Showing Up, Even When It’s Hard: The Truth About Romantic Relationships

Romantic relationships are finicky at best—like assembling IKEA furniture without the instructions, hex key, or patience. Finding the right person feels nothing short of miraculous. (And frankly, sometimes I think it actually is a miracle.)

It took me a long time—and more than a few wrong turns—to find the relationship that fits me. Not perfectly (this isn’t a Disney movie), but beautifully. Has it been all roses and butterflies? Absolutely not. There have been some thorns. And some caterpillars that never turned into butterflies. But the difference is this: we kept showing up. Even when it was hard. Even when it would’ve been easier to walk away or shut down. We paused to get our heads straight when needed, but we came back to the table. That matters.

Wil came into my life just before everything fell apart. We’d been together for about a year when I lost Dakota and my Dad, three days apart. He had no obligation to walk through that fire with me. But he didn’t run. He showed up. Over and over again. He played board games with me indoors when the weather was miserable. He took me to quiet nature spots when I could stand to be outside. He cooked, cleaned, held me while I cried in the middle of the night. He quite literally moved into my grief bubble, staying at my house for three months—leaving only for a few hours here and there when I felt steady enough to be alone.

It wasn’t just about presence. It was about partnership. Real, gritty, imperfect partnership. That man supported everyidea I had—even the fleeting, chaotic Gemini ones. Want to refinish furniture? Great, let’s hit the thrift stores. Scrapbooking? He’s on board. Sticker-making? Bought me an iPad and a lifetime editing app. Reading again? Here’s an e-reader. He has never once laughed at me for trying something new. He’s just stood beside me while I tried.

We don’t agree on everything. Philosophically, we’re night and day—he’s logic and facts, I’m intuition and grey-area pondering. He’s a “prove it” kind of thinker; I’m more “feel it in your bones.” But somehow, those differences give our relationship depth. We see the world from different lenses, and it teaches us both something new.

When I have a tough counselling session or a hard grief day, Wil is where I go. I curl into his arms or sprawl into his lap, and he just lets me be. No fixing. No forcing. Just support. I know how rare that is.

Now, let me be clear: there are days I want to strangle him in his sleep. If you’ve never looked at your partner snoozing and thought, “I could smother you with this pillow and get away with it,” are you even in a real relationship? Loving someone doesn’t mean you never fight. It means you choose each other, even after the fight. It means you keep showing up.

And for my single readers:

This post isn’t meant to rub your face in a highlight reel. I’ve been single—recently, painfully, chaotically single. I know what it’s like to crave a connection and wonder if something’s wrong with you. Let me say this as gently but firmly as possible: there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. If anything, choosing yourself instead of the wrong person is a power move. Don’t rush it. Don’t settle. Build the life that feels right for you—with your books, your dog, your art, your messy kitchen, your quiet strength. When the right person shows up, they’ll fit into that life, not ask you to rearrange it.

And if no one else tells you this today: you are enough, exactly as you are.