Lori Gottlieb: Great Relationships Start With You
Ever wonder why you keep repeating the same relationship patterns? You're not alone.
Psychotherapist Lori Gottlieb pulls back the curtain on the hidden forces that drive our choices in love. They reveal that the key to finding a great partner often has less to do with the other person and more to do with understanding ourselves.
Table of Contents
The Blueprint for a Healthy Relationship
Healthy Emotional Communication
The Myth of Emotional Disconnect
Silent Treatment and Manipulation
Why Some People Reject Every Solution
The Blueprint for a Healthy Relationship
Keep a Full Bank of Goodwill
Memory plays a significant role in relationships, especially when it comes to recalling those subtle, intangible elements that make connections special. Gottlieb introduces the Gottmans' theory about the "bank of Goodwill" in relationships, explaining that you need five deposits for every withdrawal.
When relationships struggle, people focus on what's not working—making withdrawals—while overlooking positive aspects. It's often after a breakup that people realize all the deposits they failed to acknowledge when the relationship was intact. The most successful couples regularly notice and appreciate what's in their "bank account," even when occasional withdrawals are necessary.
This focus on appreciation is revealed in how people speak about their partners when they're not present. Positive, sincere descriptions stand in stark contrast to dismissive references. This observation connects to Gottlieb's therapeutic approach of often starting sessions by asking, "How did you meet?" This strategy helps couples recall what initially attracted them to each other, shifting focus from withdrawals to deposits.
Focus on “What Is” Not “What If”
In relationships, people often fixate on specific qualities they believe are missing from their partners. Gottlieb points out that this frequently has more to do with personal expectations than with the partner themselves, such as expecting a partner to provide a sense of vitality that should come from within.
When someone feels dissatisfied, they might seek a desired trait in someone else, but this approach is flawed. "You're trading one set of problems for another set of problems," Gottlieb explains.
It's crucial to focus on the good aspects of a relationship. Huberman adds that "if only" are among the most dangerous words, because they divert attention from appreciating what's actually present.
Gottlieb builds on this by distinguishing between "what if" and "what is" thinking. People who obsess over "what if" scenarios often blind themselves to the "what is" reality that contains so much good they wouldn't want to lose. "The 'what if' is a big trap," she warns.
This notion of attention and appreciation forms the foundation of relationship satisfaction. "You get to choose what you put your attention on," Gottlieb emphasizes. This conscious choice can fundamentally transform how we experience our relationships.
Set Expectations Early
Gottlieb explains that relationships are like cement—malleable when wet, but difficult to change once they've dried. She emphasizes the importance of addressing issues and expectations early.
When expectations aren't communicated, people build false narratives about their partner's behavior, like assuming a partner who is late doesn't care, when the reality may be entirely different.
Early in relationships, you have two options when confronted with behaviors you don't prefer: address them directly or decide if you can accept them. Instead of focusing on "I knew it then" moments after a relationship ends, Gottlieb redirects to a more important question to ask after a date: "How do I feel when I'm with this person?"
When it comes to relationship criteria, she distinguishes between negotiable and non-negotiable qualities. Character qualities and aligned values (honesty, reliability, trustworthiness) shouldn't be compromised. However, many other preferences—like shared interests or family circumstances—can be more flexible.
Healthy relationships allow partners to bring their "rough drafts" to one another—the freedom to be works-in-progress, to make mistakes, and to feel loved despite imperfections.
Value Contentment and Learn Their Manual
A key to healthy, long-term relationships is distinguishing between the intense excitement of early romance and a deeper sense of peace and contentment. "Contentment is different from, like, out of your mind happy," Gottlieb explains. What matters most is whether you experience a sense of safety with your partner—a safe place to land.
She encourages asking simple but profound questions: Does this person's presence feel additive to your life? Are you happier with them than without them?
Rather than focusing on love languages, Gottlieb prefers to think about understanding each other's "operating instructions." People don't come with manuals. True intimacy comes from learning the subtle details: understanding what being late means to your partner, knowing they need you to speak softly when anxious, or recognizing when they need a hug.
Instead of making assumptions, get curious and simply ask. This curiosity opens the door to smoother interactions and a deeper, more fulfilling connection.
