Debunking Viral Claim About the Talmud and Minors
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Three reasons couples turn love into scorekeeping, and what to do about it.
There may be a moment when marriage stops feeling like a partnership and starts feeling like a calculation. Who cares more? Who is trying harder? Who is carrying the heavier load? When love turns into scorekeeping, something essential is already slipping.
What drives this internal ledger, and how do you put it down before it hardens into distance?
Some people treat "expectations" like a dirty word, as if having them makes you demanding or "high maintenance." But beneath the expectation is a lack or vulnerability, and that you need support. The trick is how to ask for it.
When you expect your spouse to notice you’re overwhelmed, you aren’t just asking for help with the dishes; you’re asking: Do I still matter to you? Am I seen? You want help putting the kids to bed because you want to feel that you are partners in this.
The trouble is speaking in blame when what you really feel is vulnerable. You can’t expect your spouse to read your mind. When expectations aren't named, they turn into internal stories: “I’m alone in this. I do everything.”
“You never help” is easier than “I miss feeling supported.”
“You don’t get it” is easier than “I feel alone in this.”
Expectations are not the problem; it’s the inability to ask. When you don’t name the longing, it turns into a private story that slowly becomes a truth inside your head. When you name the longing, the conversation changes shape. That’s when you really become partners instead of adversaries.
Carrying the frustration of being the one “carrying more” often lead to subtle withdrawing from the relationship. You go quiet, stop initiating and hold your feelings in. You tell yourself, why should I bother if they don’t care anyway?
Withdrawing is like an emotional fasting. You are waiting for the other person to see you and rescue you, but it rarely works.
Taking responsibility doesn’t mean you have to do everything or swallow your needs; it’s remembering that you have choice. You have a say in how the marriage feels, even when you’re disappointed. You can choose how to respond, to disengage or stay present.
It can look like saying, “I want us back,” even when a part of you wants your spouse to say it first. It can look like staying present instead of disappearing into scrolling or sleep or silence.
Sometimes responsibility sounds like, “Can we sit together for a minute? I miss you.”
There’s dignity in that. It’s not weakness, it’s courage.
I once sat with a couple. Sarah was twisting her wedding ring, her voice tight. “I’m exhausted from always being the one to bring things up,” she said. “It feels like I’m carrying the emotional weight of this marriage.”
Her husband, David, looked at his shoes. “I didn’t realize how much you were holding,” he said. “I thought if you didn’t bring it up, it must not be that important.”
Over time, Sarah had begun keeping score. This happened when she started feeling alone and uncared for. Instead of naming it and facing it, she started counting. David sensed a frustration, so he pulled back further instead of bringing it up. Both felt lonely. Both were waiting for the other to move first.
Scorekeeping can disguise itself as "fairness" but it’s actually a lack of flowing communication and connection, and a form of self-protection. Love starts feeling like it’s earned, instead of unconditional.
The Mishna holds both halves of the tension in one breath: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I?” (Ethics of the Fathers, 1:14)
Marriage requires both sides of that sentence. You must advocate for your needs, being for yourself. But if your primary goal becomes self-protection alone, the “us” disappears.
You can advocate for yourself and invite conversation. Turn towards each other to foster understanding and shared experience. It’s no longer about perfect fairness. It’s about two people who keep turning back toward each other after they drift.
Strained marriages start cracking when both partners stand on opposite shores, each waiting for the other to build the bridge. And as time passes, the silence grows roots and it gets heavier and heavier.
The shift happens when you switch from; “Why am I the only one trying?” to “How can I stay open, connected and ask for support?”
Stop being an accountant and start being a partner. Greater communication will lead to understanding and connection, nurturing intimacy to grow. The repair starts w one person takes a breath, puts down the ledger, and reaches out a hand.
Rabbi Arush mentions in his books that sometimes we focus on what the other person is doing or not doing, instead of just focusing on our own task.
Problem is people competing with each other instead of working together as a team. If one is doing more than the other, they need to talk calmly about how to resolve it. And if they are both putting in their efforts, they should acknowledge and appreciate each other.