This idea came to me recently because I waited a little too long to change my own tyres. What could probably have been a simple rotation or adjustment has turned into the realisation that I’ll most likely need a brand-new one very soon. It was a small but sobering reminder of how easily wear goes unnoticed when we’re busy just getting where we need to go.
When you put brand-new tyres on your car, everything feels smooth. The steering is light, the road noise is softer, and you don’t worry much about grip or balance. You probably only think about your tyres when you stop for petrol and quickly check the pressure.
Relationships can feel the same in the beginning.
When a relationship is new, exciting, and full of possibility, connection often comes easily. We’re attentive. We’re generous. We overlook each other’s rough edges because we’re focused on building something—trust, safety, closeness. We know this connection matters, so we protect it.
The wear doesn’t happen immediately.
It happens slowly, as life starts happening.
We hit gravel roads.
We hit potholes.
We carry heavier loads.
Just like a car, a relationship doesn’t break down because of one bad road—it wears down because the conditions change and we don’t always stop to adjust.
As life moves on, so do we.
For a long time, my husband and I didn’t have children. Time together wasn’t hard to find. Even with one child, a spontaneous lunch here and there still felt possible. When family lived closer, support looked different. There were seasons where we worked together, travelled together, did more life side by side.
But one thing never stayed the same: the way we connected.
And that’s normal.
The car we drive changes.
The province we live in changes.
The roads we travel change.
And we change too.
Our needs change.
Our capacity changes.
Our ways of connecting need to change.
About a year ago, my husband and I introduced a small but powerful ritual: the six-second kiss. We don’t leave the house in the morning without it. What started as a simple pause has become something much more—a shared breath, a moment of grounding, a reminder that we’re still here, together.
Over time, it’s also become a kind of benchmark.
If one of us feels off and doesn’t feel like doing it, we know that’s a sign. Not a problem to fix immediately, but a gentle warning signal that we’ll need to talk at some point.
Your version might look different.
Perhaps when you’re connected, you laugh easily together. Or you cook together. Or you share stories at the end of the day. When those moments become fewer—or disappear altogether—it can be a subtle invitation to pause and reflect rather than push through.
Just like tyres, relationships need re-evaluation.
But here’s the key: re-evaluation can’t happen if we’re unwilling to stop.
This is something I’ve come to cherish about anniversaries. Not just as a celebration, but as a pause. A moment to take stock together.
Questions like:
• How have we been this year—really?
• What worked between us?
• What didn’t?
• What habits have we created that we’re now benefiting from?
• What new habits might support us in the season ahead?
If you do feel disconnected, how you start the conversation matters.
Try leading with an I-statement:
• I miss you.
• I feel like something is missing.
• This doesn’t feel like your fault, but it feels like something we can work on together.
When we feel blamed or criticised, we tend to attack or withdraw. But when we’re met with vulnerability, it becomes easier to meet each other there.
If you’ve never had these conversations before, it’s not too late. Not even close.
Even a small change—one intentional pause, one new ritual, one honest check-in—can create a ripple effect weeks or months down the line.
And if you’re feeling connected right now, say it. Name it. Build on it.
Because just like good tyres, connection is something you may not think about every day—but when the road gets rough, you’ll be deeply grateful it’s there.