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Remember the final season of Schitt's Creek, when David and Patrick have that quiet, loaded moment where they've been so consumed by the chaos around them that they almost forgot to actually be with each other? No big fight, no dramatic betrayal — just two people who love each other, standing on opposite sides of a distance that crept in while they were busy surviving? If you've ever looked across the dinner table at your partner and felt something that used to be warmth replaced by something more like... politeness — you already know exactly what that scene was about.
Difficult seasons in relationships don't always look like storms. Sometimes they look like months of logistics, grief that sat between you without words, a job loss that hollowed one of you out, a newborn who redistributed all your energy away from each other, or just the slow erosion of presence that happens when life gets very loud for very long. The distance isn't a verdict on your relationship. It's a season — and like all seasons, it can change. Here's how to lean into the thaw.
When the warmth in a relationship compresses into pure functionality — who's picking up the kids, whose turn it is to call the plumber, whether there's enough milk — you haven't fallen out of love. You've drifted into co-management. And co-management, while impressively efficient, is deeply unsexy and quietly lonely. The first step to reconnecting isn't a grand romantic gesture; it's simply noticing the pattern and naming it without blame.
Try this: for one week, count how many of your conversations are logistical versus personal. Not to generate guilt, but to generate data. Most couples are genuinely shocked by the ratio. Awareness is the door — you can't walk through it until you know it's there. Saying out loud to your partner, "I miss you, and I think we've been in survival mode," is not a complaint. It's an act of intimacy, and often it's exactly the sentence the other person has been waiting for someone to say first.
Here's something that couples therapists see constantly: the difficult season itself is rarely what's keeping two people apart. It's the unprocessed residue of how they handled the difficult season — the things said at 11 p.m. when patience had run out, the bids for connection that were missed because someone was too depleted to notice, the silences that calcified into habits. Those moments don't disappear on their own. They linger like a low-grade static in the background of every interaction.
Dr. Sue Johnson, founder of Emotionally Focused Therapy (EFT) and author of Hold Me Tight, argues that most relationship conflict is fundamentally a protest against disconnection — a signal that one or both partners feel unseen or emotionally unsafe. Before you can genuinely reconnect, a small but honest conversation about what hurt during the hard season can clear the air in ways that no amount of date nights will. Not a post-mortem, not a trial — just two people saying, "That stretch was hard on us, and here's where I felt most alone." Then listening. Fully, without formulating a defense.
Reconnection doesn't require a weekend away in a beautiful inn (though if you can swing it, absolutely do). It lives in the smallest exchanges: the six-second kiss that John Gottman's research identifies as long enough to actually register emotionally, the hand on the shoulder while passing in the hallway, the genuine "I thought about you today" that isn't attached to a request. These micro-moments of warmth are the connective tissue of a relationship — and when they've been absent for a while, reintroducing them feels awkward before it feels natural.
Expect the awkwardness. It doesn't mean something is wrong; it means you're rebuilding a muscle that hasn't been used regularly. The Gottman Institute's research found that couples in healthy relationships maintain a ratio of approximately five positive interactions for every one negative one — a benchmark that's surprisingly achievable through tiny, consistent deposits of warmth rather than grand dramatic gestures. Start small. A genuine compliment. Eye contact held a beat longer than usual. The warmth you're looking for doesn't need to be manufactured — it just needs to be expressed, consistently enough to break the ice that accumulated slowly without either of you quite noticing.
This one stings because it's true for almost everyone: the device in your pocket has, at some point, sat between you and your partner in a moment that could have been connecting and wasn't. The soft blue glow at 9 p.m., the reflexive reach for the screen during a quiet lull, the half-listening while technically being present — these are small erosions, individually harmless, cumulatively significant. Your partner's nervous system knows when your attention is somewhere else, even if they don't say so.
Designating even one hour per evening as a phone-free zone — not as a punishment but as a deliberate choice to make each other the most interesting thing in the room — creates a kind of presence that most couples haven't experienced in years. Sit together without an agenda. Let the conversation be mundane, even boring, before it becomes something real. There is a quality of attention that can only happen when the exits are temporarily closed, and it has a warmth that feels, after a while, like coming home.
Here's the neuroscience of novelty: when you try something genuinely new with your partner, your brain releases dopamine, the same neurochemical that flooded your early relationship with that intoxicating sense of aliveness. Researchers Arthur and Elaine Aron found that couples who regularly engaged in novel, exciting activities together reported significantly higher relationship satisfaction than those whose shared activities had become routine. Your brains, in other words, can be tricked into feeling new feelings about each other — and that's not a manipulation, it's a gift.
The activity doesn't need to be extreme. A cooking class for a cuisine neither of you knows. A trail you've never hiked. A ridiculous board game played on a Wednesday night. What matters is that you're both slightly outside your comfort zone, which means you're both relying on each other in small ways, which means the wall between you gets a little more porous. Laugh together about how bad you are at something. Surprise each other. Let the person in front of you be slightly unexpected — because they are, if you're paying attention.
"How was your day?" is the conversational equivalent of a form letter — it technically counts as communication while making genuine contact nearly impossible. After a difficult season, when both partners may have grown slightly unfamiliar to each other, curiosity is one of the most powerful tools you have. Not interrogation. Curiosity — the kind that assumes your partner is an interesting, evolving person who has thoughts and feelings worth knowing.
Try questions that require actual reflection: "What's something you're looking forward to, even something small?" "Is there anything you've been carrying lately that you haven't had a chance to say out loud?" "What would make next week feel a little better?" These aren't therapy prompts — they're conversations that treat your partner as someone worth knowing again, which is exactly what reconnection is. Dr. Arthur Aron's famous "36 questions to fall in love" study demonstrated that sustained, mutual vulnerability — progressively deeper questions answered honestly — can generate genuine closeness between strangers in under an hour. You're not strangers. You have a head start.
Here's the thing about reconnecting after a difficult season: you're not rebuilding from scratch. You're returning to something that already exists — a relationship that has survived something hard, which means it has proven something real. The distance between you isn't evidence that the love is gone. It's evidence that two people were doing their best under conditions that asked a lot of them, and now those conditions have shifted enough to look up, look across, and choose each other again.
That choice — quiet, deliberate, and profoundly ordinary — is the whole practice. Not grand. Not perfect. Just two people deciding that what they have is worth the gentle, consistent work of showing up. Your relationship doesn't need to be a highlight reel or a love story for the ages. It just needs to be real, tended to, and a little more us than it's been lately. Start tonight.
Johnson, S. M. (2008). Hold Me Tight: Seven Conversations for a Lifetime of Love. Little, Brown and Company.
Gottman, J. M., & Silver, N. (1999). The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work. Crown Publishers.
Aron, A., Norman, C. C., Aron, E. N., McKenna, C., & Heyman, R. E. (2000). Couples' shared participation in novel and arousing activities and experienced relationship quality. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 78(2), 273–284.
Aron, A., Melinat, E., Aron, E. N., Vallone, R. D., & Bator, R. J. (1997). The experimental generation of interpersonal closeness. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 23(4), 363–377.
