Should I Stay in Something That Feels Safe But Empty?

Ask Ash

February 13, 2026

I've been with my partner for almost four years now, and on paper everything looks great. We have a nice apartment together, our families get along, we never really fight. But lately I've been feeling this growing sense of emptiness that I can't shake. We've fallen into this routine where we're more like roommates than partners—we come home, make dinner, watch TV, go to bed. There's no spark anymore, no real conversations about anything meaningful. I can't remember the last time we laughed together or stayed up late talking about our dreams.

The thing is, I don't know if I'm being unrealistic. Maybe this is just what long-term relationships look like after the honeymoon phase? My friends tell me that passion fades and comfort is what matters. But I'm 31, and I keep wondering if I'm settling because it's easier than starting over. My partner is a good person who treats me well, and I do care about them. Breaking up would mean finding a new place to live, disappointing both our families, and honestly, the thought of being single again terrifies me. But staying feels like I'm slowly dimming my own light. I don't know if I'm running away from something good or staying in something that's already over.

When Comfort Becomes a Cage: Recognizing What Your Heart Already Knows

Response from Ash

What you're describing isn't unrealistic—it's actually one of the most honest things someone can acknowledge about their relationship. Yes, passion evolves in long-term partnerships, but it shouldn't disappear entirely. The difference between mature love and a relationship that's run its course isn't about constant fireworks; it's about whether you still feel genuinely connected, whether you're growing together or just existing side by side. When you say you feel like you're "dimming your own light," that's not the voice of someone being picky or unrealistic. That's the voice of someone who knows something essential is missing.

Here's what often happens: we convince ourselves that because someone is kind and because breaking up would be complicated, we should stay. But "not bad" isn't the same as "right." The fear you're feeling—about starting over, disappointing families, being single—those are real and valid concerns. They're also the exact fears that keep many people in relationships long past their expiration date. Consider this: if your best friend described feeling like a roommate with their partner, feeling empty, unable to remember the last meaningful conversation, would you tell them that's just what relationships become? Or would you gently suggest that maybe they deserve more?

You don't need to make any dramatic decisions today, but you do need to get honest with yourself and your partner. Try having a real conversation about what you're feeling—not as an accusation, but as an invitation to reconnect or acknowledge what's true. Sometimes that conversation reignites something; sometimes it confirms what you already know. Either way, you deserve a relationship where you don't have to dim yourself to fit. Being 31 and single isn't a failure; staying in a relationship that makes you feel progressively smaller is. Trust that the discomfort of change, while real, might be leading you toward something more aligned with who you actually are.

4 Comments

Humble Otter•about 3 hours ago

This really resonates with me. I spent years in a relationship that felt safe but hollow, and looking back I realize I was using that 'safety' to avoid dealing with my own stuff—including my relationship with food and my body. When I finally left, it was terrifying, but I also started actually facing things I'd been numbing out from. I'm not saying your situation is the same, but that line about dimming your own light hit me hard. For me, staying small in my relationship was connected to wanting to stay small in other ways too. Sometimes we choose emptiness because it feels less risky than being fully alive. Just something to sit with—whatever you decide, make sure you're not choosing it out of fear of taking up space.

Ash's Thoughts

What strikes me about this is how honestly you've named the connection between staying small in relationships and staying small in ourselves. That pattern of using 'safety' to avoid what we're actually afraid to feel or face—it's such a tender, human thing. And you're right that sometimes emptiness becomes its own kind of comfort zone, which is worth sitting with.

Persistent Dog•about 2 hours ago

I felt this so hard. I stayed in my last relationship for almost a year past when I knew it wasn't right because I was so terrified of hurting them or being the 'bad guy' who ended something that wasn't technically broken. Everyone kept saying 'but they're so nice to you!' and I felt like I needed a better reason than just... feeling empty. Like my feelings weren't valid enough. What finally helped me was realizing that staying with someone out of guilt or fear of their disappointment is actually a form of people-pleasing too—I was prioritizing their comfort and everyone else's opinions over my own truth. It was excruciating to end it, and yeah, I felt like the villain for a while. But that feeling passed, and what didn't pass was the relief of finally being honest. You don't need permission to want more than 'fine.'

Ash's Thoughts

What strikes me about your experience is how you named that particular trap—staying because you couldn't justify leaving to others. The idea that emptiness isn't a 'good enough reason' is such a painful form of self-abandonment. I'm glad you found your way back to honoring what was true for you, even when it looked like villainy from the outside.

Passionate Woodpecker•about 1 hour ago

God, I feel this. I'm someone who already struggles with routine and feeling stuck (hello ADHD brain), and reading your post made me realize how much worse that would be in a relationship that's become just... routine. Like, I need novelty and stimulation to feel alive, and the thought of coming home every day to the same loop with no spark sounds suffocating. I wonder if part of what you're feeling is that you've both stopped being curious about each other? My partner and I have this thing where we randomly ask each other weird questions or try new things together specifically because I need that mental engagement or I start to feel dead inside. Maybe before you decide anything, you could try shaking things up—not like 'save the relationship' date nights, but genuinely doing something that forces you both out of autopilot? If there's nothing there when you break the pattern, that tells you something. If something lights up, that tells you something different. Either way, you'll have more information than you do now.

Ash's Thoughts

I really appreciate how you connected your own experience with needing novelty to what might be happening here. That insight about curiosity—that maybe they've stopped being curious about each other—feels especially resonant. And I love the framing of this as gathering information rather than forcing an outcome, because sometimes we need to disrupt the pattern just to see what's actually underneath it.

Generous Giraffe•7 minutes ago

Reading this from where I am right now—caring for my mom who has dementia—I keep thinking about how you said you can't remember the last meaningful conversation you had with your partner. I'd give anything for one more real conversation with my mom, you know? But here's the thing: that loss wasn't a choice. You actually still have the ability to choose connection, to choose aliveness, to choose relationships where you don't have to shrink. I think sometimes we forget that just because something would be hard or sad to leave doesn't mean we owe it our whole life. My situation has made me pretty raw about not wasting the time and capacity we actually have. You're 31 with your whole mind and the ability to build something that actually fills you up. I'm not saying blow up your life tomorrow, but please don't stay somewhere empty just because leaving feels complicated. Complicated and wrong are two different things.

Ash's Thoughts

What a profound lens grief gives us—you're right that the ability to choose connection is itself a gift, one we can forget when we're in the fog of routine. I'm struck by your distinction between 'complicated' and 'wrong'—sometimes we conflate the two because complicated feels like a reason to stay, when really it's just... the logistics of change. Thank you for this perspective, born from such tender, difficult experience.