Compatibility & Incompatibility

I get asked about these all the time.

Every day somebody asks me:

“How do I know if we’re compatible?”

“How do I know if we’re incompatible?”

You’re probably both.

Actually, you’ve probably been both for so long you’re starting to irritate each other.

You fit beautifully in some places.

You absolutely do not fit in others.

You’ve known this.

That’s why you keep having the same argument about how much time you spend together.

That’s why she keeps getting irritated when you ask what’s wrong.

That’s why you hate how he handles money.

That’s why one of you wants to talk right now and the other one keeps saying,

“Can I please have twenty minutes?”

You’re not standing outside your relationship waiting to discover whether you’re compatible.

You’re already inside it.

So look around inside it.

You fit here.

You don’t fit there.

Over there, you figured it out six months ago.

Over here, you’re still stepping on each other’s feet every Thursday.

And somehow, the moment you discover a new place where you don’t fit, everybody starts acting like the entire relationship has been called into question.

“Maybe we’re incompatible.”

With what?

Each other?

Completely?

What does that even mean?

You’ve been laughing together for four years.

You can spend an entire Sunday doing absolutely nothing and somehow have a wonderful time.

She knows exactly when you’re overwhelmed.

You know exactly when she needs to be left alone.

You agree about money.

You agree about children.

Your families get along.

And somehow because you discovered one place where the two of you work completely differently,

now none of that counts?

That’s not how people work.

And it’s definitely not how long relationships work.

If you stay with another human being long enough, you are going to keep discovering places where the two of you don’t fit.

Not might.

Will.

Sometimes it’ll be stupid.

One of you needs the house freezing at night.

The other apparently needs to sleep inside an oven.

Fine.

Sometimes it’ll take work.

One person needs affection constantly.

The other doesn’t naturally think to give it.

One person wants to resolve conflict immediately.

The other genuinely needs time.

And sometimes, your stomach is going to drop.

You find out she’s been texting the same guy almost every night.

You didn’t know that.

Maybe he’s just funny.

Maybe nothing inappropriate has ever happened.

We don’t know yet.

That’s the point.

Because yesterday, you didn’t even know this relationship existed.

Now you do.

And I can almost watch your brain leave the room.

• “How long has this been happening?”

• “Why didn’t I know?”

• “Does she think this is normal?”

• “Would I ever do this to her?”

• “Why does this bother me this much?”

And then here it comes.

“Maybe we’re just not compatible.”

Stop.

You found something.

That’s all we know.

Something about this doesn’t fit you.

Maybe it’s him.

Maybe it’s the frequency.

Maybe it’s the intimacy.

Maybe it’s that you would’ve mentioned a friendship like this and she didn’t think she needed to.

Maybe it’s something neither of you has words for yet.

But right now,

you don’t know.

And this is where people accidentally turn discovery into disaster.

Because:

“We don’t fit here.”

becomes:

“We don’t fit.”

in about thirty seconds.

And those are completely different statements.

Ask people who’ve been together twenty years.

They know exactly where they don’t fit.

She hates how he handles his family.

He needs twice as much alone time as she does.

They have completely different relationships with money.

One initiates sex more.

One is cleaner.

One is more social.

One worries.

One doesn’t worry enough.

They know.

They’ve been knowing.

Long relationships aren’t relationships where two people finally achieve perfect fit.

They’re relationships where two people become intimately familiar with the terrain.

Here we’re effortless.

Here we need a system.

Here I need you to meet me halfway.

Here I can move.

Here you can.

Here neither of us can.

That’s a relationship.

And that’s why I think people keep ending up on the wrong side of this.

They keep asking whether the relationship is stable.

I care much more about whether it’s navigable.

Because stability is wonderful, until something moves.

And something always moves.

You change.

She changes.

Money changes.

Sex changes.

Family changes.

Careers change.

Bodies change.

Things you genuinely agreed about at twenty-five may not survive thirty-five.

Things neither of you knew about yourselves can suddenly become central to your lives.

Eventually every relationship walks into a room it has never been inside before.

And now I want to know:

Can you two move?

Can you understand each other?

Can you adjust?

Can you make room without disappearing?

Can you discover something painful without immediately putting the entire relationship on trial?

That’s navigation.

And no, navigation does not mean every relationship should survive.

Some differences leave nowhere to go.

One person desperately wants children.

The other genuinely doesn’t.

Okay.

Now we’re somewhere else.

There’s no compromise baby.

Nobody becomes half a parent.

You can communicate perfectly.

You can understand each other’s reasons.

You can love each other enormously.

And reality may still refuse to give you a shared future where both people get to remain truthful.

That’s the edge.

The problem isn’t that you’ve found somewhere you don’t fit.

The problem is when making the relationship fit requires one of you to stop fitting inside your own life.

That’s different.

But please stop treating every painful discovery like you’ve already arrived there.

Go back to the guy example.

She’s texting him every night.

Your stomach still hurts.

I’m not taking that away from you.

I’m not calling you insecure.

I’m not telling you it shouldn’t matter.

I’m telling you:

we don’t know what it means yet.

Stay in the room.

“I didn’t know this mattered to me until right now.”

Maybe she says:

“I genuinely didn’t know this would bother you.”

You might reply:

“Okay. Help me understand what this friendship is.. And let me explain why finding out about it this way hit me so hard.”

There.

Now you’re doing something useful.

Maybe you discover absolutely nothing romantic is happening.

Maybe you realize the frequency still crosses a boundary you didn’t know you had.

Maybe she hears you and says,

“Okay. I understand that. I can change this.”

Maybe you understand the friendship and realize,

“Actually, I don’t need you to.”

Maybe you build a boundary together that neither of you knew your relationship needed.

Or maybe, you keep talking.

And eventually you realize that the kind of outside intimacy she considers completely normal is something you genuinely cannot live with.

And changing it would make her feel controlled.

While accepting it would make you feel like you’re abandoning yourself.

Okay.

Now we know something.

Not because your stomach dropped.

Because you stayed long enough to understand what the stomach drop was pointing at.

Now you understand her.

She understands you.

You know what changing would cost her.

You know what accepting would cost you.

And now you can actually see whether there’s somewhere for both of you to go.

Maybe there is.

Maybe there isn’t.

That’s what navigation was for.

So please,

stop asking me whether you’re compatible like somewhere underneath your relationship there’s a little green light that’s going to tell us yes or no.

You’re both.

You’ve probably always been both.

You fit.

You don’t fit.

You change.

You adjust.

You discover.

You negotiate.

Sometimes you find a route.

Sometimes you find the edge.

The work is learning the difference.

Because “we don’t fit here” does not mean “we don’t belong together.”

And “we love each other” does not mean there’s always somewhere left to go.

Both mistakes will hurt you.

You don’t need a verdict every time your relationship becomes more complicated.

You need to know where you are.

Then you can figure out whether there’s somewhere to go.