Healthy Emotional Communication
Own Your Emotions
Gottlieb distinguishes between two key concepts: self-regulation and co-regulation.
Self-regulation is the ability to manage your own internal experiences without suppressing them. For instance, anger can provide valuable information about a boundary being crossed; the key is to process that anger productively rather than resorting to destructive behaviors.
Co-regulation, on the other hand, occurs when one person’s calm state helps another regulate their emotions, much like a calm parent teaches a child. In adult relationships, while it isn’t one partner’s job to manage the other's feelings, having at least one regulated person in a difficult situation is crucial.
As Gottlieb notes, "You want two adults in the room, or at least one adult in the room. If you have two children... then everybody gets dysregulated."
Don’t Play Hot Potato
One of the most common ways people fail to self-regulate is through "projective identification." This goes beyond simple projection (being angry at your boss but yelling at your partner). It is the psychological process of actually inserting your uncomfortable feeling into another person.
"It's like a hot potato," Gottlieb clarifies. "You take your feelings and you toss them to someone else because you can't tolerate the discomfort of that feeling."
For example, instead of expressing anger about work, a person might say something provocative to their partner, making the partner angry. This transfers the emotional burden, leaving the first person temporarily relieved while the other now holds the unpleasant feeling.
This happens because many people instinctively try to "evacuate" difficult emotions rather than learning to sit with them.
Know When to Pause
When both partners are dysregulated, Gottlieb firmly advocates for pausing the interaction. Many couples mistakenly believe that they must resolve issues in the heat of the moment, but this is often when the most damage is done.
Taking a break—going for a walk, reading a book—can be tremendously beneficial.
During this cooling-off period, she recommends trying to understand the situation from the other person's perspective, which prepares both parties for a more compassionate and productive conversation once they've returned to a regulated state.
Dating in the Digital Age
The Paradox of Choice
Gottlieb examines how dating apps have altered relationship dynamics by creating what she calls a "paradox of choice." Drawing from Barry Schwartz's concept, she explains that having too many options often leads to less satisfaction, not more.
"Think of like a fishbowl, an aquarium and an ocean," Gottlieb suggests. "Fishbowl is not enough choice, too constrained. Ocean, too much choice. The aquarium is perfect—a certain amount of choice, but it's manageable."
This metaphor perfectly captures the overwhelming nature of dating apps. She references experiments demonstrating that when consumers face too many choices, they often avoid making any choice at all.
Gottlieb then introduces the concept of "maximizers" versus "satisficers." A maximizer is someone who's constantly searching for something better, even after finding something perfectly suitable.
"Guess what? They are less satisfied with that purchase than the satisficer who would have bought that first sweater in that first store and would have been super happy," Gottlieb points out.
Dating apps have transformed many people into maximizers. Someone might have a good date but think, "No butterflies, no sparks, pretty good time. But I don't know, I can go back on the apps." This creates an illusion of endless better options waiting just a swipe away.
Maximizers expend tremendous emotional and cognitive energy for minimal benefit, never truly satisfied because they're always wondering if something better exists.
"We don't get the à la carte option with people," Gottlieb emphasizes. "There will be different dimensions in which people are more aligned with what you're looking for. But no one's gonna be perfect."
Being a satisficer isn't about settling—it's about recognizing when something is genuinely good without needlessly continuing the search. This perspective is particularly important in dating, where the dynamic is fundamentally different from shopping.
"If we treat dating like shopping, we forget that in shopping we're the choosers. But in dating, someone has to choose us too. And we, by the way, are not perfect," she notes.
Gottlieb shares a powerful exercise with clients: asking them to write down all the reasons it would be difficult to date them. This forces honest self-reflection.
"What makes it hard to be with you?" she asks. "If you're really honest with yourself, suddenly you're less of a maximizer." She takes this exercise further, suggesting that for every trait someone wants in a partner, they should identify one thing about themselves that might be challenging for others.
This balanced approach helps combat the "shopping list" mentality that dating apps encourage.
The Erosion of Vulnerability
In today's digital landscape, romantic relationships face unique challenges, particularly for younger generations who often lack the traditional dating infrastructure.
