Love, Boston Style

Saturday, October 26, 2024.

Being a couples therapist in Boston is like navigating a maze of historic streets—each turn reveals a new surprise, and the quirks of the city are reflected in the lives of its residents.

From the hip, artistic vibe of the South End to the old-money elegance of Beacon Hill, and the intellectual haven of Cambridge, every couple brings their own brand of Bostonian charm and challenges.

Their arguments are as varied as the city's neighborhoods, but the need for connection, understanding, and a little validation ties them all together.

Here are 7 tales of love, frustration, and the unique flavor of Boston relationships that keep my virtual therapy couch well-worn and my coffee mug never empty.

Kelly and Mike, The North End and Workplace Infidelity

Kelly and Mike live in the North End, Boston’s Little Italy, where cobblestone streets meet bustling bakeries.

Their love story started as sweet as a cannoli, but lately, it’s taken on a bitter edge. Kelly discovered that Mike had been a little too friendly with a coworker—late-night texts, secret lunches, the works. And now, they're sitting on my couch, navigating the rubble of broken trust.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me about feeling lonely,” Kelly says, her voice breaking. “Instead, you confided in her?”

Mike looks down at his hands, fumbling like he might find the right words written on his palms. “I know I messed up, okay? It was never physical, but I know I crossed a line. I didn’t think you’d want to hear about my frustrations with work... with us.”

Kelly wipes away a tear, her jaw clenched. “You chose her to hear about it instead of me.”

I leaned in, trying to help Mike find the words that didn’t seem to come easily. “Mike, can you tell Kelly what you were feeling that made you reach out to someone else?”

He looks up, his voice barely a whisper. “I felt invisible, Kel. Like we were just... roommates, arguing about the bills, the groceries, and the laundry. And she made me feel seen.”

Kelly glared, but underneath, there was hurt more than anger. “Well, I see you now. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again.”

I nod, sensing the unspoken feelings between them. “Let me be concrete AF…rebuilding trust isn’t easy, but it’s possible if you both want it. Are you willing to try?”

They exchanged a long look, the air between them thick with tension and uncertainty. For now, they remained seated, and present, which was something. I’d see them again—whether they’d come back as a couple or two broken hearts was still up in the air, but at least we’d taken the first step in our first session.

Maddie and Connor, South End with a Side of Sass

Maddie and Connor are the epitome of the South End—a neighborhood filled with renovated brownstones, dog parks, and more coffee shops than you can count.

She’s a marketing consultant with a penchant for kombucha brewing, while he’s a neurodiverse software engineer who moonlights as a weekend cyclist. They are a good example of what Gottman calls a “volatile couple style.” Don’t worry. it’s a good thing, actually.

They both sport that casual-but-not-really-casual style, looking like they just stepped out of a catalog but swearing they’re all about “low-key vibes.”

The first session opened with Maddie crossing her arms, shooting daggers in Connor’s direction. “He refuses to take anything seriously. I mean, we have to make decisions, and he’s always joking around!”

Connor leaned back in the armchair, smirking. “It’s not like I’m joking all the time. Just most of the time. Honey, life’s too short to stress about which new countertop material we’re choosing, right, Daniel?”

Maddie groaned. “It’s quartz or marble, Connor. It’s not a joke.”

“Daniel, she even had a PowerPoint presentation.”

Connor shrugged with that classic Boston nonchalance, but he leaned in and looked Maddie right in the eyes… or maybe he was looking at her chin. No matter. it worked. For Chrissake, my beloved…Who does that for countertops?”

“I do because I care, okay? Connor, please…It’s our home!”

I intervened, my therapist smile barely holding back my own amusement. “Maddie, it sounds like you want Connor to take your efforts more seriously, while Connor, you feel like Maddie could lighten up a bit?”

Maddie nodded quickly. “Exactly! Thank you.”

Connor shrugged, but I could see a hint of understanding. “Fine, I’ll promise to pay more attention. But I’m keeping my jokes about marble slabs to myself.”

