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Despite decades of friendship, Sabine feels nervous before meeting Marianne. She tries to be as careful as possible—anything to avoid triggering conflict. Relationship expert Stefan Woinoff explains the dynamics behind exhausting relationships.
My name is Sabine, and I’m 62 years old when I first notice that I feel nervous before meeting Marianne. Not excited, not happy—nervous. We’ve known each other for almost thirty years. We’ve raised children, survived separations, shared difficult times. For a long time, she was a constant in my life, someone I felt safe with.
In recent years, something has shifted. Marianne becomes irritated more quickly. Sometimes it’s just a wrong tone, sometimes a casual remark. Often, I don’t even know exactly what hurt her. I only notice that her voice grows colder, that she withdraws or reacts sarcastically. And that I immediately start searching within myself for what I did wrong.
Before we meet, I mentally rehearse possible conversations. I think about which topics I’d better avoid. I rewrite messages, delete sentences, add emojis to make sure nothing is misunderstood. If she’s upset, I explain myself. If she goes silent, I apologize. Often, I’m no longer sure what for.
After spending time together, I’m often exhausted. I wonder what I did wrong. At the same time, I’m afraid of losing the friendship. After so many years, you don’t just walk away. So I keep adapting—and feel increasingly uncomfortable doing so.
Only gradually did I begin to realize that my tension is an important signal. Not every relationship that has lasted a long time is automatically good for your well-being. And not every act of consideration is an expression of love—sometimes it’s an expression of fear.
When Closeness Becomes Exhausting – In Friendships and Romantic Relationships, at Any Age
There are relationships in which closeness doesn’t feel warm and supportive, but tense, cautious, and draining. Relationships in which you are constantly checking yourself, weighing your words, holding back—afraid of saying the wrong thing, making the wrong gesture, shifting the mood. Relationships in which you don’t speak freely, but carefully formulate. Don’t act spontaneously, but calculate. As if you were constantly walking on eggshells.
Such dynamics can aptly be described as “walking on eggshells” relationships. They are not a fringe phenomenon of any particular generation, nor an issue limited to romantic partnerships. They occur in friendships, romantic relationships, and family relationships—between siblings, between adult children and parents—and across all stages of life, from youth to old age.
The common belief that this phenomenon mainly affects young people falls short. While younger generations may name and reflect on these dynamics more openly, the underlying structure is timeless: a relationship in which emotional responsibility is persistently one-sided.
Conditional Closeness
What characterizes these relationships is not open conflict, but its absence. Instead of arguments, there is caution. Instead of confrontation, adaptation. Instead of clarity, a vague sense of tension.
People in such relationships often describe similar inner processes:
In the short term, this behavior may prevent conflict. In the long term, however, it creates a chronic state of inner alertness. Psychologically, this is referred to as a form of social vigilance: attention is no longer directed inward, but constantly toward the other person. Closeness thus paradoxically becomes a burden.
Why Do People Stay in Such Relationships?
“Walking on eggshells” relationships rarely emerge suddenly. They develop gradually—often from emotional attachment, loyalty, or shared history. Especially in long-term friendships or partnerships, it can be difficult to recognize problematic patterns because they are wrapped in familiarity.
In addition, people who adapt strongly are often empathetic, harmony-oriented, and conflict-averse. They take responsibility—even where it doesn’t belong. Often, they carry an unconscious hope that, with enough consideration, they can restore a sense of safety.
The other person is not necessarily “toxic” or malicious. Often, they themselves struggle with inner insecurity, low tolerance for emotional tension, or fear of closeness and loss. But what matters is not the cause—it’s the effect: when consideration becomes one-sided, the balance shifts.
Not Just a Friendship Issue
A common misconception is that this dynamic is mainly a friendship problem among young people. In reality, it appears just as frequently in romantic relationships—sometimes even more intensely, because emotional dependencies tend to be stronger.
In romantic relationships, this might look like:
This pattern can also take hold in long-term friendships in midlife or later life—often more subtly, but no less draining. Especially in relationships that have lasted decades, separation or setting boundaries can feel particularly threatening.
When Consideration Turns into Self-Abandonment
You recognize these relationships less by the other person’s behavior than by your own internal state. If you feel persistently uneasy, tense, or emotionally drained, it’s worth paying attention.
Warning signs include:
Conflict is part of healthy relationships. What matters is whether it can be resolved—or whether tension becomes a permanent state. When closeness costs more than it gives, the relationship is out of balance.
Stay, Change—or Let Go?
Not every “walking on eggshells” relationship has to end. Some can change if both sides are willing to take responsibility, respect boundaries, and tolerate tension. But change is never a one-sided process.
If conversations lead nowhere, if adaptation turns into self-abandonment, if hurt keeps repeating without real change, then letting go can also be a legitimate option—regardless of age or the length of the relationship.
These relationships are not a sign of personal weakness. They are a sign of how deeply people long for connection—sometimes at the cost of their own inner freedom. But closeness should not come at the constant expense of your well-being. It may challenge you—but it shouldn’t consistently exhaust you.
Sabine and Marianne
In Sabine and Marianne’s case, things initially turned out well, as Sabine recounts:
At our next meeting, I bring it up. Hesitantly, but honestly. I don’t tell her what she’s doing wrong—I tell her how I feel. That I’m often afraid of saying the wrong thing. That I constantly monitor myself. That it makes me tired and takes away the lightness our friendship once had.
It feels risky. As if I might lose everything.
Marianne reacts differently than I expected. She doesn’t become defensive. She grows quiet. Then she says she recognizes herself in much of what I’ve said. That she often becomes irritated more quickly than she’d like. That she feels easily hurt inside and sometimes lets that show outwardly without filtering it.
This conversation doesn’t solve everything. But it brings back something that had been missing for a long time: movement. Marianne begins to notice her reactions more consciously. She pauses more often, apologizes when she realizes she has overreacted. Not always—but increasingly. And I stop trying to immediately smooth over every shift in mood.
Photo: JackF / stock.adobe.com
Editor, 23/04/2026