"They do [ask people out], but they don't really know how, or they do it on text," Gottlieb notes. There's something profoundly growth-inducing about having to call someone on the phone or ask them out in person. These actions require genuine vulnerability—a quality that's increasingly easy to avoid in the digital age.
The language around dating has shifted too. Rather than clearly defined "dates," young people often use ambiguous phrasing like "Want to hang out?" This creates uncertainty.
Social media compounds these challenges significantly. Any misstep in a budding relationship can potentially become public content. "If you're with the wrong person who's emotionally immature... they do all kinds of things that humiliate the other person," Gottlieb observes, pointing to trends like publicly posting lists of someone's "red flags."
The problem extends beyond embarrassing details to a fundamental blurring of boundaries. "Nothing feels totally private," she explains. This atmosphere creates a chilling effect on vulnerability.
People become hesitant to take emotional risks in relationships, fearing public humiliation if things don't work out.
The motivation for sharing these failures publicly often stems from hurt feelings and a desire for validation. When someone posts about a failed relationship, friends typically respond with reassurance: "You dodged a bullet."
While this validation might provide temporary comfort, it impedes personal growth that comes from sitting with discomfort and learning valuable lessons about handling loss and disappointment.
Digital Conflicts and Breakups
The way we communicate has fundamentally changed, particularly when it comes to conflicts and breakups. Gottlieb notes that many therapy clients now bring text messages into sessions as evidence of relationship conflicts, which allows for objective analysis but also highlights that texting is not suitable for addressing relationship ruptures.
Huberman observes that breakups have become considerably more complicated in the digital era. In the past, ending a relationship meant physically putting away photos and memories. Today, social media platforms and text histories make it nearly impossible to get clean closure. "You weren't being infiltrated by the past," Huberman remarks. The digital trail makes it difficult to move forward.
This is made worse by what Gottlieb calls a societal "hierarchy of pain," where people minimize certain kinds of relationship loss, preventing people from seeking help. The quality of a breakup also significantly impacts recovery. Breakups involving betrayal or a lack of explanation can be particularly damaging, leading people to create stories to fill that void.
"You want to move forward," Gottlieb stresses, making an important distinction between "moving on" and "moving forward." She cautions against obsessively following an ex's life online, which creates a "split screen" existence that is a significant obstacle to healing.
Modern Social Narratives
Modern media and social narratives impact relationships. Gottlieb shares an example from her son's preschool days, recalling girls wearing shirts that read "boys are stupid, let's throw rocks at them," pointing out the double standard: "You don't empower by putting down another group."
Young men face challenges in developing a positive sense of masculinity amid contradictory messages like "all men are bad" or "men should be more like women." This confusion creates a no-win situation.
Dating scenarios further illustrate this, with simple interactions like a goodnight kiss becoming minefields of uncertainty and overthinking. The rules of engagement have become unclear, even for interactions at work.
Huberman pointed out how this creates a "tricky landscape" where natural connection becomes difficult, a problem amplified by unrealistic relationship expectations set by TV and movies. Despite these challenges, Huberman expressed optimism about young people's resilience.
Why You Choose Your Partners
Gottlieb explains that our unconscious mind often drives our romantic choices in ways we rarely recognize. The partners we choose, and the dynamics that emerge, are frequently echoes of our past.
The key to breaking unhealthy cycles lies in bringing these deep-seated patterns into the light.
Marrying Your Unfinished Business
Gottlieb introduces a core psychological concept: "We marry our unfinished business." This means people often unconsciously seek partners who embody the familiar, and sometimes painful, emotional patterns from their childhood. It isn't a conscious choice for unhappiness, but a powerful pull toward what feels familiar.
A person who grew up with an avoidant or withdrawn parent may later be drawn to partners with the same traits. As Gottlieb explains, "Your unconscious is saying, 'you look familiar, come closer.'"
This happens because we are subconsciously trying to "master a situation where we felt helpless as a child"—essentially attempting to win a painful game we couldn't control the first time around. This can happen regardless of which parent displayed the negative traits; the emotional wound itself is what our unconscious seeks to resolve.