As they left, still debating whether granite was “too basic,” I had a feeling I’d be seeing them again. But hey, at least they’d never be bored together.

Suzanne and Dan, Beacon Hill and Old Money Woes

Beacon Hill’s Suzanne and Dan are as quintessentially Boston as it gets.

She comes from a family with a house that’s been on the Freedom Trail for generations, and he’s a mergers and acquisitions guy with autism who loves Red Sox stats more than he loves vacations. Their problem wasn’t countertops—it was more about who held the steering wheel of their marriage. Spoiler: they both wanted to drive.

“I just think that it wouldn’t kill Dan to be a bit more... assertive,” Suzanne said, with that clipped tone that comes with generations of upper-crust Boston diction.

Dan leaned forward, adjusting his glasses like they might give him some courage. “I’m assertive! I just... don’t see the point in fighting over little things like what color we should paint the dining room.”

Suzanne rolled her eyes. “It’s not about the color, it’s about you showing some initiative, Dan. Like, sometimes it feels like I have to manage everything.”

Dan turned to me, a little desperate. “Daniel, is it so bad that I just want her to be happy with the decisions?”

I could see both sides: Suzanne, who wanted a partner to match her precision, and Dan, who just wanted to avoid another debate over Benjamin Moore’s fifty shades of beige.

“Dan, I think Suzanne is looking for a sense that you’re invested, even if it’s just in the little decisions. Suzanne, could you try letting Dan’s opinions stand, even if they differ from yours?”

Suzanne sighed, softening just a touch. “I could... try. As long as we agree to never paint the room ‘Oyster Gray.’”

Dan smiled, relieved. “Deal.”

As they left, I knew they’d be back. Maybe next time, they’d argue about where to vacation—Cape Cod versus the Vineyard. At least there, they could agree on the clam chowder.

Alice and Liam, Allston and the Hostile In-Laws

Alice and Liam are an interracial couple. They ‘re the kind of couple you’d expect to find in Allston—a mix of grad students, musicians, and folks who keep the dive bars alive.

They met during their undergrad years at Boston University, but their romance has since run into a wall: Liam’s parents. A working class couple from Roslindale, they make no secret of their disapproval of Alice, from the way she grew up in Springfield, to her “liberal arts degree that leads nowhere.”

Liam fidgets in his chair, avoiding eye contact. “It’s just... complicated, okay? My parents want what’s best for me.”

Alice’s face flushes with frustration. “They don’t think I’m good enough for you, Liam! They make comments about my job, my family... they even asked if I planned to ‘upgrade’ my wardrobe for your cousin’s wedding.”

Liam shrugs, like this is all a surprise to him. “They’re just old-fashioned, Alice. You know that.”

Alice turns to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “How am I supposed to build a future with someone who won’t stand up for me?”

I lean forward, trying to guide them to the real issue. “Liam, I want you to chew on this question very carefully. What do you think it would mean to Alice if you spoke up when your parents made hurtful comments?”

Liam swallows, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want to start a fight with them. It’s just... easier to keep the peace.”

Alice’s voice hardens, but there’s a tremor beneath it. “Easier for you. Not for me.”

Liam finally meets her gaze. “You’re right. It’s not fair. I’ll... I’ll try harder. But can you give me time? It’s hard to go against them.”

I could see the potential for a bridge here—wobbly, but there. “Maybe we can find a way to set boundaries together, so you both feel respected. And Alice, maybe we can work on ways to cope when those boundaries are tested, because it also means your bond is being tested. I gotta be blunt here, you need some sense of being a united front exhibiting a sense of “we-ness.”

They nod, I detect a tiny bit more softness between them. They might not have solved the in-law problem today, but at least they were facing it together. For now.

Jess and Rob, Cambridge and Contradictions

Jess and Rob are a classic Cambridge couple, living among ivy-covered university buildings and artisanal bakeries.

