How to Stay in Love

Elizabeth asked for a divorce over breakfast. Her husband Douglas expected to hear "poached eggs" and got "a divorce" instead — she'd even prepared a spreadsheet of assets and recorded the conversation. Douglas claimed total blindsidence. Elizabeth was stunned by his cluelessness: "He should have known." But she'd never actually told him she was unhappy. She assumed her discontent was radiating through her pores.

Two-thirds of divorces Sexton handles involve mutual disbelief. Both parties are shocked it's over. He finds this somewhere between poignant and tragic — spouses spending years certain their partner can hear what they aren't saying, including the nuances behind those unspoken gripes. No one is good at mind reading. There is no such thing. Check in early and often, even at the risk of an uncomfortable answer.

Sexton learned this from Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. As a beginner, he gripped opponents tightly, assuming that meant control. He learned the opposite: holding tight just locks you to them, sacrificing your own mobility. His instructor's principle — "tight grips and loose arms" — became his best relationship advice. Control the essentials loosely; allow movement.

Possessiveness backfires every time. Sexton's seen GPS trackers on wives' cars, spyware on husbands' phones, bans on girls' night out. None of it works. If your spouse wants to cheat, restricting access won't stop them — they'll do it in a broom closet at the school with the janitor (not hypothetical; Sexton cross-examined the janitor). Encourage golf, gym, weekends away. The marriage vows ask you to forsake all others — not all the things that make you interesting.

Randy liked wearing women's panties. He never told his wife Kristen during nine years together — not because she was conservative in bed (she wasn't), but because he was embarrassed. He started cheating instead. Later, crying in Sexton's conference room, he admitted Kristen was "actually really fun and open." His primary mistake wasn't the affair — it was forcing himself into an unnecessary choice between going unfulfilled or going elsewhere.

Sexton calls this the Go Without or Go Elsewhere dilemma. In a monogamous contract, if you don't express your desires, those are your only two options — and neither preserves the relationship. His advice: start slow, don't spring it mid-coitus, consider putting it in writing so your partner can digest it. And remember — sometimes "good enough" is absolutely worth keeping.

Constructive criticism is just criticism. Sexton argues the "praise sandwich" (positive-negative-positive) is offensive and useless. We fell in love partly because our partner's acceptance helped us accept ourselves. When they become our critic, that's gone. Instead of telling your partner what's wrong, find a tiny nugget of desired behavior and praise it out of proportion: "When we went to that new restaurant instead of our usual place? That was so sexy. It reminds me of when we were first dating."

Vacation Jen proves the principle. One client's wife was sexually adventurous and carefree on trips. Rather than asking her to be that way at home, the husband — who previously hated travel — started enthusiastically planning vacations. She got to be herself; he changed to be with that version of her. What's true for lab rats is true for men.

Divorcing couples score every negative at 25 points, every positive at half. Confirmation bias creeps in when you're primed to see your partner as the problem. Sexton has never heard a judge say, "I grant full custody to Mr. Jones. Keep this sock-dropping monster away from these children." Yet couples treat minor annoyances as capital offenses while discounting loyalty, monogamy, and reliability.

Try "I'm sorry too" as a disarming response. When your partner apologizes for something genuinely stupid, instead of cataloging how stupid it was, say: "I'm sorry for the way I handled it. I'm sorry I didn't see you were in a bad place." Nine times out of ten, this completely resets the dynamic. It creates balance — of fault, virtue, and investment in the relationship. Shoot for resolution, not full satisfaction.

Sexton gets two to three new infidelity cases per week that started on Facebook. He breaks down why with surgical precision: the platform combines every person you've ever wanted to sleep with, private messaging, curated flattering photos, and built-in plausible deniability ("I was reading pool-cleaning reviews!"). You can flirt through micro-interactions — liking bikini photos, commenting on posts — while sitting three feet from your spouse on the couch.

The typical Facebook family vacation post is "Grand Kabuki Theater." Sexton sees zero correlation between how happy clients look in their photos and when they show up at his office. Among his clients, the platform accelerates affairs by making the past feel more romantic than it was and the present more depressing than it is. As they say in AA: sit in a barbershop long enough and you'll get a haircut.

Anastasia thought she married a wealthy anesthesiologist. Fancy cars (leased), two homes (mortgaged to the hilt), luxury vacations (funded by credit lines). Two months into divorce, Sexton had to tell her she was broke. Her husband had leveraged everything on failed real estate without her knowledge. This story repeats constantly in Sexton's practice.

The Yours, Mine, and Ours Financial System prevents this. Create three bank accounts:
1. "Ours" — for shared expenses, with agreed notification thresholds
2. "Mine" — your autonomous money, no questions asked
3. "Yours" — your partner's autonomous money
This maximizes transparency on joint obligations while preserving individual freedom. Want a boat your spouse thinks is stupid? Buy it from "Mine." The system prevents ignorance, reduces resentment, and gives both partners a clear financial picture — something most couples achieve only during divorce discovery.

Laura knew her marriage was ending when Fred stopped buying her granola. It was a specific flax brand carried by only certain stores. For years, Fred would notice when they ran out and replace it without being asked — a tiny gesture proving he was paying attention to her small, silly preferences. When the granola stopped appearing, Laura left the empty box at the front of the cabinet. He went shopping and came back without it. "I think this might be ending," she thought. When Sexton asked what she'd stopped doing for Fred, she answered without hesitation: "Blowjobs."

Flax granola and blowjobs. That's what it takes. The biggest danger in long-term relationships is slippage — not betrayal, not fights, but the slow evaporation of small kindnesses. Eye contact, physical touch, a response that shows you're listening. Marriage isn't hard work. It's just attention.