Retirement Doesn't Fix Relationships--Intention Does

Relational Health and the Courage to Love Well

I’m not particularly a religious man, but scripture gets something right when it suggests that perhaps our greatest human capacity is to love and to be loved. That idea shows up repeatedly in my work with clients—sometimes plainly, more often quietly or “between the lines.” It surfaces in stories about tense (holiday) dinners, adult children who feel distant, friendships that have thinned out, and sometimes a low-grade loneliness that often catches people off guard in retirement. The problem is rarely a lack of desire for connection. It’s everything that’s accumulated over a lifetime that now stands in the way of it.

Indeed, retirement has a way of exposing our relational lives

When professional work fades, relationships suddenly move from the background to the forefront. There’s no longer a full calendar that gets in the way or no other built-in excuse for staying emotionally preoccupied. The holidays amplify this new reality. More time with family. More time with old friends. Sometimes newer connections. And with that proximity comes history—unfinished conversations, old grievances, long-standing disappointments, and patterns that were a bit more manageable when life was busier but suddenly feel heavier now.

This is where relational health stops being a pleasant concept and starts becoming personal.

Many retirees assume relationships will naturally improve once life slows down. Less stress, more time—problem solved! But time, on its own, is neutral. It doesn’t heal wounds by itself, nor does it care to; instead, it often exposes them.

And there’s a quiet danger here. How so?

Later in life, the temptation is to shrink our relational world. To settle into internal phrases like, “This is just how our family works,” or “I don’t have the energy to deal with that anymore,” or “It’s too late to change things now.” Comfort becomes the goal. Predictability feels safer. But comfort, while appealing, often comes at the expense of connection—and connection is not optional in retirement. It’s truly foundational, that is, if one wishes to flourish while in it.

Relational health in this stage of life isn’t about fixing other people. Relational health, instead, is about taking responsibility for what’s yours. It’s about noticing where you’ve hardened instead of staying open. Where emotional distance has masqueraded as peace of mind. Where pride has replaced curiosity. Where being “done” has felt easier than staying engaged. These aren’t moral failures—they’re human adaptations. But left unexamined, they quietly erode our capacity to give and receive love.

A movie my wife and I recently watched, The Shack, brought many of these ideas into focus, even with its clear religious framing. If faith-based stories aren’t your thing, stay with me—the underlying message still applies. At its core, the film is about grief that often turns into resentment, and about what happens when pain is carried alone for too long. The story isn’t really about belief—it’s about the weight we refuse to put down and let go. And the truth is, whatever we don’t process relationally, we end up carrying into every other relationship we care about.

Retirement gives us something most stages of life don’t: perspective.

You’ve lived long enough to know that grudges don’t age well. That silence rarely brings resolution. That “someday” often has a sneaky way of becoming “never.” And that relationships—not productivity, status, or financial success—are what give life its meaning.

Relational health doesn’t require dramatic gestures or forced reconciliation (i.e., “drama”), especially during the holidays. More often, it grows quietly and deliberately. Maybe it looks like initiating a conversation you’ve avoided for years or offering an apology without adding an explanation. Perhaps it’s letting go of the need to be right. Or choosing to stay present when discomfort shows up instead of checking out emotionally.

It also means being honest about the future.

Retirement can unintentionally narrow our social world if we let it. Friendships tied to work usually fade. Social routines dissolve. Without intention, isolation can creep in slowly and convincingly. Making new friends later in life isn’t always easy—but it can be deeply rewarding and sustaining. It reminds us that connection isn’t something we age out of. There is still room for new relationships, new laughter, new energy, new insights, new engagements, new shared meaning. The benefits go on.

Mature friends enjoying coffee at an outdoor cafe

The hard truth: flourishing in retirement does not happen by accident.

Relational health requires choice. It requires effort. It requires the willingness to stay open when closing it off would be easier. It asks you—again and again and again—to decide that love and connection are worth the discomfort they sometimes bring.

The holidays don’t need to be perfect. Families rarely are. But they can be meaningful. And meaning often begins not by changing others, but by focusing on what you can control, like loosening our grip on the anger, resentment, or fear that’s been standing in the way of loving others and being loved all along.

At this stage of life, this crucial kind of work isn’t optional.

It’s the work.