Jess has written two books, and is planning her third. She’s a professor at a local college, while Rob runs a struggling start-up that makes apps for non-profits. They embody the intellectual vibe of Cambridge—right down to their debates about Plato versus Aristotle... at the dinner table.

I’ve been seeing this couple for a while, and I’m starting to suspect that Rob’s ADHD meds might need a tweak.

“It’s like he’s allergic to agreeing with me, Daniel,” Jess said, her hands animated as she paced the room. “We’ve always had a lively life of the mind together, but lately it seems every time I make a point, he has to counter it, like it’s a competition.”

Rob, in his hoodie and jeans that probably cost more than his bike, leaned back thoughtfully. “It’s not that I’m disagreeing for the sake of it. It’s... intellectual curiosity. Right, Daniel?”

I glanced between them, aware that “intellectual curiosity” was the most Cambridge answer possible. “Jess, do you feel that Rob’s constant counterpoints make you feel unheard?”

She stopped pacing, arms crossed. “Exactly. Sometimes, I just want to share my thoughts without getting a debate.”

Rob, ever the reflective type, nodded. “Okay, I get that. But isn’t the point of discussing philosophy to challenge each other?”

“It’s a marriage, Rob, not a symposium!” she snapped back.

I could see the frustration but also the connection beneath it. I needed to act as a release valve. I did so using some blunt humor. “Maybe we could find a middle ground where you both get to share your ideas without it turning into a mediocre high school debate club?”

Jess took a deep breath and chuckled. “Fine. But if he starts on about utilitarianism one more time when I’m just trying to talk about our feelings...”

Rob raised his hands in surrender. “No more Jeremy Bentham during dinner. I promise.”

“Rob, can we have a side bar while I wave a cone of silence around us with my magic pen?

I’m asking you to visit your prescriber and tell him that your couples therapist suspects that you're a bit more argumentative than usual, which might suggest you’re craving more stimulation.

It’s not my sandbox, but notice that Jess’s complaint is about her perception that you’ve changed a bit. I’m asking you to discuss this shift in behavior as a couple with your provider without judgment.”

Rob raised an eyebrow and quipped. “Geez that raises a profound question about free will, Daniel, doesn’t it?” Jess chuckled, rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way, but finally shook her head in agreement. A good sign, it seems.

As we wound up this Zoom session, with smiles on their faces, They booked another. Maybe next time, it would be ethics in the bedroom or Aristotle’s view on date nights.

Rasha and Jack, Cambridge and Cross-Cultural Collisions

Rasha and Jack are the couple you’d expect to find wandering Cambridge’s multicultural streets.

Rasha is originally from Egypt, she’s a tech analyst who brings a touch of Cairo’s warmth to the chilly New England winters.

Jack is a born-and-bred New Englander, a neurodiverse math professor who takes pride in his lobster rolls and family trips to Cape Cod. Their love seemed like a perfect blend of East and West—until cultural clashes turned sweet differences into sour misunderstandings.

“It’s just... sometimes, it feels like you think my family’s traditions are backward,” Rasha says, looking down, her voice cracking.

Jack sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s not that I don’t respect them, Rasha. But do we really have to fast for an entire month during Ramadan? And why do I have to pretend I’m not eating when they visit?”

Rasha’s eyes flash with hurt. “It’s about respect, Jack. You don’t have to understand it completely, but you could at least try not to make me feel like I’m asking for too much.”

I step in, sensing the deeper layers beneath the surface. “Rasha, it sounds like you want Jack to appreciate your traditions even if he doesn’t fully understand them. And Jack, it seems like you feel overwhelmed by these requested changes to your usual routines. Is that right?”

Jack slumps back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s it. I just... I didn’t realize how much it would change things.”

Rasha’s shoulders sag, as if she’s been carrying this weight too long. “I never asked you to change, Jack. I just want to share my world with you.”

They look at each other, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of understanding—like they both see the gap between them and are finally willing to start building a bridge.

