Room for a conversation—and for both of us to be heard. My deck in Williamston, Michigan.
Some disappointments change our lives. Others merely annoy us. Some come from broken promises; others from expectations we never expressed. Understanding the difference helps us decide how to handle the hurt.
My first husband repeatedly asked me for space while he worked out whether he wanted to stay in our marriage. I wanted the marriage to work, so I agreed to several road trips he could take alone to think.
One was to the Indianapolis 500.
When he came home, he told me someone had stolen all his camping gear and equipment from the van. The van was empty. I was suitably sympathetic. I was also understandably interested in what he had concluded about our marriage during his thinking time away.
Later that week, driving the van to work, I noticed a torn piece of notebook paper on the floor.
In his current best female friend’s handwriting was a list of the stolen equipment he had used to file a theft report.
So much for the solo thinking trip.
I remember the burning disappointment. I had made room for the time he said he needed while hoping he would choose the life we had been building together. That piece of paper gave me another glimpse of the life he was actually choosing with his best female friend.
Disappointment washes over us when someone we care about behaves differently than we hoped—or than we believe we would have behaved in their place.
Sometimes it exposes an expectation we never expressed. We thought our person would just know what we needed. Mind-reading, anyone? Sometimes it tells us someone broke a promise we had every right to believe and expect.
I had the right to expect faithfulness from my husband. He was not faithful emotionally, for sure. Understanding my part in the disappointment did not make his choices my responsibility.
But I did have a responsibility to myself: to look honestly at what was happening and decide what I would do.
When we finally saw a marriage counselor, he spoke with each of us privately. Then he asked me to return for one final meeting.
He saw little commitment from my husband to build the successful, lasting marriage I wanted. If I chose to stay, he said, he would recommend long-term counseling for me to bolster my courage through the years of disappointing behavior he anticipated.
For the first time in his work as a counselor, he recommended I divorce my husband to spare me those years of grief.
His assessment helped me separate my hopes from reality. I could want a successful marriage with all my heart. I could give my husband space, sympathy, and opportunities to reconsider. But I could not supply his commitment, only my own.
That is a difficult thing to recognize about someone you love.
Most disappointments don’t carry the consequences of a failing marriage. But they still ask us to sort through what happened, what we expected, and what comes next.
A spouse forgets the dinner they promised to bring home. A coworker takes credit for a problem we solved. A roommate pays the rent late, leaving us with a fee. These involve commitments or responsibilities. We can reasonably ask the person to acknowledge what happened and help put it right.
Other disappointments begin with a hope we have quietly turned into an obligation.
Perhaps a friend knows you’ve had a difficult week. You expect a call. You would certainly call her. When she doesn’t, you feel forgotten.
The hurt is real. But did she know you wanted to talk? Did she understand how difficult the week had been? Is calling how she offers care—or how you do?
“I would have called her” tells me something about myself. It doesn’t tell me what was happening in her life or mind.
Still, an unspoken expectation isn’t automatically unreasonable. We shouldn’t have to negotiate every expression of ordinary consideration. Wanting someone we love to notice us and show interest in our lives is understandable. We can examine our expectations without deciding we were wrong to have needs.
Before deciding what another person’s behavior means, ask. I can say, “I was hoping to hear from you. I could have used some company and sympathy.”
That gives the other person information and an opportunity to respond. It also gives me information. Perhaps my friend understands our relationship differently. Perhaps she offers care differently. Perhaps this is a friend I enjoy but cannot count on for this particular kind of support.
I don’t have to pretend that discovery doesn’t hurt.
But I do need to notice what I’m telling myself about the response. “She didn’t call” can become “I don’t matter.” Someone’s unwillingness to commit can become “I wasn’t worth choosing.”
Their behavior may tell us something painful about a relationship. You can’t let it define your worth.
We also don’t have to decide a relationship’s future in the first rush of anger, hurt, or humiliation. We can give ourselves time to settle enough to understand what happened and choose a response we can sustain. Some disappointments look different after a conversation or a night’s sleep. Others remain serious.
Forgetting dinner and exhibiting a pattern of proven deception deserve different judgments. So do an isolated lapse and a responsibility someone repeatedly refuses to meet.
We need discernment here. What was promised? What did I assume? Have I explained what matters to me? What does the pattern of behavior tell me?
And when I explain the hurt, what happens?
Does the person listen, acknowledge what happened, and try to put it right? Or dismiss me, blame me, and repeat the behavior? An apology matters. So does what follows it. A friend or family member’s response to our disappointment often tells us more about what is possible between us than the original lapse does.
Then comes the question that belongs to me: Given what I now understand, how do I want to respond?
I might have a conversation, ask for a different response, or change the arrangement. I might stop depending on a friend or family member for something they have repeatedly shown they won’t provide. Sometimes I may need to leave.
Respecting a person’s worth doesn’t require rewriting reality so that their behavior no longer matters.
They remain worthy of dignity. I remain worthy of dignity, too.
I can speak truthfully without humiliating them. I can acknowledge hurt without using it as permission to be cruel. I can love someone while deciding that their choices make a particular relationship or arrangement unsustainable.
Adjusting an expectation is sometimes an act of understanding. Sometimes it is an act of self-respect. It deserves care, because expecting less must not become a way of teaching ourselves to accept endless harm.
And understanding does not immediately remove the sadness. We may still mourn the closeness, reliability, or shared future we hoped for. Making a sound decision does not mean we stop wishing things had been different.
The counselor helped me see what my hopes had made difficult to acknowledge. I was imagining a future that required a commitment my husband did not appear to be making.
We cannot make other people choose what we would choose. We can tell them what we need, listen to their responses, and most importantly, pay attention to what they do.
Their worth does not diminish because they disappoint us. Neither does ours. We owe ourselves the same love, dignity, and respect we believe they deserve—and our choices need to reflect that.
Continue the Conversation
My counselor helped me recognize that wanting a different response from someone I loved could not make it happen. I could decide what I would do with that understanding. That lesson has given me a compass to follow through disappointments both large and small.
Have you been disappointed by someone you care about? What helped you respond?
I’d love to hear as much of your story as you feel comfortable sharing in the comments.
Next week, I’ll explore what integrity requires when doing the right thing costs us something. It’s easy to name our convictions. What happens when living them means giving up something we want?
I also continue these conversations in Substack Notes, where I share the smaller observations and questions that often become future ValuesCrafting essays.
What kind of world do you want to live in?
ValuesCrafting begins with the belief that every person matters and that our ordinary choices help create the world we share.
Live what you believe. Create the world you want to live in.