When No Chemistry Is a Good Sign
This unconscious pull explains why seemingly problematic partners can feel so "right" initially. Gottlieb illustrates this with a client who consistently chose partners who resembled her difficult parents. When she met kind, reliable men, she would dismiss them, claiming "no chemistry."
Her sense of attraction was calibrated to seek the familiar friction and emotional volatility she knew from childhood, not the calm stability that a healthy relationship could offer.
What might appear from the outside as a complementary pairing—an emotional person with a less-emotional, stable partner—can sometimes mask this deeper issue. The more emotional partner may end up feeling profoundly lonely, having unconsciously chosen someone who can't meet their needs for connection, repeating a painful childhood pattern.
Familiar Pain or The Unknown
Why do we cling to these familiar, painful patterns? Gottlieb explains it’s a natural human fear of the unknown. She shares a powerful analogy of a prisoner desperately shaking the bars of their cell, not realizing the sides are completely open. The prison, though agonizing, represents what we know.
"With freedom comes responsibility and uncertainty," Gottlieb emphasizes. As adults, we have the freedom to make different choices than we had as children, but this can be terrifying.
For many, "the certainty of misery" feels safer than "the misery of uncertainty." This is the invisible force that keeps people choosing the wrong partners, remaining attached to past problems rather than stepping into future success.
Rewriting Your Attraction Code
The breakthrough comes when these unconscious patterns are brought into awareness, often through therapy. When Huberman calls these patterns "such a flaw in our wiring," Gottlieb reframes it as an opportunity for growth. The therapeutic process helps people recognize the invisible forces that are "driving the car."
By understanding what drives our attractions, we can make conscious choices rather than being led by the past. The goal is to address the unfinished business before selecting a partner.
As Gottlieb's client discovered, after working through her patterns, she eventually became "very attracted to the kinds of guys who would treat her the way she wanted to be treated." The initial pull toward problematic partners might still flicker, but it no longer dictates her choice.
The Fear of Not Having Lived
Huberman shares his observation that people frequently stay in situations that don't serve them well. He wonders if this resistance to change stems from a fundamental fear of death – that people prefer the discomfort of familiar circumstances because at least they know they're "safe" and alive in their current state.
Drawing on Ernst Becker's "The Denial of Death," Huberman suggests that humans engage in complicated psychological gymnastics to distract themselves from the terrifying reality of mortality.
Gottlieb offers a counterpoint: "I don't think we're afraid of death. I think we're afraid of not having lived."
She explains that most people are death deniers – intellectually aware of mortality but behaving as though time is unlimited. This denial prevents them from living with intention and purpose.
She references the psychological stage of "integrity versus despair" that people face later in life. Those who achieve integrity have lived without major regrets and aren't afraid of death. Those in despair, however, fear death intensely because they recognize all they failed to do with their time.
"If you are aware of death, if you really look death right in the eye, you have more intentionality," Gottlieb explains. Rather than being morbid, she encourages keeping "death awareness sitting on one shoulder" as a way to live more fully and purposefully.
To illustrate this perspective, Gottlieb shares a poignant story about a young woman with terminal cancer. The patient's experience highlighted how most people avoid confronting death directly. When her husband asked for "one night off from cancer," the woman responded, "I don't get any nights off from cancer." This exchange opened an important conversation about balancing mortality awareness with appreciating remaining life.
Gottlieb says: "When people say, what is the opposite of depression? It's not happiness, it's vitality." This vitality comes from recognizing our limited time and choosing how to spend it meaningfully.
Gottlieb emphasizes that the goal isn't to fear death but to accept it, which paradoxically motivates us to live more fully. She warns that fear of death can lead to destructive behaviors, like affairs after experiencing a loss, as people grasp desperately for feelings of vitality. Instead, she encourages a thoughtful examination of what brings genuine aliveness without self-sabotage.
By accepting mortality rather than denying it, we gain the freedom to live with greater intention and appreciation for the time we have.
Why We Feel Emotionally Numb
Huberman explains that while we often chase sources of "activation"—interactions that trigger a stress response and negative arousal—these experiences actually siphon our energy. Genuinely energizing activities, in contrast, provide inspiration and vitality that can fuel other aspects of our lives.
