“I don’t think in terms of compatibility.”
That’s what I told a client in our final couples session. He and his partner, both in their 40s and previously divorced, were preparing to marry each other. As we wrapped up our final session before a summer hiatus, he asked me to rate their compatibility on a scale from 1 to 10.
It was a sincere question. But it missed the point.
I told him I could speak to how they approach the relationship—how they handle difficulty, how open they are to hearing hard truths, how willing they are to grow in response to each other’s needs. But compatibility, as most people think of it, isn't a useful measure. It doesn't hold up over time.
I've been thinking about that moment, especially after celebrating my 17th wedding anniversary yesterday. In my own marriage, and in the many other partnerships I’ve witnessed, across different genders and structures. What's become clear is this: the idea of compatibility is one of the most misleading frameworks we bring to relationships in midlife.
The Problem with Compatibility
The compatibility model assumes that successful relationships come from finding someone who "matches" us: similar interests, complementary personalities, aligned life goals. It's a checklist approach, if we pick the right person, it should all work out.
But that misses something essential: we change.
The person you married at 25 isn’t the same person at 45, and neither are you. This is true whether your partner is the same gender, a different gender, or whether your partnership looks different from traditional marriage altogether. Compatibility that made sense then may not now. That's not a problem. That's the nature of being alive. Of growing.
Midlife surfaces deeper questions:
Who am I now in relationship?
What is this relationship for?
What do I want, expect, and believe is possible?
Your answers will shift with time and season. Compatibility doesn't account for that.
Marriage as Path, Not Destination
When my husband and I got married, we shared versions of the aspiration that our marriage would be a kind of personal growth crucible (though neither of us would have used that exact language.) We were in alignment that we would continuously attempt to frame our relationship as a shared commitment to learning through relationship, its ups AND downs. That was intended to supersede a default commitment to being right or comfortable in any given moment. We were practicing Buddhists at the time, and while our language has evolved over the years, this perspective has been our north star. A north start with lots of cloudy nights and stretches of poor visibility.
Seventeen years together wasn’t inevitable for us. There were real junctures where our marriage could’ve gone either way. When our kids were all under five, for example, and we were stretched thin on every front (professionally, financially, emotionally) we sat with the question of whether our marriage should continue. We lived in a cramped apartment on the Stanford campus, and my husband was commuting an hour each way to finish his architecture degree in San Francisco. We were exhausted, we had each anchored our attention on other priorities, and engaged our childcare as a changing of the guards, tapping one another in and out.
There were many other periods when our marriage could’ve unraveled. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you exactly why it didn’t. Some people close to us probably thought it would. Or even should.
But we kept going. Not because of compatibility, definitely not because it felt good. But because, at some basic level, we were both willing to try it for one more day. And also because we were so totally exhausted and overwhelmed that splitting up required more energy than we had.
That’s the thing no compatibility quiz can capture: the quiet, stubborn, perhaps even ill-advised decision to keep going. Sometimes together, sometimes side by side, sometimes barely hanging on.
I want to be clear here that I’m not suggesting that staying together is always the right thing. Both of my siblings and more than half of my friends are divorced, and most have much more fulfilling lives as a result.
I am saying that compatibility as a concept is the wrong framework, and in fact undermines the question of whether and how to continue a relationship.
What Actually Makes Relationships Work
Research backs this up. Couples therapist John Gottman's work shows that the success of a relationship isn't about what partners have in common—it's about how they manage conflict.
The "Four Horsemen" that predict divorce (criticism, contempt, defensiveness, and stonewalling) aren't about shared values. They're about communication patterns.
The most corrosive one? Contempt, ie. treating your partner as beneath you. That has nothing to do with compatibility and everything to do with respect, emotional regulation, and repair.
Compatibility doesn't get you through a hard season. Skills do.
Questions Worth Asking at Midlife
Whether you're in a long-term relationship or starting over, co-parenting, or choosing not to be partnered at all, these questions might be more helpful than "Are we compatible?":
What do I want to learn and experience from relationship at this time in my life?
How do we repair and reconnect when we've drifted?
What kind of partnership are we practicing through the ways we see and treat each other?
Beyond the Trap
The compatibility framework implies: if it's hard, maybe you picked the wrong partner. The truth is: if it's hard, this could signify a variety of things. And an accurate diagnosis of what is behind the problem will be instrumental in addressing it.
The couple in their 40s didn't need a compatibility rating. And neither do we.
Midlife offers the chance to approach love with more honesty, more clarity, and more skill. Not because it's easier as we get older, but because we're more experienced and hopefully wiser.