Hope is often described as a gift—but sometimes it can anchor us where we least want to be. I recently spoke with a client, TJ, whose hope for change in someone else was quietly keeping him stuck in patterns that harmed his well-being. With his permission, I am sharing this story to explore how small shifts in perspective and action can create space for choice and change.

Checking In

We hadn’t talked in ages, though we occasionally exchange updates on how things are going.

When it comes to personal relationships, I find it hard to give advice. Even when people ask for it, what they often want is to be heard—to feel acknowledged, perhaps gently affirmed. I can do the listening. Offering comfort that supports choices I believe may harm them is something I cannot do.

And when someone shares their story, we always hear only part of it. Much remains unspoken. Over time, fragments may emerge that help us see more of the picture—but it is never complete. Relationships evolve, and we usually see/heard only one perspective.

The Situation and Its Toll

TJ’s close friends had told him to stop what he was doing; it wasn’t helping. He knew he should have drawn firmer boundaries earlier. But now, he felt it was too late. Changing course seemed pointless.

The situation was raising his stress levels, which directly affected his cancer, a condition sensitive to stress. As I listened, one question kept coming to mind: why act as if nothing had happened?

Looking Through a Complexity Lens

I asked if we could look at the situation through a complexity lens.

“What is the attractor here?” I asked. “What keeps you cooperating, accommodating, and pretending everything is fine?”

TJ’s answer was simple: he still hoped his spouse would change.

Placing Hope on a Continuum

To explore that hope more clearly, I introduced a continuum thinking question:

“On a scale from 0 to 100, how much hope do you have that your spouse will change?”

He paused, thought carefully, and said: “Twenty per cent.”

Not zero. Not unquestioning optimism. Just a flicker of hope. By placing hope on a continuum, TJ could see it as something dynamic, something that could be adjusted, rather than a fixed obligation to keep believing.

Dim Hope, Centre Yourself

That small insight opened space for a deeper question:

What would it mean to dim that hope slightly and place yourself at the centre of your decisions?

Everything he had been doing, cooperating, accommodating, pretending nothing had changed, was stabilising the system without shifting it. Seeking advice he never acted on—or simply hoping—was keeping him stuck. Hope, bright as it felt, had become an anchor.

We looked at the trajectory of his partner’s past relationships. There was very little evidence that they had ever prioritised anyone but themselves. And yet, TJ held on to the idea that he might be the exception, the one who could finally alter the pattern.

Accepting What We Cannot Control

It is hard to accept that, despite our best efforts, some people may never see us as part of their solar system. Emotions are not easily commanded. But stepping back and observing the forces at play allowed TJ to see what he could influence—and what he could not.

A few hours later, he texted to say the conversation had been helpful. My hope, perhaps a more grounded one, is that he chooses to take care of himself first. We cannot pour from an empty cup. Sometimes, the kindest act of hope is to act where we actually have power.

The Lesson of Hope

Hope is bright. Hope is motivating. But unchecked, it can anchor us in patterns that quietly harm us. Hope, untethered from action, becomes an attractor in its own right.

I do not know how TJ’s story will unfold. I do not know what he will choose. But perhaps the lesson is universal: sometimes, we need to add a few drops of reality to our hope. When we hope but do not change what is within our control, we can sink—slowly, almost imperceptibly—like quicksand.

Sometimes, we need to zoom out a little to see what we can do differently, rather than keep doing the same thing.

Hope as an Anchor: When Staying the Course Isn’t Enough