Gottlieb builds on this by examining how people often respond to this draining activation: by going numb. She shares a colleague's striking observation that mindless internet scrolling can be "the most effective non-prescription painkiller out there," serving as a powerful escape mechanism from overwhelming emotions.
This leads to her most profound insight on the topic. Contrary to popular belief, emotional numbness isn't the absence of feelings, but rather an overwhelm of too many feelings at once.
When a person's system can't process an emotional flood, it leads to shutdown. The numbness, therefore, represents emotional flooding, not emotional emptiness.
Huberman emphasizes the importance of this concept, explaining the neurobiological underpinnings. This "blank-out" state isn't a dopamine "hit" but the disorienting post-dopamine trough that follows. He notes that while much attention is on the fight-or-flight stress response, another component—brachycardia, where stress actually slows the heart rate—can create this physiological shutdown.
Recognizing the difference between stressful activation and true energy is therefore a crucial tool for managing our well-being in the modern world.
The Myth of Emotional Disconnect
"I feel nothing. I don't know what this other person's so upset about," is a common sentiment expressed in couples therapy. Gottlieb emphasizes that it's crucial to understand the difference between being shut down versus being calm, as these represent two very different emotional states.
When Huberman asked for elaboration, Gottlieb shared a typical scenario she encounters in her practice. A heterosexual couple comes in, often with the woman expressing frustration about disconnection: "I just feel like I can't reach you. I feel like we're very disconnected. I want you to tell me how you feel."
Meanwhile, due to cultural stigma around men showing emotion, the male partner has convinced himself he feels nothing—that he's "fine" and their marriage is "good." He often doesn't even understand why he's in therapy, believing he's only there because his partner insisted.
The interesting dynamic emerges when this emotional wall finally breaks down. Gottlieb describes how the man might share something vulnerable or even tear up. "Your body will tell you what you're feeling even if you aren't aware of it," she explains. But then something unexpected happens: the woman who desperately wanted this emotional connection suddenly looks like "a deer in headlights," uncomfortable with her partner's vulnerability.
This reveals a deeper paradox in relationships. "I don't feel safe when he doesn't open up to me, but I also don't feel safe when he's being vulnerable in this way," is the realization many women have in these moments.
These gender stereotypes affect us more than we might admit. While men often appear numb or calm in relationships, this isn't necessarily the reality—it's that there's no space for them to express feelings, so emotions get suppressed, usually unconsciously, leading to disconnection and mutual unhappiness.
This difference begins in early childhood. As the mother of a boy, Gottlieb noticed how differently children are treated after getting hurt. When boys fall on the playground, they hear, "Oh, it's fine. Brush it off. You're good," even when they're in pain. Girls in the same situation receive comfort: "Oh honey, come here. How are you feeling about this? Are you hurt?"
These early messages about emotional expression create significant differences in adult relationships.
However, Gottlieb cautions against the opposite extreme as well. Women are often raised to believe they should share every feeling, but Gottlieb disagrees with this approach. "You don't need to share every thought or feeling that crosses your mind unfiltered with your partner. That is not healthy communication."
Instead, she advocates for thoughtful communication that involves "mentalizing"—considering how your words will affect the other person. It's not about suppressing feelings or walking on eggshells, but about applying three criteria before speaking: "Is it kind? Is it true? Is it useful?"
If the communication doesn't meet these standards, she questions the purpose of sharing it at all.
Silent Treatment and Manipulation
In the intricate dance of relationships, emotional expression and communication can be particularly challenging. Huberman shares insights from his own background, noting that there's a difference between passionate expression and what he defines as "drama."
For him, the issue isn't emotions themselves but rather when someone "dynamites the mine on the way out" – expressing feelings or grievances and then becoming inaccessible. This evacuative expression, this projection without interest in resolution, is what he categorizes as drama.
Gottlieb responds with a powerful observation: sometimes the silent treatment can be more aggressive and hostile than loud expressions. She notes, "People think that the loud one is the problem in the relationship. Sometimes the silent one is the one who's the problem."
The person who smiles through everything without expressing their true feelings, or who detonates emotional bombs and then goes silent as punishment, creates an environment of hostility and manipulation.
