Relationships Do Not Stay Warm by Accident

In some ways, we were promised happily ever after.

Only, the “rest of the story” — if you’re old enough to remember Paul Harvey — is that the day after the fairy-tale wedding, Cinderella probably had to supervise the new cinder maids and Prince Charming had to get back out there collecting taxes and tithes throughout the kingdom.

Not especially romantic.

In fact, probably a lot more like the way you and I live day to day.

If I were one of Cinderella’s new cinder maids, I’d have a rough time of it. But I do know this much about building a good fire:

You prepare the space.

You gather the kindling.

You strike a match.

And once that kindling catches, you slowly add a log here and there. You leave enough space for air to circulate. The flames grow.

And if you’re anything like me, you poke at it. Prod it. Move the logs around a little because somehow that makes the fire even better.

Eventually, though, those big flames die down.

They begin to just kiss the wood.

You’ve seen it.

Maybe you’ve sat there mesmerized by it.

And if you reach in and gently prod that log again, sometimes the bark falls away and underneath it you see the brightest, glowing, red-hot ember.

WOW.

That’s the moment.

Because that ember is what allows you, tomorrow, to RE-kindle today’s fire.

You don’t necessarily have to start from scratch.

You build on what was there yesterday.

And the day before.

And perhaps for years before that.

The fire that was once lit by love.

If those embers are allowed to go completely cold, yes — rebuilding may take more work.

Can a fire sometimes be reignited?

Absolutely.

Is every fire supposed to be?

No.

But before assuming everything is gone, it may be worth asking:

Are there still embers here?

Because relationships do not stay warm by accident.

They stay warm because somebody notices.

Somebody reaches over.

Somebody says, “I miss you,” instead of, “You’re always so busy.”

Somebody chooses a better time for the hard conversation.

Somebody softens their tone.

Somebody comes back after the argument instead of leaving the other person wondering whether the conversation — or the relationship — is over.

Somebody says, “That didn’t come out the way I meant it. Can I try again?”

That is the tending.

Not grand gestures.

Not one desperate promise when everything is already falling apart.

Small, repeated moments of attention, repair, honesty and return.

Love may light the fire.
Relationship skills help you tend it.

And perhaps that is the part of happily ever after nobody thought to tell us.

That’s much of what I teach in Say It So They Finally Hear You™ — practical tools for tending the conversations that keep connection alive.