Many of my patients have no trouble telling a partner exactly what they want in bed. But ask them how they feel about the relationship, and suddenly the words don’t come so easily.
They’ve learned all about attachment styles on Instagram, can explain boundaries and discuss consent, compatibility, love-bombing and every red flag with friends. Young adults have a seemingly endless vocabulary for relationship arrangements and sexual preference. Yet expressing insecurity, having an uncomfortable conversation about where things are going or admitting they’re falling in love with a partner can feel far more intimidating than discussing sex.
Dating apps have turned romantic possibilities into an endless shopping experience. And when someone disappoints us, our phones offer a comforting fantasy: There’s probably someone better waiting. Why confront and work through our feelings when another prospect is just one swipe away? We’re comparing real people, with all their imperfections, to imaginary people who haven’t had a chance to let us down yet. What looks like having high standards may sometimes be an unwillingness to tolerate the frustrations of getting close.
Talking openly with a partner isn’t necessarily the same as being vulnerable. True vulnerability means risking rejection. You can tell someone exactly what you want in bed without revealing how much you care about them. But admitting you’re falling in love, that you’re jealous or that you’re afraid of losing someone puts you in a much more uncomfortable position. Now you’ve given that person the power to hurt you. And you have no guarantee they’ll feel the same way.
The numbers suggest that plenty of young adults want relationships but are wary of the emotional risks that come with them. A 2026 national survey of more than 5,200 unmarried Americans ages 22 to 35 found that only 28% said they could stay positive after a dating or relationship setback, while 55% said breakups made them more reluctant to begin new romantic relationships. Yet 86% expected to marry someday or were open to the possibility.
In my psychotherapy practice, I’m less interested in whether someone’s sexual choices are conventional than in whether they can be honest about what they want emotionally. Kink isn’t inherently pathological. Neither is “ethical nonmonogamy,” a term that sounds like it was invented in a Silver Lake coffee shop. And monogamy is no guarantee of a healthy relationship. You can be sexually liberated and still be terrified of emotional intimacy, struggling to tell a partner you want something more serious, or that you feel jealous or fear being replaced.
Therapy actually can contribute to this problem. We’ve given people a glossary of terms for describing issues with relationships. Some of these concepts are useful, but they’ve also become convenient ways to avoid conflict. Someone who once might have acknowledged “I’m afraid of getting hurt” now announces, “I’m protecting my peace.” A reluctance to compromise becomes a boundary. A partner who shows too much interest is accused of love-bombing. Someone who pulls away blames an avoidant attachment style. We feel comfortable diagnosing their behavior, because that’s easier than admitting we’re scared, insecure or falling in love.
I’ve worked with patients who could spend entire sessions cataloging a partner’s shortcomings. He’s emotionally unavailable. She doesn’t respect my boundaries. He’s an avoidant. But they struggled to recognize their own role in failed relationships. When I asked what they actually said during their disagreements, some acknowledged they withdrew rather than risk an argument. Others expected partners to know what was wrong without being told.
Therapists can reinforce this behavior too. In our effort to validate patients, we sometimes become reluctant to challenge them. Agreeing with every complaint may make a patient feel understood without helping that person change. But validation isn’t the same as treatment. If every uncomfortable feeling becomes a warning sign and every desire to leave an act of self-respect, therapy can fortify the very avoidance it should be helping patients overcome.
A boundary isn’t healthy simply because we call it a boundary. Emotional safety doesn’t mean never being disappointed. Sometimes the question shouldn’t be “What do you need to protect yourself from?” It should be “What are you afraid will happen if you let someone get close?”
Relationships aren’t always comfortable. People misunderstand each other, disappoint one another and often have to apologize or sit through conversations they’d rather avoid. Yet modern dating culture encourages us to treat these difficulties as evidence of incompatibility. The search for the perfect partner can become a convenient way to avoid the challenges of loving an imperfect one.
None of this means people should stay in harmful relationships. Abuse, manipulation and persistent disrespect aren’t ordinary relationship growing pains. But there’s a difference between protecting yourself from mistreatment and trying to protect yourself from ever feeling hurt. The first is necessary. The second can make intimacy impossible.
Maybe we need to spend less time analyzing our partners and more time being honest with them. Instead of telling someone they have an avoidant attachment style, try saying, “I feel like you’re pulling away, and it scares me.” Instead of announcing another boundary, explain what you need and why it matters. And if you’re falling in love, say so, even if you’re not sure what you’ll hear back.
These conversations won’t always go well. Sometimes you’ll get hurt or discover that the other person doesn’t feel the same way. But at least you’ll know where you stand. And you will have given the relationship a chance that another swipe, another label or another therapy session can’t provide.
Jonathan Alpert is a psychotherapist practicing in New York City and Washington and the author of “Therapy Nation.”
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