Another form of emotional manipulation Gottlieb identifies is when someone consistently responds with tears whenever their partner attempts to communicate about an issue.
While genuine sadness is valid, crying can sometimes function as a tool to shut down communication. When this happens repeatedly, it creates a catch-22: bringing up issues causes tears and apparent hurt, while avoiding issues leaves problems unresolved.
When Huberman asks how to handle such situations, Gottlieb suggests examining the functionality of the crying. What's making it difficult for the person to hear their partner's concerns? Is it shame? Do they feel they're being labeled as a bad person rather than having a specific behavior addressed?
This points to a crucial distinction in healthy communication – separating what someone did from who they are. Too often, we paint with broad brushes in our relationships, suggesting someone is bad rather than focusing on specific behaviors that were problematic.
Gottlieb elaborates on the important difference between guilt and shame. "Shame – nothing comes from shame. We just tend to sort of like retreat from shame. Guilt is great." Guilt indicates recognition that our actions didn't align with our values, while shame attacks our core identity and leads to withdrawal rather than growth.
Huberman wonders if crying as a response might be a programmed behavior in some people – a strategy that previously elicited sympathy or provided protection. Gottlieb affirms this insight, explaining that many behaviors are unconscious strategies for self-preservation.
People develop mechanisms to avoid pain, even when these very mechanisms ultimately create more suffering.
She references a client from her book who initially comes across as unlikable but eventually becomes a reader favorite. His off-putting behavior was a shield against vulnerability – being "an asshole to everybody" meant not letting anyone in who might hurt him again.
As Gottlieb puts it, "Hurt people hurt people... they're protecting themselves from more pain because if they let themselves be vulnerable, they're exposed to the possibility of pain."
Rewriting Your Life Story
A powerful metaphor for memory is the "Teflon pan": positive experiences tend to slip away while negative ones stick. Because of this, we often create elaborate narratives around negative events, while positive moments receive only brief acknowledgment before fading.
The power of presence, Huberman suggests, allows us to extract more meaningful experiences. He shares how he learned this principle through science as a student. His neuroanatomy professor taught him that looking for specific things under a microscope might help you find them, but you'll miss the broader context and patterns.
This lesson translated to his approach to relationships - being fully present allows the story to write itself naturally rather than scripting narratives about what's happening.
Gottlieb builds on this idea, explaining that we're all unreliable narrators of our own experiences, seeing everything through our personal lens.
Many people carry stories like "I'm unlovable" or "I can't trust anyone" from childhood or past experiences, often without realizing how these narratives shape their perception of everything that follows.
"They don't realize that they're carrying that story around. So everything they experience is viewed through that lens," Gottlieb explains. Someone who believes they can't trust anyone will struggle to find trustworthy people, not because they don't exist, but because their worldview filters their experiences.
The solution, according to Gottlieb, lies in rewriting these stories. Drawing from her background in writing, she describes herself as "almost like an editor in the therapy room" helping clients edit their faulty narratives.
This involves examining stories critically and looking for counterexamples that challenge established beliefs. Many of these narratives weren't even self-generated but imposed by unreliable narrators in our past.
Gottlieb agrees and offers a powerful example of how quickly we create stories without sufficient information. She returns to her earlier anecdote about someone who believed their partner didn't prioritize them because they were chronically late, when in reality, the partner was making significant efforts to be present.
She suggests practical approaches to reshape these narratives. When upset with a partner, for instance, using all five senses to notice positive aspects can provide perspective. Touch, particularly, can be transformative in tense moments.
"When things are getting escalated in the therapy room," Gottlieb shares, "I'll say, 'Can you take each other's hands?' It's the last thing they want to do in that moment," but the physical connection often helps calm their nervous systems and reminds them of their bond.
This sensory awareness creates space to expand our stories beyond reactive thoughts, allowing for more nuanced understanding of ourselves and our relationships. By engaging our senses and challenging our limiting narratives, we can shift from merely living in our stories to experiencing life more fully in the present.
When to Walk Away
"I don't tolerate any drama," Huberman states. "I realize it's rigid, but it's helpful. I'm far happier than I've ever been, truly, in large part because of that."
