That Moment Isn't Coming
That moment's probably not coming, and even if it does, it usually comes after he's already lost you.
Here's what's really happening, and why he behaves the way he does. He isn't the volatility, the lying, the entitlement, the blame. Those are defenses, and the defenses are old and automatic and largely invisible to the person using them. Underneath the defenses are feelings he was never able to tolerate, often going back to childhood, and the entire defense system of his personality exists to make sure he never has to feel those feelings.
When you challenge his behavior, you aren't asking him to be more thoughtful, you're asking him to face the core wound that the whole system was built to bury.
He'll likely never face that pain, because the protection runs deep, and the cost of facing that pain feels, to him, worse than anything he's currently doing to you.
Why He'll Probably Never Change
Unfortunately, he'll probably never change. Three things have to line up for real change to come about in someone with this level of toxicity. Something external has to force him to look at himself, perhaps a tragedy, a divorce, or a personal failure, and then he needs to find real help that can see through to the wound and the pain underneath, and he has to decide that he genuinely wants to change.
Those three things rarely line up in one lifetime, and tragically, none of it is something you can force on him, not the wake-up call and not the right help and not the willingness.
Why I became a coach
The reason I became a coach is because I lived this life. My father was a perfect example. Daily outbursts of anger, avoidance of any responsibility for how his behavior affected everyone, and never an apology. He was the kind of man whose moods controlled the whole room.
In my early 40s I started studying psychology, reading books, going to workshops, working with psychologists and coaches. The most difficult realization is that people like my father rarely ever change. They don't change because the defenses run the show, and in many cases the person doesn't even know there's anything to change. The defenses are invisible to them, and they genuinely believe they're reasonable and everyone else is the problem. They have to believe that, because the alternative is unbearable.
Your Defenses Are Running Too
You tell yourself he's hurting, broken, or just needs more time, not because it's true, but because you need love, validation, and connection.
You notice the volatility, the entitlement, the endless blame, and you think if you can just get through to him with better explanations, more patience, or greater compassion, something will change. That's the trap, because you can't reach the person you want him to be by talking to the defenses, and the defenses are designed to keep you out. The harder you push, the harder he pushes back, that's a sign the protection is doing exactly what it was built to do.
Here's the rub. You've got defenses running too, and the same machinery that keeps him from feeling his pain keeps you from feeling yours. His defense looks like rage, blame, withdrawal, and yours looks like hope, patience, and the story that he'll change if you just love him enough. Different shape, same job, and both defenses exist so neither of you has to feel what's underneath.
Your need for love and belonging is real, but the way you're using it has become a defense. It tells you that staying is love, that absorbing the damage is loyalty, and that walking away would mean you failed. None of that is true, and all of it is the story your defense feeds you, so you don't have to feel what's waiting for you on the other side of leaving.
You tolerate his behavior to avoid the emptiness of walking away, and you rewrite his patterns as potential to keep the fantasy alive. That isn't compassion, that's self-betrayal, and the real issue is your own avoidance.
When the Defenses Slam Shut
Several years ago I had a young client who was making real progress. I was helping him see that much of what he believed about himself was simply a construction of his mind and patterns from childhood. He started to soften and it was beautiful to watch. Abruptly, one day he came in and said, I don't want to hear any more about this, don't talk to me about any of this ever again. He looked at me and said, I love drama, I love how it makes me feel.
I was stunned and I didn't know how to respond. What I didn't understand is that the work was getting close to the wound, and the defenses slammed shut to protect him from it. That's what strong resistance looks like. It doesn't look like someone choosing to be miserable, it looks like someone who'd rather burn down their own progress than feel what's waiting on the other side of it.
Years later, his life is exactly what you'd predict. Kicked out of restaurants, one drama-soaked relationship after another, a road rage incident that landed him in anger management. The defenses are still doing their job, and the people around him continue to struggle.
The Damage He Leaves Behind
He leaves a trail of damage everywhere he goes: children who grow up walking on eggshells, spouses who shrink to fit, friends who get blindsided over and over, and coworkers who quit and never look back.
The damage he causes is enormous, and the fact that he won't take responsibility for any of it doesn't make it any less real. Be careful with the compassion you feel for him. It looks like love, but most of the time it's something else, it's the story you tell yourself to avoid the harder truth that walking away would force you to feel everything you've spent years not feeling. The compassion is a cover.
Change is rare
In my 30+ years of work, I've rarely seen one of these people change. Tragically, my father never did. I remember one man I had known personally who was in many ways toxic to everyone around him. I hadn't seen him for about six months, and when I did, he'd lost 40 pounds and was demonstrably happier and more centered. He told me he'd had a heart attack that almost killed him, and that's what it took to wake him up.
That's what the wake-up call usually has to look like. Something big enough to break through the defenses. Short of that, he might get better for a little while when he knows he's in trouble, and then he reverts right back to the same behavior.
And yet you keep trying, and you keep hoping that this time he'll see his error and change, but he won't. Love won't make him change, acceptance won't help, and patience won't do anything but prolong your suffering. Giving more of yourself won't produce change, and forgiving him for the hundredth time won't produce change.
The Lie That Keeps You Hooked
This is the lie that keeps you hooked. If you just love him enough, accept him fully, give enough of yourself, eventually he'll change. He won't, and he can't. Love doesn't reach the place where the defenses live, and the defenses were built to keep love out, because love asks him to feel something, and feeling is the thing he's organized his whole life around avoiding.
Every ounce of love and patience and sacrifice you give to someone who won't do the work is wasted. By tolerating his behavior, you allow it to continue. You absorb the rage, you forgive the lies, and you smooth over the entitlement. As long as someone's willing to pay the price for his behavior, he's got no reason to behave any differently.
The Feeling Is What You're Avoiding
Loving yourself means refusing to abandon yourself for someone else, and it means accepting that some people may never change.
You can't out-love him and you can't out-suffer him into being different. You can't do his work.
Five, ten, or twenty years from now, the only thing you'll remember is whether you stayed or whether you left, whether you spent those years taking care of your own life or taking care of his.
But the decision isn't really what you're avoiding. What you're avoiding is a feeling. The grief is already here, sitting underneath the hope and the patience and the story that he'll change. You've spent years not feeling it, and that avoidance is what keeps the hoping going. It's what keeps the whole dysfunction going.
You're doing the same thing he won't do. He won't feel his pain, so the defenses stay in place and nothing changes, and you won't feel your grief, so the hoping stays in place and nothing changes. The difference is, you can do what he can't. You have the capacity to feel what you've been avoiding.
Feel the grief and let it move through you. The clarity and wisdom you've been waiting for is on the other side of it. The decision will come on its own.