Any judgment we have toward someone close to us still leaves us with a responsibility to act. We may feel that we are on moral high ground. We have justified our criticism. We may even have good reason for it. We tell ourselves, “You’re not a trustworthy friend.” “You don’t care about me.” “You’re weak.” “You don’t know how to communicate.” “You never do anything.” “You don’t know how to give back.” “You’re selfish.”
Some of these judgments may contain an important truth. But as long as we remain focused on wanting the other person to be different, rather than accepting what we are actually seeing, we remain in a waiting position. We are waiting for them to change so that our expectations can finally be met. And while we wait, we can become energetically stuck. We continue to blame, criticize and lick our wounds with a certain righteousness. We may feel hurt, disappointed or outraged, but underneath it all there is often a refusal to fully accept what the relationship is showing us. This is the difficult part. Sometimes we already know the truth. We know that this person may not be able to give us what we want. We know that they may be limited in ways that matter to us. But speaking that truth clearly has consequences. Once I say, “This person is not capable of giving me what I need,” I am no longer simply waiting for him or her to change. I have to face the question of what I am going to do with that reality. This is why accusations can sometimes be easier than observations. An accusation leaves something to fight with. If I call someone weak, I can argue with their weakness, defend myself against it, demand that they change, and remain in the position of the one who has been wronged. But if I simply observe, “This person is not able to meet me in this way,” I am confronted with a limitation. And limitations ask something of us. They ask us to decide what we can accept, what we cannot accept, what we need to change, and sometimes what we need to let go of. Speaking the truth is therefore not only exposing for the other person. It exposes us as well. Beneath the accusation there may be our own vulnerability, our need for connection, our disappointment, and our fear of what it means if this person cannot give us what we had hoped for. An observation does not tell us what someone should be. It tells us what we are seeing. And once we are willing to see clearly, responsibility returns to where it belongs: with us, and with what we choose to do with the reality in front of us.
By Ariel Karmeli · October 2026
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