David Flores2 said:In terms of dynamics, they’re always stuck in some kind of superior-subordinate loop—some sort of equilibrium between those two poles, I suppose.
If a woman feels she holds the upper hand over her husband, she tends to act like a mother toward a child. A particularly difficult child, usually.
Conversely, if she feels subordinate to him, she starts acting more like a daughter to her father. A good father, mind you.
These patterns are essentially learned during childhood, and we just carry them into adulthood. We go through puberty, where hormones make it impossible to maintain those old parental bonds, creating this drive to find a partner—someone capable of reproduction, essentially. Once that partner is found, those same childhood blueprints tend to resurface.
Could you elaborate on that?
What exactly is our dynamic when we're just grabbing coffee, watching a movie, or chatting about random things?
When things are actually working, it feels more like we're siblings—just brother and sister, I guess—once we've moved past that initial family stage.
And honestly, that seems to be the only way it actually functions.
I used to be able to spot those specific moments where he would step into a paternal role or I would act like the parent, but it was pure chaos. After a long period of fighting for dominance, I think we both realized that neither of us can tolerate being controlled. So, things just end up going toward whoever has the better argument—or perhaps just the truth.
Would you explain that by saying we shift between dominant and submissive roles second by second, or is there something else at play?
And where am I missing the mark in my logic when I see a sibling-like friendship instead of this constant shifting of power roles?
Can you apply this to other types of relationships besides marriage—say, friendships? I'm not sure if your "relationship between two people" refers specifically to men and women, or if it applies to all human connections?
(If it's just for men and women, why wouldn't it hold true for everything else?)
I think you’ve hit the nail on the head there, David Flores2. In any healthy relationship, those rigid hierarchies between one person being "in charge" and the other following along should be practically nonexistent. It shouldn't be about who holds the power, but rather about how roles shift dynamically depending on the situation. Think of it like a high-performing team at a place like Google or NASA—it’s not about a permanent boss and a permanent subordinate; it’s about whoever has the specific expertise needed to move the mission forward at that exact moment. When you prioritize the progress of the partnership over individual ego, that's when true trust and love actually start to take root. It’s about having the maturity to hand over the reins to your partner because you genuinely recognize they have a better handle on a particular situation, knowing full well that they’ll step back and let you lead when the roles flip around.
It’s funny how sibling dynamics work, isn't it? You have one brother trying to be the patient mentor, teaching his little sister how to ride a bike—you know, that classic rite of passage where you're out in the driveway, sweating through your shirt, trying to explain balance and momentum. And then, in the middle of all that earnest effort, the sister decides her mission in life is to sit him down and give him a masterclass on how to tie his own shoelaces. It’s like watching someone try to teach a NASA engineer how to use a stapler while they're busy launching a rocket into orbit. Total chaos, but honestly, that's just how it goes when siblings are involved.
When you look at how teaching actually works between siblings, it can swing in two completely different directions. On one hand, you have the scenario where the sister demands knowledge from her brother; in that case, she’s essentially stepping into a position of authority, treating him like a resource or an object to be tapped for information. On the other hand, she might genuinely want to learn, which puts her in a more submissive role—she becomes the student, the subject being trained. Now, I don't think either of these dynamics is inherently abusive. It feels almost natural, like a biological default, that the person holding the expertise acts as the superior in the room, but I don't believe that dominance is a strict requirement for learning to happen. However, if the whole teaching process is tainted by abuse, things get messy. If either sibling was subjected to trauma during those moments, they’re going to spend their adult lives avoiding any situation that forces them back into a subordinate role. They'll dodge anything that makes them feel like they're being "managed." And here is the kicker: just because someone possesses the knowledge doesn't mean they automatically hold the upper hand. In a healthy, functional relationship, the expert should lead, but in a toxic environment, it flips on its head. You’ll see someone with much less actual skill try to seize control through sheer aggression, basically bullying the knowledgeable person into handing over what they know.
Most of the narcissism we see in society today stems from that one toxic weed growing in the corner. We’ve reached this point where knowledge is passed down through sheer intimidation and verbal abuse, and because of that, nobody wants to be the student anymore. Everyone thinks they’re already an expert; everyone acts like they have all the answers, and if they don't, they’d much rather scavenge for bits of info online than endure the "discipline" of actual teaching. It’s a cycle. Nobody is willing to put themselves in a position where they’re vulnerable to being belittled just to learn a craft—and honestly, can you blame them? It’s a broken system. People rarely step up to embrace the role of a learner or recognize a genuine mentor when they see one, though I suppose that might be because decent teachers are becoming a rare breed these days.
Think about when two people grab a coffee together. Depending on what they’re talking about and where they’re coming from, you usually end up with one person playing the role of the "truth-teller" while the other acts as the "validator." They aren't necessarily stating objective facts—they're just building a shared reality through a cycle of claims and nods—and sometimes one person just dominates the whole conversation. But things get messy when both parties walk into that cafe feeling like they hold the monopoly on what’s actually true. Once those egos clash over who has the ultimate authority to speak, the conversation splits into two very different directions. You either get a productive, coordinated effort where everyone sets their pride aside to hunt for logic and actual substance, or you descend into a total ego trip where the arguments turn into petty ad hominem attacks, focusing more on who has the right to speak than on what is actually being said.
When you look at cooperation, people love to claim everyone is on equal footing, but if you actually pay attention to the subtle power plays happening under the surface, you’ll see the truth. There’s always one person steering the ship, directing the collective effort to uncover the facts and essentially acting as the gatekeeper who decides which version of the "truth" gets the final stamp of approval, even if they’re being polite enough to nod along with what everyone else is saying.
Think about it like two buddies grabbing a beer at a local pub in Chicago, just shooting the breeze and cracking jokes; in those moments, you could argue there isn't a hierarchy or a boss—but that's only temporary, a fleeting illusion that lasts only as long as that specific vibe holds steady.
At its core, communication is a back-and-forth exchange. One person talks, and the other listens. But if these two people actually constitute a cohesive unit or a partnership, that listener has a fundamental responsibility to weigh whether they actually buy what’s being said. If they accept it, then that becomes the shared reality for the group. If they reject it, the conversation has to keep grinding along until they land on a truth they both genuinely stand behind. The real danger arises when the second person pretends to agree while secretly rejecting the premise in their mind. That’s how you destroy a community from the inside out. Once you lose that shared foundation, everything falls apart—you start seeing people pull away, paranoia sets in, and eventually, someone starts trying to tighten control just to suppress the truth and maintain the facade.