There’s a particular kind of imbalance that doesn’t announce itself loudly.
No explosive fights. No obvious neglect. Just one person quietly doing more and more until the relationship begins to feel heavy.
This is the overfunctioner/underfunctioner dynamic.
One person anticipates needs before they’re spoken. They track schedules, moods, logistics, emotional repairs. They take responsibility not just for tasks, but for the health of the relationship itself.
The other person leans back. Not necessarily out of malice or disinterest but because the system allows it. When someone else is already handling things, there’s little pressure to step forward.
From the outside, the relationship can look perfectly fine.
From the inside, the imbalance is carried by one person.
This pattern shows up often in second-chapter relationships, where both people arrive with long-standing coping strategies. One moves toward control and competence. The other toward accommodation and ease. Over time, these roles harden.
A system forms.
And once a system exists, it maintains itself.
The overfunctioner absorbs friction. Missed details are quietly fixed. Emotional gaps are smoothed over. Consequences rarely reach the other person. Without meaning to, the overfunctioner becomes the shock absorber for the relationship.
Nothing appears broken because nothing is allowed to break.
But systems don’t change without pressure.
When the overfunctioner begins to pull back, things don’t collapse but they do shift. And that shift can feel terrifying. The fear isn’t just about the relationship failing; it’s about discovering how much has been carried alone.
There’s often an unspoken belief underneath the overfunctioning:
If I don’t do it, it won’t get done.
Or worse: If I stop, the relationship might fall apart.
Healthy partnerships don’t require equal effort at every moment. They do require shared responsibility, emotional, logistical, relational. A felt sense of “we.”
When one person consistently holds the weight, resentment quietly grows. Not because the other person is incapable, but because they haven’t been required to engage differently.
Change rarely comes from confrontation alone. It comes from allowing space. From not preemptively fixing. From tolerating discomfort, mistakes, and slower timelines without stepping in to rescue.
That’s the hardest part.
Because overfunctioning often looks like love, competence, and reliability. But over time, it costs intimacy. Shifting the dynamic doesn’t mean demanding perfection or a personality change. It means redistributing responsibility so the relationship can be carried by two people instead of one.
Less CEO.
More co-captain.
That’s where sustainability lives.
Try it and let me know how it goes.