I nod gently. I do a little psycho-education on transition stress. I’m thinking that the hidden dimension in their struggle is that Rasha may need to agree on something that is ritually performative, but does not negate Jack’s sense of agency in his personal space. I end with “Maybe we can find ways to blend your traditions together, so you both feel seen and respected.”

Jack hates Zoom, and gets easily fatigued, so I see them in person. They leave, walking close but not quite hand-in-hand, both caught in thought. I knew they’d be back, probably when the next family visit stirred up new tensions. But something told me they had the patience—and love—to keep working through it.

Sarah and Tom, Charlestown and a Silent Grief

Sarah and Tom have lived in a snug little brownstone in Charlestown for almost a decade, their view stretching over the harbor and the Bunker Hill Monument.

They were once the type of couple who shared everything—a perfect team.

But that was before they lost their 5 year-old son Jax to a brain tumor, an epic tragedy that left a silence lingering in every room of their house.

Since then, their conversations have grown shorter, their laughter rare. Now they sit in my office, on opposite ends of the couch, as if they don’t want to crowd each other with their pain.

Sarah stares out the window, avoiding Tom’s eyes. “I just feel like I’m drowning, Daniel. Like... I can’t get past it. And he’s... he’s already moved on.”

Tom’s jaw clenches, his fingers gripping the armrest. “I haven’t moved on, Sarah. I just... don’t see how talking about it over and over helps. We have to keep living. I don’t want to stay stuck.”

She turns toward him, her face flushed with hurt. “You think I want to be stuck? You think I haven’t tried to let it go?”

I can see the raw edges of their grief, like jagged rocks beneath the surface, cutting into each other without even meaning to. “Sarah, it sounds like you’re feeling alone in your grief. And Tom, you’re afraid that talking about it will pull you both down further. Does that sound right?”

Tom lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, that’s it. I just... I don’t want to lose her too.”

Sarah looks down, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But I already feel lost, Tom. Like I’m disappearing.”

I nod, letting the weight of their words settle in the room. “You know what this looks like to me? It’s like you both have been trying to protect each other from your own pain. But what if sharing it—really sharing it—could help you find each other again?”

Tom finally looks at Sarah, his expression softening, his voice breaking. “I’m scared, Sarah. Scared that if I let myself feel it all again... I won’t ever, ever come back from it.” His voice cracked so hard, I felt it in my throat.

Sarah blinks, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Me too, Tom. I just thought... maybe if we faced it together, it wouldn’t feel so... bottomless.”

I lean forward slightly, knowing this is the moment where we can either pull together or fall further apart. This requires an EFT enactment “Sometimes, the hardest part of grief is letting each other see just how broken you actually feel. But that’s the only way to begin healing. What if we just tried it now, and see where that takes us?”

Tom reaches for Sarah’s hand, and for the first time in the session, she hesitates, but lets him take it.

The silence stretches between them, heavy but different—less like a wall, maybe more like a bridge?

And though I know their pain won’t vanish overnight, I also know that this moment matters. It must be managed with skill. It’s the first time they’ve reached out to each other through their heavy fog of grief.

They move closer together, shoulders brushing, still not speaking but somehow more connected than they’ve been in months. I lean back in my chair, allowing myself a brief satisfied smile. It’s a fragile hope, but hope nonetheless. And I know that while complicated grief has no easy cure, sometimes all it takes is helping two people remember how to hold each other again.

My Take on Boston Love

Boston is a city of contrasts: old money and new ideas, tradition and rebellion. It’s been my home, more or less, for most of my years. I fought most of my battles here.

The couples that come through my door are no different.

From workplace infidelity to family feuds, and cultural clashes that stretch across oceans, each couple is struggling with their own battles while trying to hold on to that fragile thread that connects them.

But there’s a stubbornness here—a grit that keeps them fighting, whether it’s for a second chance, a sense of belonging, or a way to merge worlds that seem too different.

I wonder what they bring next?—be it forgiveness, confrontation, or just a new chapter in the messy, beautiful story of love in this city, I’ll be there to listen, and bear witness.

Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.