He acknowledges that this approach means sometimes having to let go of people. "I think that in our desire to make everything kind of okay in the end, we burn valuable life energy and incredibly valuable time," he explains.
Gottlieb responds by offering an important clarification about what "no drama" might actually mean. She introduces the concept of "idiot compassion versus wise compassion," a distinction that immediately captures Huberman's interest.
"Idiot compassion is when you surround yourself with people who are only going to validate your experience," Gottlieb explains. This happens when friends automatically take our side without challenging our perspective. In contrast, wise compassion—what good therapy offers—involves someone kindly but honestly pointing out our blind spots.
"The friends you want to surround yourself with are people who will tell you the truth in a kind, respectful way and that you're willing to hear," Gottlieb emphasizes. She cautions that some people mistakenly label this kind of honest feedback as "drama."
Huberman agrees and clarifies his definition: "My definition of drama is when challenging things are presented in a way that's not in effort to resolve."
Gottlieb points out that sometimes when people say "no drama," what they really mean is "don't bring up anything uncomfortable." This approach prevents growth and authentic connection.
She explains that real drama stems from making assumptions and believing one's own narrative is the only accurate version of events. "Drama happens when assumptions are made... There's no space for curiosity or connection. It's all rupture, no repair."
This exchange illuminates how setting boundaries in relationships doesn't mean avoiding difficult conversations—it means approaching them with curiosity and a genuine desire to understand rather than blame. The difference between walking away from toxic patterns versus avoiding all challenge is subtle but crucial.
Navigating Grief and Breakups
The Loss of Dailiness
What makes breakups particularly difficult isn't just losing the specific person, but losing what it feels like to be in a primary relationship. "What you're losing is the dailiness," Gottlieb says. The small, seemingly insignificant aspects of sharing a life with someone—telling them about your day, the inside jokes, the shared routines—suddenly disappear.
This loss extends to an entire infrastructure of connection. The person you would text when your flight landed, who knows your pizza order, who understands your family—that entire support system vanishes.
"You're not just losing that person," Gottlieb explains, "you're losing an entire world that you were living in." This loss extends beyond the present and into the imagined future. "You imagined that the present was going to be the future. And now, mother of all plot twists, the future was just taken away along with the present."
The pain of this transition is often compounded by the divergence in narrative, where each person has a different story about why the relationship ended, and the validation we seek from our ex-partner never comes.
Making Meaning and Moving Forward
A common misconception about grief is that we eventually "get over it." In reality, Gottlieb notes, "Often we carry those losses with us throughout our lives." The loss remains, though it may manifest differently over time. Everyone who has been in our lives leaves an impression that stays with us.
The key is to understand what a particular loss represents. Losing a marriage might trigger feelings of failure, while losing a parent might represent the loss of your own youth.
"We make meaning of the loss," Gottlieb explains. This process involves asking critical questions: What does this loss mean to you? How do you make sense of it? And most importantly, how do you—not move on—but move forward?
Honoring the individuality of your own grieving process is essential to healing.
Why Some People Reject Every Solution
Some people consistently position themselves as victims of others' wrongdoing, yet reject any advice they're given. Psychotherapist Gottlieb identifies these individuals as "help rejecting complainers," who only appear to seek guidance.
"A help rejecting complainer is a person who is always telling you this went wrong and it was somebody else's fault," Gottlieb notes. They present their problems as if looking for solutions, but their responses follow a predictable pattern: "No, that won't work because... No, I've tried that. That's not gonna help."
According to Gottlieb, this behavior serves a deeper psychological purpose. These individuals don't actually want help—they gain some benefit from maintaining their victim status and avoiding self-reflection about their role in their circumstances. The pattern can be particularly frustrating because initially, others often feel genuine sympathy for them.
"Beware of help rejecting complainers," Gottlieb warns, "because they're always going to come to you and you're gonna at first feel bad for them."
The reality, she emphasizes, is that "they don't want help, they don't want to be helped. They will reject any help that comes their way because if they get help, they can't complain anymore."
Gottlieb provides insight into what she sees beneath the surface in therapy sessions. "No matter what people come to therapy for, no matter what we call the presenting problem... deep down, something got kind of ruptured in the love or being loved area of their life."
