Their reaction is not your task

We’ve all been through the devastation of heartbreak and conflict with people we value.

We can become so deeply convinced that we are right that it creates a particular pain — the pain of not being seen when the other person doesn’t seem to “get it.”

Our ego wants validation.
It wants to win.
It desperately wants proof that it is in control.

But this doesn’t work with the unpredictability of human nature.

As Nietzsche said, “What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end.”

Our ever-evolving nature entails unpredictability, liberty, and rawness — qualities that cannot be contained within the ego’s need for control.

We also need to address that many people today live in overlays.
In the context of relationships and self-awareness, an “overlay” is a mental construction — a game of pretend — used when reality feels too painful to face. It’s a form of self-deception, where red flags are ignored and a desired version of a person or situation is projected instead.

That’s a topic for another article — but it strengthens the point here.

Much conflict in relationships comes from these reality overlays.

And as we know from Adlerian psychology: their reality is not my task.

It’s natural to want to help others see differently, to bridge the gap between perspectives — but that movement can never be forced.

Most people need space and silence to approach uncomfortable truths.

We are not able to respond instead of them.
Trying to do so only turns frustration into something futile and exhausting.

This truth may hurt — but it is constant. Facing it once can spare us a great deal of pain later.

No one will ever see things exactly as you do — and that is expected.

Few people share the same value systems you do — and that, too, is part of reality.

Most heartbreaks and relational failures eventually come down to this: a mismatch of values.

People come and go. Reality remains.

Our task, then, is to remain relentlessly rooted in reality — because only reality produces lasting change.

Fantasy is a coping mechanism.
A brave heart doesn’t need it.
Fantasy becomes a crutch for fear.

When we commit to reality, strength and agency are revealed to us.

Restoring agency is a gift so potent that it can outweigh the pain of loss and heartbreak. What once felt like a burden becomes our strongest muscle.

Only from this sovereignty can we see clearly: we can carry only our own cross — and no one else’s.

The more we take on others’ responsibility, the more we abandon ourselves. And self-abandonment creates inner gaps that demand attention.

It’s tempting to want to twist someone’s neck so they finally see what we see. But this urge only leads to exhaustion and emptiness.

The more we restore our own agency, the less we require the approval of others.

And this becomes the greatest help we can offer — not by forcing change in others, but by allowing it in ourselves.

By being led by inner conviction.

Only then do we allow others to reveal who they truly are — not who we hoped they would be.

And sometimes we realise they were never who they presented themselves to be.

That heartbreak is far easier to bear when it arrives early.