The Fear Beneath the Conflict: What Keeps Couples Truly Stuck

Shmuel and Yafo are a wonderful couple. Truly. If you were to meet either one of them separately and look closely, you would not find a single trait that could be called unpleasant or lacking.

And yet, somehow, the connection between these two impressive individuals created a dark, heavy space filled with confusion and pain.

Shmuel arrived to therapy overwhelmed with anger. Yafo sat beside him in deep, painful silence. Any attempt to reach her would eventually break the wall and release waves of tears, mixed with despair and words of helplessness. Both were exhausted. Lost. Sinking deeper with each passing week.

The situation was terrible. And not only for them.

The therapist found himself struggling.

He had always believed in maintaining emotional distance. He knew that his effectiveness depended on staying grounded, not getting pulled into the storm, not taking sides, not reacting personally. In most cases, he succeeded.

But this time was different.

Session after session passed with no change. Yafo remained withdrawn. Shmuel repeated the same complaints. Five sessions in, there was no movement at all.

And for the first time in his professional life, the therapist felt something unfamiliar: failure.

He was not offended by the couple. He was not triggered by their behavior. He was struggling with himself. With the fear that maybe he was not helping. Maybe he was not good enough. Maybe something in him was missing.

And that pressure is one of the most dangerous states for a therapist. When he becomes occupied with his own performance, his own anxiety, his own need to succeed, he risks losing the client.

He needed to choose carefully. Either retreat behind professionalism and continue as usual, or risk something deeper.

Using the Therapist’s Emotions

Irvin Yalom, one of the most respected figures in psychotherapy, wrote that a therapist must sometimes use his own emotional experience in the room. Not hide it, not suppress it, but bring it into the process with honesty and care.

So the therapist chose a different path.

He turned to Shmuel and Yafo and said quietly, “This doesn’t happen to me often, but I need to be honest with you. I am feeling a lot of pressure. We are already in the fifth session, and I am troubled by the fact that nothing seems to be shifting. Are you feeling that too?”

Shmuel looked surprised. “What are you stressed about?”

“I’m afraid of stagnation,” the therapist said simply. “Are you afraid of that too?”

For the first time, Yafo spoke before Shmuel.

“Yes,” she said softly. “That is exactly my fear. That after so many years together, nothing will ever change. That maybe we are not compatible. I have been afraid of that thought for a long time.”

She stopped, embarrassed. “But that’s not the anxiety you meant, is it?”

“It is,” the therapist answered. “I feel it after five sessions. You feel it after fifteen years. It is the same fear. And that fear freezes all of us.”

For the first time since beginning therapy, both nodded together.

“What is the most frightening part of this situation for you?” the therapist asked.

Shmuel answered quietly. “The thought that we will have to keep coping like this forever. That we will always be stuck in pain.”

Yafo responded immediately. “But is this coping? Yelling? Hurting each other? Feeling distant? Is that coping?”

The therapist gently intervened.

“Coping is not perfection. Coping is the ability to live with complexity. To accept that not every problem has a simple solution. To stay present even when things feel difficult. To keep loving even when it feels hard. That is the deepest work of a relationship.”

He paused, then added, “And that is why I need both of you here fully. Not just to talk about each other, but to speak honestly about your fears, your vulnerabilities, your doubts. That is where movement begins.”

The Power of Honest Exposure

What unfolded in that moment was not only healing for the couple. It was healing for the therapist as well.

Because the truth is simple and painful: all of us carry fear. Fear of failing. Fear of not being loved. Fear that our efforts will not be enough.

These fears live inside marriages. Inside friendships. Inside therapy rooms. Inside hearts.

And the moment we dare to speak them aloud with sincerity, something shifts. The other person often recognizes themselves in our vulnerability. Connection replaces distance. Humanity replaces defense.

We do not heal through perfection. We heal through honesty.

When we stop pretending we are strong and allow ourselves to be real, the path opens.

And once there is real openness, real courage, real emotional exposure, the sky truly becomes the limit.

Pinchas Hirsch is a couples counselor.