When Happiness Depends on Your Partner: Breaking the Pattern

A couple arrived at the clinic visibly shaken and emotionally charged following an incident that had taken place the day before. The details were adjusted to protect their privacy.

“Yesterday morning was terrible,” the husband began. “Our teenage son crossed every possible boundary. On Friday he didn’t help at all. On Shabbat night he lay sprawled on the couch, and in the morning he didn’t wake up until eleven. Even whether he prayed was questionable.”

“At some point my wife completely lost control,” he continued. “She yelled at him harshly, confiscated the things he left on the floor, and told him that a child who behaves this way can’t live in our house.”

“I was very stressed,” he added. “I believe you shouldn’t treat a child like that. Yes, he crossed lines, but we need to understand him and speak calmly. Yelling doesn’t help. And then I made a mistake. I told my wife in front of the child, ‘Enough. Stop. That’s not the way.’”

At that point, the wife could no longer contain herself.

“He always gets to be the wonderful father,” she burst out. “The understanding one, the accommodating one, the calm one. How exactly are our children supposed to learn that they crossed a line? And correcting me in front of the child was humiliating. Absolutely humiliating.”

“And of course what happened next was predictable,” she continued. “Our son went straight to him and started whining that because of Mom he has no motivation to go learn in yeshiva. How convenient. I get to be the scapegoat for everything.”

Then she added quietly but sharply, “There’s something else here. The same man who speaks about understanding and calm knows how to be gentle with the child, but with me he criticizes and attacks. What do you say about that?”

When Pain Surfaces

I turned to both of them. “I hear how difficult this is for you.”

“Difficult?” she replied, her voice breaking. “It’s burning. It’s painful. It’s humiliating.” Tears filled her eyes and she looked down.

Her husband lowered his gaze as well, and the room fell silent.

“Tell me,” I said gently. “You’re describing deep suffering. Do you think it’s possible for you to live a happier life?”

“A happy life?” she asked in disbelief. “Of course. If my husband would finally understand what a woman is, what a woman feels, and how to respect that, then something might change.”

“Why?” I asked. “Can you look inward and see why your happiness depends so fully on him changing?”

She was startled by the question, but after a moment she answered honestly. “Yes. I really feel that my happiness depends on my husband.”

“So,” I reflected, “your self worth, your satisfaction, your joy in life are all placed in his hands. If he understands. If he respects. If he changes.”

She nodded slowly.

“If you were to take responsibility for your own life,” I asked, “how likely do you think it is that you could live better?”

“Not likely at all,” she replied. “Below zero.”

“What makes it feel so impossible?”

“That I’m unstable. I have weak nerves. Everything irritates me.”

“You’re saying you have no chance of a better life because you believe you’re an angry woman who can’t control herself.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “That’s true.”

A Story Passed Down

“How long have you carried this belief about yourself?” I asked.

“Years. As long as I can remember. And just now I realized that my mother was like that too. She struggled to calm herself, and I always feared I’d become the same way. I resemble her very much.”

“So in your mind,” I said, “there are generations of women destined to suffer with no way out.”

At that moment, something shifted. The hopelessness in her face was replaced with determination.

“I hear myself,” she said slowly, “and I’m shocked. I can’t live my whole life waiting for someone else to make me happy. I don’t want to wait for miracles that never come. I want to live differently. I want your guidance.”

I smiled. “What’s happening right now is already a miracle. For years you lived in victimhood, and suddenly I hear responsibility, choice, and courage.”

Her husband turned to her and said warmly, “I’m really glad you’re starting to take responsibility for yourself.”

I listened, then turned to him. “From the beginning of the session, I’ve heard you talk about your wife. About her anger. About your relief that she’s finally looking inward. But where are you in all of this?”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “I’m completely involved.”

“What does that involvement look like?” I pressed.

“I shared my feelings. I talked about my struggles.”

“What I hear,” I said gently, “is a mirror of what happens at home. You take responsibility for your wife. At home you manage her reactions, and here you make sure she takes care of herself.”

“Are you secure enough to manage yourself?”

He shifted uncomfortably.

“What’s happening inside you right now?” I asked.

“I’m struggling,” he admitted. “I always thought I was a special, understanding person. Now I see that I’ve been hiding from my own issues by focusing on hers.”

“And does that diminish your value?” I asked.

A deep internal process began for him at that moment, one that naturally could not be resolved in a single session.

Learning to Separate Without Disconnecting

Over time, the couple reached meaningful insights. The woman recognized that the children had become a communication channel between her and her husband. When he was occupied with things she valued, such as learning or prayer, she managed the children calmly. But when she felt frustrated with him, absent or unresponsive, her anger toward him surfaced through explosive reactions toward the children. They had become a way to shake him emotionally.

The change did not happen overnight. It was a gradual process, built on courage and honest self observation. With each layer peeled away, they learned to relate more to their own inner world and less to managing one another.

When partners learn to take responsibility for their own emotions and personal space, and reduce their urge to control the other, relationships gain room to breathe. The more each person manages their own inner world rather than intruding into their partner’s, the more calm, clarity, and blessing can enter the home.

Perhaps especially during stressful periods, when pressure runs high, this kind of differentiation can create stability. When each person tends to their own share, something quiet and healthy begins to grow.

Rabbi Aryeh Ettinger is a counselor and founder of a school for training couples counselors.