{"id":162,"date":"2026-05-10T17:33:09","date_gmt":"2026-05-10T17:33:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/?p=162"},"modified":"2026-06-01T13:33:11","modified_gmt":"2026-06-01T13:33:11","slug":"siento-que-doy-mucho-en-mis-relaciones-y-aun-asi-nunca-alcanza","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/siento-que-doy-mucho-en-mis-relaciones-y-aun-asi-nunca-alcanza\/","title":{"rendered":"I feel like I give so much in my relationships\u2026 and yet it's never enough"},"content":{"rendered":"
A feeling that comes back again and again<\/strong><\/pre>\n\n\n\n
There are relationships where, over time, a feeling begins to settle in that's difficult to fully explain. It doesn't always involve major conflicts or overtly dramatic scenes. Sometimes, from the outside, the relationship might even seem to be working reasonably well. There are good times, there's affection, there's commitment, there are shared projects, or a connection that at times feels real. And yet, beneath it all, something persists.
As if what's hoped for is never quite achieved. Not necessarily because the other person isn't doing anything. In fact, often the problem is precisely that they are doing things. They listen sometimes. They reach out. They show affection. They try to change certain behaviors after an argument. They say things that, for a while, seem to calm things down considerably. There are moments when you think that maybe now, maybe things have finally fallen into place.
But that peace usually doesn't last long.
After a while, a familiar feeling returns. A distance difficult to define. A disappointment. A doubt that reappears almost for no apparent reason. A need to talk again about something that seemed already cleared up. As if there were always something left unresolved, something the other person still hasn't quite understood, given, or registered.
And then the relationship starts to revolve around that.
Around what is missing.
Around what never quite arrives.
Around what the other person still doesn't understand.
Around what one is still waiting to receive differently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When you feel you're doing your part<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes the feeling takes a rather clear form: \u201cI am doing my part.\u201d Not necessarily from a conscious sense of superiority, but rather from a very real experience of involvement. You feel that you are trying to nurture the relationship, you are talking, you are putting things into words, you are coming back after conflicts, you are trying to understand the other person even when they are angry or disappointed. And when all of that doesn't produce the desired effect, a very particular mix of frustration and exhaustion begins to appear.
Because the feeling is not simply that the other person fails, but that, whatever one does, one never quite reaches that point where one could finally stop feeling that discomfort.
Even with a change of partner or relationship, something in the scene repeats itself. The forms change, the people change, the specific stories change, but a similar feeling reappears: that of always waiting for that something more. More clarity, more priority, more reassurance, more commitment, more presence, more certainty. As if there were a kind of emotional promise that is never fully fulfilled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Revolving around something that repeats itself<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the more important it becomes to obtain what's missing, the more space it begins to occupy within the relationship. Conversations revolve around the same thing. Arguments return again and again to certain points. One tries to explain oneself better, to find another way to say it, to make the other finally see what seemed so obvious from within. Sometimes there's even a feeling of giving too many chances, of holding on too long, of insisting more than anyone would, but one continues\u2026 And yet, it's not easy to stop either. Because it's not just experienced as a capricious demand. Often, it's experienced as something profoundly legitimate. And at certain moments, one might even feel that one simply isn't asking for so much. And that's precisely where the scene becomes more complex. Because the more everything revolves around what the other still isn't giving, the harder another question becomes, one much less obvious. Not the question of what the other person is missing, but the question of what is constantly being postponed while all the energy is focused on that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When nothing ever quite feels like enough<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes this is clearly seen in people who feel they've spent years trying to get something from a relationship that never quite stabilizes. The peace is fleeting. When one demonstration of love appears, another is needed. When something becomes clear, a new doubt arises. When they finally achieve something that seemed very important, a strange sense that something is still not enough soon returns. And that can be profoundly exhausting, because it leaves the impression that nothing is ever truly enough.
Sometimes this causes a lot of suffering, because the person truly feels they love, that they are involved, and that they are giving so much of themselves. And at the same time, the question arises of what it is that one is giving. And above all, what one expects. Because in some relationships, the expectation of finally receiving from the other what is lacking begins to occupy so much space that the relationship ends up being organized almost entirely around that expectation.
Waiting for the other person to change.
Wait for them to understand.
Waiting for them to finally respond in the way one needs.
Waiting for the relationship to one day produce that feeling of completeness that has never quite lasted for long.
And while all the attention is captured there, something else is becoming increasingly marginalized. Not because it disappears, but because it is constantly absorbed by the demands placed on the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The hope that what's missing will finally arrive.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes this is evident in phrases that appear almost desperately: \u201cI\u2019m always there for everyone,\u201d \u201cNobody gives me what I give,\u201d \u201cIt seems I have to ask for the bare minimum a thousand times over.\u201d And while these phrases often reveal something true, they also highlight what relationships are built around.
Some people experience this very intensely and end up feeling constantly disappointed by someone. As if the other person inevitably falls short. As if no one ever truly loves them in the right way, understands them enough, or lives up to what the relationship needs.
And in many cases, this coexists with a very strong sense of sacrifice. The feeling of having given so much of oneself to maintain relationships that never gave the same back. Of having fought for relationships that the other person didn't truly value. Of having waited too long for people who never fully responded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What holds us there<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
The difficult thing is that, while the whole scene is structured around that strange feeling, something remains latent: the possibility that what one is asking for might somehow still be attained. As if the possibility of finding someone or something capable of responding exactly as expected, someone who could finally eliminate that strange, uncomfortable, or disappointing feeling, still remains open.
And that hope sustains so much. It sustains a situation, a place, a position that displaces a question that isn't always easy to identify. Not so much the question of \"what am I lacking,\" but rather what place that lack occupies within the relationship itself. Why, even when something arrives, does it quickly lose its substance? But... does it lose that consistency, or did it never have it in the way I imagine? What am I asking for with what I ask for? Is it what they don't give me, or what I don't ask for?.
Perhaps these questions don't have predefined answers, but if they don't leave you indifferent, perhaps they are asking for a space to exist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When repetition begins to open another question<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n
But when that logic starts to repeat itself too many times, when disappointment returns even in different relationships, when the feeling of dissatisfaction persists even after having obtained things that seemed fundamental, perhaps another question slowly begins to open up.
Not a guilt-inducing or moral question, but something more difficult and more intimate.
The question of what is constantly being pushed aside while all the attention revolves around what the other person is not giving.
And sometimes that's where something different can start to appear.
Not necessarily an immediate answer, nor a quick fix, nor a way to stop suffering overnight. Rather, it's a possibility of beginning to listen differently to that repetition, that demand that is never fully satisfied, that persistent need to finally obtain from the other something that always seems just out of reach.
Perhaps there is also something in that incessant search for an answer that can leave answers aside \u2014 answers that, rather than bringing things to a close, can sustain.
And sometimes, when that can begin to be said without needing to resolve it immediately, or to do it perfectly, or to know it beforehand, something of the repetition slowly begins to move along other paths not previously available.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
There are relationships where, despite affection, involvement, and moments that seem close to what one hopes for, a difficult feeling keeps returning: as if it were never quite enough. Sometimes, more than around love itself, the relationship begins to revolve around what is still missing.<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":159,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-162","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=162"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":331,"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162\/revisions\/331"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/159"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=162"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=162"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/marianogarciapsicologo.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=162"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}