Elisabeth Prudence
Special to CSMS Magazine
A Reflective Dialogue
Editor’s Note
Love is often spoken of as an unconditional force, capable of enduring any strain. Yet many relationships falter not from a lack of feeling, but from the quiet erosion of respect—an absence that is harder to name and easier to endure than it should be. This reflective dialogue does not offer instruction or verdict, but an invitation: to examine the subtle moments when affection persists even as dignity wavers, and to consider what love requires in order to remain honest, sustaining, and humane.
At CSMS Magazine, we return often to questions of relationship because they are inseparable from ethics and selfhood—how we treat others, how we define our limits, and how we learn to remain whole in the presence of those we love.
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—Is it possible to love someone you no longer respect?
Yes. Many people do. Especially in long relationships, in families, in bonds shaped by history and endurance. Love does not always disappear when respect erodes.
—But something essential changes.
It does. What remains may still be called love, but it no longer feels whole. It becomes obligation, memory, or habit. Sometimes it takes the shape of pity. Often, it is the echo of love rather than its living presence.
—Love doesn’t vanish. It transforms.
Exactly. Like a plant trying to survive in depleted soil. It grows thin, strained, fragile. It exists, but it no longer flourishes.
—And the cost is quiet.
That is what makes it so dangerous. The toll is not dramatic; it accumulates slowly. It lives in the sigh before answering a call, the tension in the chest when a promise is repeated—one you already know will not be kept.
—Eventually, the erosion turns inward.
This is the moment that matters most. When you continue loving someone who repeatedly violates your values, you begin adjusting yourself instead. Boundaries soften. Explanations replace honesty. Over time, self-respect becomes collateral damage.
—Is this always permanent?
Not necessarily. Respect can falter after a serious mistake. When accountability is genuine and change is consistent, it can be rebuilt. But rebuilding requires more than remorse. It demands time, trustworthy action, and visible transformation.
—What about uneven respect?
That, too, is common. You may respect someone’s integrity but not their ambition, or admire their kindness while losing confidence in their judgment. Such imbalances can sometimes be sustained—if the respect that matters most to the relationship remains intact.
—And if it does not?
Then love alone is no longer enough.
—What questions clarify the path forward?
First: Is the loss of respect rooted in a character flaw or in a difference of values? Dishonesty and cruelty are harder to reconcile than divergent dreams.
Second: Has this person shown a real capacity for change—not in words, but in patterns?
Third: What boundaries are non-negotiable if self-respect is to be preserved?
And finally: Are you loving the person who exists now, or the idea of who they might become?
—That distinction changes everything.
Because respect cannot be sustained by potential. Love directed at an imagined future eventually starves the present.
—So respect is not about judgment.
No. It is about clarity. About seeing another person truthfully—and deciding whether that truth can coexist with your own dignity.
Note: Elisabeth Prudence is our newest collaborator.
Also see: When Silence Became the Third Presence
