forbid ourselves from writing. It is to understand the need from which the gesture arises.

When a quiet imbalance develops

In some relationships, a dynamic gradually forms in which one person does more and more while the other does less and less. The person who senses distance increases their effort: they make suggestions, clarify, reassure and create new opportunities for contact. The other person, finding that the relationship remains available anyway, may respond only when it suits them. The imbalance does not necessarily arise from a conscious decision; it can develop through a series of small adjustments.

The more we compensate for a lack of initiative, the less able we are to see what the other person’s spontaneous contribution would actually be. Our efficiency may also make the relationship appear smooth: conversations continue, meetings are arranged and moments of tension are resolved. Yet beneath the surface, one person is carrying most of the emotional work.

Pausing this compensation is not a punishment or a power game. It means no longer correcting the relationship continuously, so that we can observe how it functions without our constant intervention. What emerges may be painful, but it can also be liberating: we are not losing a solid relationship; we are seeing more accurately how much of it was genuinely shared.

Am I communicating because I want to, or am I trying to stop the relationship from fading?

We do not have to become cold or passive

Rebalancing the way we approach relationships does not mean pretending to be detached. It does not mean always waiting for the other person to write, counting messages or applying rigid rules.

We can show interest, take the initiative, ask a question or suggest meeting. The difference lies in what we do next: do we leave enough room for the other person to move towards us as well?

One step from us can be an opening. Ten steps from us while the other person remains still become pursuit. Reciprocity is not a perfect accounting exercise, but it should be perceptible. Does the other person seek contact? Do they ask questions? Do they remember what we have told them? Do they make suggestions? Do they contribute spontaneously to the process of getting to know each other?

When the answers are almost always no, we do not need to keep improving our communication. We need to see the situation more clearly.

A very concrete example

Imagine sending a warm message to someone who interests us. We receive a polite but brief reply: ‘Thank you, that is very kind.’

Our usual response may be to revive the conversation immediately with another question, perhaps searching for an interesting topic so that the exchange does not end. But we can also respond naturally and then leave some space.

If the other person genuinely wants to know us, they will find a way to continue. They will ask a question, pick up on a detail from our profile or reopen the conversation. If nothing happens, it does not mean that our message was wrong. It means that their level of investment, at least at that moment, was limited.

Leaving space is not a way of testing someone. It is a way of not concealing the truth through our constant intervention.

The invisible cost of waiting

When a connection remains uncertain for a long time, the issue is not merely how much time has passed. A growing part of our attention becomes occupied with monitoring signals: the tone of a reply, an online status, a vague promise or a meeting that is never firmly arranged. Even while we continue to work and carry out our daily activities, a portion of our mental energy remains suspended.

Over time, we may lose contact with the most important question: how do I feel inside this relationship? We become so focused on interpreting the other person’s behaviour that we notice its effect on us less and less. We sleep poorly, become more irritable, check our phone, and alternate between hope and disappointment. These signs do not automatically prove that the person is wrong for us, but they do show that the situation is exacting an emotional price.

Compatibility is not only about shared interests, values or attraction. It also concerns practical circumstances, expectations, ways of communicating and the effect a relationship has on our equilibrium. A promising connection may require patience and adjustment, but it should not demand permanent interpretation, vigilance or waiting. Different communication styles do not necessarily imply less interest; what matters is whether both people can acknowledge their differences and create a sustainable rhythm together.

How to change in practice

1. Separate facts from interpretations

The fact is: ‘They have not written to me for three days.’ The interpretation is: ‘They are confused, frightened or too busy.’ The interpretation may be accurate, but it should not carry more weight than the behaviour we can actually observe.

2. Take one step, then observe

We can take the initiative without feeling weak or overly available. After our gesture, however, we observe whether the other person responds with a gesture of their own. We do not have to fill every silence immediately.

3. Do not turn potential into a relationship

An interesting profile, a like or a few enjoyable messages are only an initial contact. Emotional investment should grow alongside real presence, telephone calls, meetings and continuity.

