He wanted me to fix his wife

He came to me asking me to save his marriage.

He spoke for 50 minutes straight.

Confidently.

Almost proudly.

“I’ve done everything right,” he said.

“I provide. I take care of expenses. I plan family vacations. I make sure there’s comfort.”

Then his voice hardened.

“And still she complains.

She says she’s unhappy.

She keeps saying something is missing.”

He wanted me to work with his wife.

To fix her.

To help her see what she already had.

I paused.

And then I did something I usually don’t do on a consultation call.

I didn’t analyse.

I didn’t explain.

I didn’t reassure him.

I asked him to close his eyes.

And I took him back.

Not to the big fights.

Not to the dramatic moments.

But to the ordinary ones.

The way he snapped when he was tired.

The way his tone changed when she asked the same question twice.

The way he corrected her in front of others — “jokingly.”

The way he looked at his phone while she was talking.

We stayed there.

Then we went further.

To the nights she cried quietly so it wouldn’t turn into another argument.

To the times she asked for his time, not his money.

To the moments she tried to be playful, affectionate — and was met with distraction.

To the casual remarks that made her feel small.

Not enough.

Not smart enough.

I didn’t add commentary.

I didn’t tell him what to feel.

I just asked him to notice.

Fifteen minutes later, he opened his eyes.

There was shock in them.

Not guilt.

Not tears.

Shock.

Because it’s deeply unsettling to realise that you are not only the one being wronged.

That you are also participating.

We are very comfortable being victims.

As partners.

As parents.

As adults.

It gives us a clean story.

I did everything right.

They are ungrateful.

They are impossible to please.

What we don’t see is how often we outsource responsibility for our pain.

How easily we blame our spouse, our children, our circumstances —

so we don’t have to sit with the quieter question:

What is my role in the suffering I keep complaining about?

This isn’t about denying the other person’s behaviour.

Harm is harm.

Dismissal is dismissal.

But inner work has never been about fixing someone else.

It has always been about having the courage to look at yourself

without excuses,

without justification,

without needing to be right.

When the call ended, he didn’t sign up.

He wanted a solution.

A technique.

A quick fix.

And I knew, in that moment,

that he wasn’t ready.

Because healing doesn’t begin when we want the other person to change.

It begins when we are willing to see

how we have been showing up — or not.

And that willingness

can’t be forced.