Compromise in marriage: when agreement means giving up part of yourself

I remember how, when I was in my twenties, older ladies always seemed to offer young women the same advice: “My dear, the secret to a happy marriage is compromise.”

They would usually say it with a smile, their hands resting in their laps, well into their eighties or early nineties, adding something like: “We always knew how to reach an agreement… and that’s how we stayed together for 60 years.”

And every time, I would think: how could I not believe them? If someone has six decades of experience, surely they know the secret. But as I gathered relationship experience of my own, worked with people and began my own marriage, I started to reflect on one uncomfortably honest possibility: perhaps the secret wasn’t compromise. Perhaps the secret was that they had put up with each other. Successfully.

Suddenly, “We were happy because we compromised” no longer sounded romantic. It sounded like: “We weren’t happy, but we were polite.” And politeness is not a formula for love.

When compromise in marriage means silencing your needs

When I talk about compromise here, I mean giving in while keeping quiet about something that matters to you. Agreement and mutual adjustment have a place in a relationship. The question is whether both of us can honestly say what we want and what we don’t want within that agreement.

Sometimes one person bends a little, or a lot, while the other barely bends at all. Then both pretend everything is fine. Yet neither is delighted. Neither gets what they want. Or only one person does, under the cover of “Well, we agreed.” In reality, someone hasn’t been fully seen.

The person who is more assertive, louder, more emotionally resilient or simply more stubborn may get a little more. The person who is more empathetic, quieter, more accommodating, the one who needs a night or two to let their thoughts settle, may give up a little more because the decision “has to be made now”. A quiet imbalance develops, an invisible emotional deficit that doesn’t show up straight away but starts gathering like dust under the carpet…

In the first year of a relationship, it is something to argue about. By the second, if we make it that far, it looks like a small thing. We hope it will change and sort itself out. In the fifth year, we feel “slightly” dissatisfied, while still trying to convince ourselves otherwise. By the tenth, we are aware of a lingering frustration that neither of us knows how, or even tries, to put into words.

Then, at 85, looking back, it is easy to say: “It was all fine. Compromise is always the happy medium.” But that sentence alone tells us nothing about whether we felt seen or spent years keeping our needs to ourselves.

When love becomes logistics

Closeness needs the whole person: their desires, passions, boundaries, needs, voice, authenticity, all of who they are. Yet compromise often says: “Take half and keep quiet.” Or, more precisely, give up part of yourself and keep quiet.

When two people spend decades choosing half of themselves to fit around the other, something significant happens: the relationship becomes functional rather than alive. Love becomes logistics. Passion, little gestures, excitement and that lovely sense of anticipation fade.

Intimacy becomes a schedule, if there is any left at all. Partners become colleagues running a household, politely, tidily and without a scene. Avoiding arguments becomes their greatest shared achievement. That really isn’t a relationship. It’s living together. It’s being flatmates.

When there are no arguments or disagreements because someone no longer dares to tell the truth, that isn’t peace. It’s unspoken chaos.

But what if a relationship is meant to be lived and enjoyed, rather than simply survived?

When I asked myself that question, everything changed. My whole world shifted. I decided to focus more on us, on the two people who love each other, and to practise the little things that bring back connection, intimacy and passion every day.

Ask yourself: Do I want a marriage where we put up with each other? Do I want a life where “OK” is enough? Do I want a relationship where we choose half of ourselves every day? Of course not. And almost all the couples I work with, once they peel back the layers and say honestly how they feel, admit the same thing: “We don’t want compromise. We want an authentic relationship.”

What can we do instead of constantly giving in?

Contrary to what people might think, the alternative isn’t an argument. It isn’t a battle. It isn’t one partner dominating the other. The alternative is our, or rather your, formula for love. A new idea, a new solution, a new way of being that only emerges when partners truly hear each other, without fear of seeming demanding or unreasonable. The aim is a solution that takes both people’s needs seriously. That doesn’t mean getting everything we want every time. It means no one has to stay silent to keep the peace. Not “your version”. Not “my version”. Something that emerges when two people really listen to each other.

Weekends: company and quiet

One partner wants to socialise every Saturday. The other wants peace and time to recharge.

The compromise: “We’ll stay home for half the day and go out for the other half.” If that arrangement suits neither person, the day still feels chopped in two.

Your formula for love might be a sociable Saturday and a quiet Sunday. Or one weekend of fun, followed by a peaceful one. There is nothing magical about the timetable. The difference is whether it works for both of you, or whether someone agreed just to end the discussion.

When you freely agree on something, give that shared time your attention. And if the arrangement turns out not to work for you, say so and return to the conversation. There is no point asking for honesty and then expecting your partner to fake enthusiasm.

Money: saving and enjoying life

One partner wants to save. The other wants to live life to the full.

The compromise: “We’ll spend a little and save a little.” Yet underneath it, there may still be an anxious saver and a pleasure-seeker who feels deprived.

Your formula for love: ask each other what you need, and how much, to feel secure. What do you need, and how much, to feel alive? Then agree in advance on a fixed amount for saving and a fixed amount for enjoyment. An arrangement like this can make it easier to talk about what matters to both of you. Next, try to understand why you might feel a need to save excessively. Is it your upbringing, a fear of not having enough? Ask similar questions about spending: how does it affect your life, and how much does it weigh on your day-to-day experience? When we understand where our behaviour comes from, it becomes easier to make sense of it ourselves and explain it to our partner.

Intimacy must not become an obligation

And here we come to the heart of the matter: compromise in intimacy. Agreeing to sex just to avoid an argument is not a solution to a difference in desire.

Sex isn’t a board meeting held once a quarter or once a year. It is also an emotional language. But different levels of desire do not mean that anyone owes their partner sex, or that the other person is wrong for wanting more closeness. We can talk about our desires. We must respect each other’s “no”.

Instead of agreeing how often someone “has to”, talk about your needs. What do you miss? What helps you feel close? How do you like your partner to approach you? What creates pressure?

Your formula for love means talking about your needs, creating an atmosphere in which you pay attention to each other, and building intimacy that puts no one under pressure. Time set aside for the two of you can make room for closeness. It doesn’t have to be a promise of sex.

Perhaps our 85-year-old selves will one day sit on a bench, hands in our laps, look back and say something quite different from our grandmothers: “We had a lovely life together, not because we put up with each other, but because we chose each other. Every day.”