Why Didn’t You Fight for Me? When Love Feels One-Sided

Drora was at her wit’s end.

Her husband, Yitzhak, was a good man. Kind, even. And the truth is, she truly loved him.

But she constantly felt that he did not fight for her. As though she were simply a given.

It was obvious to him that she prepared for him. Obvious that she wanted to be with him at every opportunity. Obvious that whenever he wished, she was fully there for him. In every sense, she was the one who wanted and needed him.

But him? He was fine with his life. A high-ranking public figure, busy from morning until night, always surrounded by assistants, advisors, admirers. And if Drora applied enough gentle pressure, he was gracious enough to “make time” for her.

This reality consumed Drora with frustration.

She remembered the days when he had chased after her, when he longed for her attention, when he saw her goodness and beauty. Those days now felt like a distant dream. In their place were long, lonely hours, filled with painful thoughts about how insignificant she felt in the relationship.

The Strategy That Backfired

A well-meaning friend told her that relationships are a game of roles. If she would show him she was not so eager, he would begin to chase her again.

So Drora tried.

It lasted exactly two days.

Then Yitzhak called and told her he had reserved a table for them at a restaurant that evening. She rushed toward him like a child seeking warmth. But throughout the meal, he barely looked up from his phone. He answered call after call, even after keeping her waiting for half an hour. No apology. After all, it was clear to her that he was dealing with things that were truly important.

She tried to talk to him. She shared her pain carefully, gently, without accusation. She framed it as vulnerability, not anger.

Nothing changed.

He smiled at her, kindly but, in her eyes, condescendingly, and promised to try to make more time for her.

“Make more time for me.”

The phrase echoed endlessly in Drora’s mind in the days that followed. She turned it over again and again. How could he not understand how humiliating this felt? Like a king granting one of his subjects a few gracious minutes. Was she not worthy? Did she really need him to “make time” for her?

She could not bear it.

So she intensified the distance.

She stopped answering his calls. She went to sleep before he returned home. She woke after he had already left. She no longer prepared anything for him. She no longer showed him how much she was thinking about him. Nothing.

And with every passing day, Yitzhak seemed calmer. More content. More at ease.

The Saddest Victory Speech

Until, unexpectedly, Yitzhak was summoned to the rabbinical court.

He arrived stunned. Before they entered, he managed to catch Drora for a moment.

“You’ve given up on me,” he said, his voice breaking. “Why? Because I gave up? If I’m ‘not there,’ then neither are you?”

Drora looked at him with a sadness he had never seen before and said quietly:

“My giving up is my victory. As long as I waited for you, sought your attention, saw you as my savior, I made myself small. I did not value myself. I know you are a good person. I know you did not intend to hurt me. But your behavior forced me to confront myself. To realize that I deserve more. That I deserve to be wanted, not tolerated. That I deserve not to live in loneliness inside a marriage. I have finally defeated my low self-worth. And this is the result. If this were revenge, it would be petty. But it is not. It comes from wholeness. From clarity. From peace. I am choosing to leave because I have finally chosen myself.”

It was perhaps the saddest victory speech imaginable.

What Happens When the Masks Crack

And it was with this story that the therapist encountered them, after the court referred them to counseling.

They arrived reluctant, confused, uncertain why they were even supposed to want the same outcome.

Slowly, Drora’s “victory speech” began to crack.

Slowly, cracks appeared in Yitzhak’s confident facade.

For the first time, in the therapy room, Drora heard Yitzhak’s inner world. She heard about his emotional blocks. His fear of intimacy. His escape into endless activity because silence forced him to face himself. His difficulty sitting across from his wife at the dinner table with no distractions.

And Yitzhak, for the first time, saw Drora not as fragile, but as strong. Capable of holding space for him. Capable of listening without collapsing. The narrative in his mind shifted. He was no longer the strong one carrying the weak wife. Something deeper began to form between them.

They returned again.

Still uncertain of their future.

But something had changed.

They began to speak.

The Quiet Truth Beneath It All

It is painful how often we need crisis to do the most basic thing: to speak honestly.

We imagine it should be easy. Just open your mouth. Say you care. Say you hurt. Say you need. Say you love.

Yet when we finally manage to do it, we realize how complex and frightening it truly is.

Not every victory is truly a victory. Sometimes it is a loss disguised as strength.

And not every sacrifice is truly a loss. Sometimes it is the doorway to growth.

This rigid black-and-white way of thinking exhausts me.

Talk. Just talk. Without ego. Without defenses. Without strategy.

You will be surprised by how much healing begins there.

With love,
Pinchas Hirsch
Couples Counselor