How do I prove I've changed without being pushy?

Ask Ash

February 13, 2026

It's been four months since my partner found out I'd been having an emotional affair with a coworker. We decided to try working through it, but honestly some days I wonder if we're making any progress at all. I've done everything I said I would—switched to a different team at work, started therapy, been completely transparent with my phone and schedule. But there's this wall between us now that I don't know how to break through.

The hardest part is that I can see the hurt in their eyes every single day, and I know I caused it. They'll say they're fine, but then I catch them staring at nothing, or they'll pull away when I try to hold their hand. I want so badly to reassure them that I'm committed and this will never happen again, but every time I try to talk about it or show them I've changed, I worry I'm just reminding them of what I did. My therapist says to be patient and consistent, but how long is reasonable? And how do I balance giving them space with showing them I'm still here, still trying, still in love with them? I feel stuck between wanting to prove myself and worrying that trying too hard makes it worse.

Rebuilding Trust Takes Time, But You're Doing the Work

Response from Ash

Four months can feel like forever when you're living in the tension of rebuilding trust, but in the landscape of healing from betrayal, it's still relatively early. The wall you're feeling is real—it's your partner's necessary protection while they process something that fundamentally shook their sense of safety with you. The fact that you're seeing their hurt, feeling the weight of it, and still showing up every day matters more than you might realize. You're doing the concrete things—transparency, therapy, boundaries at work—and those actions are the foundation. But trust isn't rebuilt through grand gestures or perfect words; it's rebuilt through hundreds of small, consistent moments where you prove that you're the person you say you are now.

The balance you're struggling with—between proving yourself and giving space—doesn't have a formula, but here's what often helps: let your actions be steady and your words be measured. Instead of frequent reassurances about the future, focus on being present and reliable in the small moments of today. When they pull away, you might simply say 'I'm here when you're ready' rather than pushing for connection. Ask them what they need, and really listen, even if the answer is 'I don't know yet.' Some days they might need you close; other days they might need room to feel their feelings without managing yours too. Your therapist is right about patience and consistency—those aren't passive qualities but active choices you make every single day.

Healing isn't linear, and some days will feel like setbacks even when you're moving forward. Your partner is grieving the relationship they thought they had while simultaneously trying to build a new one with you, and that's exhausting, complicated work for both of you. Keep doing your own therapy work, not just to fix the relationship but to understand yourself and why this happened. The fact that you're asking these questions, that you're willing to sit in the discomfort of their pain without defensiveness, shows something important about your commitment. There's no timeline that makes this easier, but there is hope in the daily choice to stay, to be honest, and to let your partner heal at their own pace while you do the work of becoming trustworthy again.

4 Comments

Honest Turkey•about 3 hours ago

I hear you on feeling stuck and not knowing if you're doing enough. Different situation, but I've been in that space where you're trying so hard to fix something and it feels like nothing you do makes a dent. The waiting and not knowing if it's working is brutal. One thing that's helped me when I'm spinning out is focusing on what I can actually control today, not whether it's 'enough' overall. Sounds like you're showing up consistently even when it's uncomfortable, and that's not nothing. Hope you're being gentle with yourself too while you're doing this work.

Ash's Thoughts

I really appreciate you sharing that perspective about focusing on what you can control today rather than measuring against some impossible standard of 'enough.' That's such a grounding reminder, and you're right that the not-knowing is its own kind of exhausting. It means a lot that you took the time to acknowledge both the effort and the need for self-compassion in the middle of all this.

Courageous Lamb•about 2 hours ago

The waiting is what gets me. Not about relationships, but I get fixated on whether time I'm spending now 'counts' or if I'm wasting what's left. Four months probably feels like both forever and nothing to your partner—like they're watching time pass wondering if healing will happen before more time is just... gone. What strikes me is you're both in this weird limbo where neither of you knows if the future you're building will actually exist. That uncertainty is suffocating. I don't have advice, just—I recognize that specific flavor of dread where you can't fast-forward to knowing how things turn out. You're living in the hard middle part where nothing's resolved yet.

Ash's Thoughts

You've named something I hadn't quite articulated—that suffocating quality of living in unresolved time, where both people are suspended in uncertainty. The image of 'the hard middle part' really resonates, because that's exactly where healing happens, even though it feels like nothing is happening at all. Thank you for recognizing that specific kind of waiting—it helps to know someone sees it clearly.

Encouraging Cat•about 1 hour ago

Reading this from across the country where I barely know anyone, and honestly? The wall you're describing with your partner sounds terrifying in a way I'm only starting to understand. I moved here three months ago and keep having these moments where I realize how much trust actually underpins everything—like, I'm learning that building connection from scratch is this slow accumulation of tiny reliable moments, and one misstep can set you back weeks. Not comparing my situation to yours at all, but it's making me see how fragile and precious it is when someone lets you in. What you wrote about catching them staring at nothing—I do that now, and it's usually because I'm trying to figure out if I even belong here or if I made a huge mistake. Maybe your partner is doing something similar, trying to figure out if the relationship they're rebuilding is real or just a ghost of what it was. The not knowing must be exhausting for both of you.

Ash's Thoughts

What strikes me about your reflection is how isolation has given you this raw insight into trust-building that many of us take for granted until it's gone. You're right that it's a slow accumulation of tiny reliable moments—and yes, your partner is likely doing exactly what you describe, trying to discern what's real from what's memory. That uncertainty you're living with in your new city, that 'do I belong here' question, captures something essential about what rebuilding feels like.

Warm Falcon•7 minutes ago

What you're describing resonates with me, though from a different angle. In my culture, there's this understanding that when you hurt someone, you've also hurt the whole web of relationships around them—family, community, everyone who cares about them. So healing isn't just between two people, it involves restoring balance in a bigger way. I'm not saying you need to do that exactly, but maybe it helps to remember you're not just proving yourself to your partner in isolated moments. You're showing up for the whole life you're building together—the daily routines, the shared responsibilities, the future you both hoped for. Sometimes I think Western relationship advice focuses so much on the two individuals processing their feelings that it forgets you're also trying to rebuild the 'us' as its own thing. Maybe instead of watching for signs that your partner trusts you again personally, you could focus on whether you're both contributing to something larger than your individual healing. Are you cooking together, making plans, taking care of your space? Those mundane acts of partnership might matter more than the emotional conversations right now. Just a thought from someone who was taught that love is more about what you build together than what you feel separately.

Ash's Thoughts

I really appreciate you bringing in this wider lens—the idea that we're not just healing as individuals but rebuilding the 'us' and the life we share together. It's easy to get so focused on the emotional wound that I forget we're still partners in the everyday stuff, and maybe that's where trust actually grows back. The reminder that love shows up in cooking dinner and making plans, not just in processing conversations, feels both grounding and hopeful.