She distinguishes between the "content" of problems—the specific issues people initially mention—and the underlying "process" issues that truly need resolution. By addressing these deeper process issues related to giving and receiving love, Gottlieb suggests that people can improve multiple areas of their lives simultaneously, not just the specific problem that brought them to therapy.
What Therapy Teaches You
First Questions in Therapy
When a person first enters therapy, the process often begins with simple, open-ended questions designed to understand their story. A therapist listens not just to the words, but to the entire presentation—tone, body language, and the disconnects between what is said and how it's expressed.
For many, this is the first time they've shared deeply personal information with a stranger, and it's crucial to create a comfortable, human-to-human interchange, not an expert-patient hierarchy.
Many people lack the skills to access their own feelings, often because they were taught as children to dismiss them. When parents or partners try to talk someone out of a difficult feeling ("don't worry about that"), it teaches them to avoid emotions rather than process them.
Gottlieb suggests that all feelings are positive signals, like a compass. Instead of shutting them down, the simple response of "tell me more" allows people to explore their emotions and often find their own answers, turning difficult feelings from problems to be eliminated into information to be understood.
Closing the Gap Between Want and Do
A central focus of therapy is understanding the gap between what people say they want and what their behaviors actually achieve. Gottlieb explains that closing this gap is the key to psychological growth.
This often requires challenging the conventional wisdom of "trusting your gut." For many people, instinctual responses are based on historical patterns that are no longer useful.
"Sometimes you literally have to say to people, whatever your first instinct is, do the opposite," Gottlieb explains. Our automatic responses are like well-paved freeways; creating change requires building new neural pathways, which initially feels uncomfortable.
This means learning to listen to the "very quiet voice" inside, rather than the loud, programmed response that leads back to a familiar, if miserable, situation. The key is to correctly calibrate our "danger thermostat" and learn to take calculated risks that lead us closer to our goals.
Responding Instead of Reacting
A core component of change is learning to respond thoughtfully rather than reacting impulsively. As Gottlieb notes, "If it's hysterical, it's historical," meaning that extreme reactions are often fueled by unprocessed experiences. Creating a pause between a stimulus and our reaction allows for intentional thinking and growth.
In a world of constant digital communication, finding this mental space is challenging but crucial. Face-to-face interaction naturally slows us down, whereas on-screen communication can lead to misunderstandings that take even more time to repair.
This leads to a crucial point about therapy: "Insight is the booby prize," Gottlieb remarks. Understanding a problem without making behavioral changes is ultimately futile. Change requires new actions.
The Power of Small Steps
People often struggle with change because they try to take steps that are too large. Meaningful change is a process with distinct stages: pre-contemplation, contemplation, preparation, action, and finally, maintenance.
Progress isn't linear, and setbacks are a normal part of the process.
The key to navigating this is self-compassion coupled with accountability. Instead of self-flagellation after a relapse, we should approach ourselves with understanding, analyze what happened, and plan a better approach for next time.
"It's hard to hold yourself accountable when you self-flagellate," Gottlieb notes. Self-compassion, paradoxically, is what enables sustainable, long-term change.
The Shift to Real Change
Ultimately, therapy moves beyond reflection when a person takes true accountability for their role in their own life. Many people enter therapy wanting to change others, but growth begins when the focus shifts inward.
Gottlieb requires clients to identify one thing they want to work on about themselves, ensuring they understand that therapy is about personal growth, not fixing their partner.
"People who cannot be helped are people who are not willing to self-reflect and look at themselves," she states firmly. This doesn't mean taking the blame for difficult circumstances, but rather recognizing our own agency. While we can't change a parent's mental health issues, for example, we can change our reactions and boundaries.
Acknowledging our power to choose our responses is the key to moving from a state of helplessness to one of empowerment—the essential shift that makes therapy truly effective.
Wrapping Up
The journey to a healthy relationship doesn't start with finding a perfect person, but with the courage to understand yourself. The work involves taking accountability for your patterns, communicating with intention, and choosing growth over the comfort of the familiar.
By rewriting your old stories and recognizing your own power to change, you can finally stop repeating the past and start building the connection you truly deserve. The work is challenging, but the vitality and freedom it brings are worth it.