4. Express a need without repeating it endlessly

We can state clearly that continuity and communication matter to us. But we cannot persuade someone to provide them. Once we have expressed a need, we have to observe the response in their behaviour.

5. Change the question

Instead of asking, ‘What must I do for this person to choose me?’, we can ask, ‘Is the way this person relates genuinely suitable for me?’ This question restores our ability to choose, rather than leaving us feeling constantly evaluated.

6. Notice how we feel, not only how much we like them

Attraction can be intense even within a dynamic that makes us insecure. It is therefore useful to place other questions beside ‘How interested am I?’: after speaking with this person, do I feel calm or confused? Can I be spontaneous? Do I feel that every response has to be earned? Our emotional state is not the only criterion, but it is concrete information that deserves as much consideration as attraction and potential.

7. Set an internal limit on our investment

An internal limit is not an ultimatum imposed on the other person. It is a personal decision about how much time, energy and ambiguity we are willing to sustain before stepping back. Defining that limit helps us avoid moving the threshold repeatedly in response to a new explanation or a small positive sign. The limit protects our integrity: it reminds us that waiting is also a choice, and one we are allowed to reconsider.

An exercise for bringing the focus back to ourselves

For one week, we can make a simple note of situations that leave us confused, waiting or compelled to intervene. There is no need to record every message or turn the relationship into a continuous analysis. It is enough to notice the episodes that significantly alter our emotional state. For each one, we separate three levels.

What happened

Describe only the observable facts: who took the initiative, what was said, whether an agreement was honoured and how much time passed. Avoid words such as ‘always’, ‘never’, ‘obviously’ or ‘definitely’, because they already contain a conclusion.

What we imagined

Write down the explanations the mind produced: perhaps they are busy, perhaps they have lost interest, perhaps closeness frightens them, perhaps we did something wrong. Seeing these thoughts on paper helps us remember that they are hypotheses, not evidence.

What we need

Finally, notice the effect of the situation and what would help us feel well: greater clarity, continuity, a firmly arranged meeting, more direct communication or the freedom not to remain suspended. From here, we can choose an action that is consistent with who we are, without using it to control the other person’s response.

At the end of the week, we do not look for a verdict on one isolated event. We look at the overall pattern. Is reciprocity perceptible? Are words and actions sufficiently aligned? Are we free to be spontaneous, or do we spend much of our time regulating the distance between us? This exercise is not designed to identify someone to blame. It is designed to make our own experience visible again, because that experience often disappears while we are trying to understand the other person’s.

Competence can become a resource in relationships too

We do not have to give up the qualities that made us strong. Clarity can help us distinguish facts from hopes. Responsibility can help us communicate openly. Experience can teach us to recognise, at an earlier stage, the patterns that cause us pain.

The real transformation lies in no longer using competence to sustain every relationship at any cost. We can use it to choose more carefully where we invest, protect our time and recognise more quickly a relationship in which presence is genuinely reciprocal.

In love, maturity does not mean making every encounter work. It also means accepting that some people are unavailable, incompatible or unable to offer what we want, and that our effort alone cannot change that reality.

We can open a door. We do not have to walk the path for both people.

Finding our inner compass in relationships

Changing this way of relating does not mean becoming colder or giving up our sensitivity. It means recognising the automatic patterns that lead us to assume too much emotional responsibility, learning to tolerate uncertainty more effectively and moving our attention away from winning someone over and towards reciprocity.

This is precisely the shift at the heart of Compass of Relationships, the SoulRise Global coaching programme for people who want to understand their relational patterns more deeply, rebalance their emotional investment and build relationships that are more conscious and reciprocal.

The purpose is not to learn new strategies for securing another person’s interest, but to develop a more reliable inner compass: to recognise what is truly happening, express our needs clearly and choose connections in which we do not have to carry the entire weight of the relationship alone.

Important Notice

This article is intended for information, personal development and reflection. It does not constitute medical, psychological or psychotherapeutic advice and is not a substitute for qualified professional care. For further information, please refer to our Terms & Conditions, section 3.5.