Between our tendency to make assumptions and our need to check in -
there is a constant tension.
When we enter a relationship – whether intimate, romantic, professional, or a friendship – habits begin to form from the very first moment. They are built on experience. From the smallest ones, like what I like to eat for breakfast or when I go to sleep, to the bigger ones - the way I want to be listened to.
Research shows that up to 85% of our daily actions stem from habits rather than conscious decisions (Charles Duhigg, The Power of Habit). Our brain mainly operates through patterns, not through renewed questioning of every situation. We rely on the past in our present.
It’s a survival mechanism. The fact that I don’t need to check how every single action of mine will be received saves me energy to face the unexpected .
Here lie both the power and the vulnerability of our relationships.
Because “knowing” creates a sense of “safety,” it’s easy to build a daily rhythm around the feeling that I already know what my partner feels. This “knowing” reduces the need to ask, because “I already know,” and over time it prevents us from truly meeting each other in the present.
The relationship starts revolving around past experiences, habits, stories, and assumptions about what my partner will do or feel.
On the other hand, there’s the option to check in and ask – from curiosity and openness to the other’s authentic response.
For some people, that feels simple. If I’m not sure, it’s easier than assuming. I can just ask directly how something feels for the other person. This action, especially in the age of “conscious communication,” has become common. Before I act, I ask. While I act, I ask – how does this feel for you?
The challenge with this habit is that if we hold onto it too tightly, we might lose our personal responsibility for our own actions. If we bring our needs in their raw form and simply wait for approval, the decision passes directly – sometimes harshly – to the other person.
When I ask my partner without considering how the question itself might make him feel – or when I choose to “give” him the power to decide – I might actually be taking less responsibility. It’s no longer on me; he’ll just say yes or no.
Then an unwanted side effect appears.
No one really wants to hear the word “no.” And just as much, no one wants to say it. What we truly want is for the person we love not to place us in that position too often, the one where we have to say no again and again.
I want the person living beside me to learn my needs and boundaries through shared experience, to move with awareness of them. If every uncertain moment requires asking for permission, deep frustration can arise on both sides.
For the one asking – because they receive a no.
For the one being asked – because they’re being asked a question they expected not to be asked, out of knowing, partnership, friendship.
The responsibility for the outcome suddenly sits entirely with them.
So maybe there is a place for a certain level of assumption?
This tension is the ground on which relationships are built or shaken.
It holds the potential to grow or to break.
An open relationship is one of the most active laboratories for this kind of tension.
Choosing non-monogamy is choosing to meet ourselves again and again, to meet our shifting needs and communicate them out loud – because we built a system where it’s “allowed.”
As I become more aware of my changing needs, what I want to do changes too.
Among the agreements between Shai and me are these: to speak truth and to act with care for one another.
If every need that arises in me immediately moved into Shai’s court without reflection, without asking myself: Is this something that can exist in our shared space with spaciousness and nourishment? Is Shai’s current state – physically and mentally – open enough for me to bring this raw need there?
It doesn’t mean I’ll silence the need.
It means I’ll listen to it within myself first, understand its essence, and only then see how it can meet Shai’s world without pushing him to a dead end.
There is an important place for radical honesty in my inner dialogue,
but it must come with sensitivity when it meets the outside.
This is where the tension lives.
I don’t want to simply assume how he’ll react and withhold my truth, because that could open the door to countless moments where I hide what I want, telling myself “it’s too much for him.”
Doing that weakens him in front of me and disconnects me from the reality of now.
I start telling a story instead of living my truth – a story that might create frustration towards someone who doesn’t even know what I wanted to ask from him, the person I chose to share my life with.
On the other hand, I don’t want to come to him impulsively, with radical honesty, assuming he can simply say no. Because it’s not easy to say no, and it’s not always about boundaries.
If Shai avoids saying no, it doesn’t mean he avoids setting boundaries. It might mean he trusts that I’ll choose not only for myself, but also for the wellbeing of the relationship – that I’ll act from understanding, not from permission or refusal.
So what can we do?
How do we live with this tension without collapsing under it?
First step: listen to my own voice.
What do I need right now? What desires are alive in me today?
For example: I want to meet X, I want to go to that festival together.
Second step: understand the essence of the need.
To meet my renewed self after this time, to receive perspective from other eyes, to celebrate my body, to meet new people...
Third step: listen to my partner.
Where do I feel Shai is right now? What is he expressing, how do I sense his movement? Is he light, creative, inspired? Or maybe slower, searching, confused? What do I sense he needs from me as his partner?
Forth step: connect the dots.
Can the essence of my need and Shai’s current state meet? Is there space for both of us in fullness right now?
If my answer is yes –I choose to share my need, first in its essence and then in its form. Gently, with attention to how I speak, open to his response and to finding our shared boundaries together.
If my answer is no – I still share my need, but consciously choose not to fulfill it in that way right now. I look for ways to meet its essence, ideally with Shai’s support. To understand how I can receive what I need within the volume that our mutual space currently allows, without putting him in a corner and without leaving him out of my inner world.
From this place of softness, I have the opportunity to speak truth, and he has the opportunity to respond. Perhaps: “Thank you for sharing your truth. Maybe another time. Let’s see what can support you right now.”
Or : “I feel good with you going to the festival. Enjoy your journey .”
We never really know before we do,
All we can do is bring our truth with curiosity and care for the ones we love.
The tension between assuming and acting is the living dialogue between us. It invites us to meet ourselves again, to listen before we speak, and to remember that love is not measured by how many yeses we receive, but by our ability to move together through what’s complex – with honesty and tenderness. Somewhere between knowing and not-knowing, intimacy grows, the kind that nourishes freedom.
I keep learning that the balance between assuming and acting is not a fixed formula but a living movement.
Within that movement, I find myself and Shai again, learning what love that listens even in silence truly means, and what it means for freedom to coexist with care.
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