In a previous article, I reflected on how speaking more than one language shapes a person’s emotional life in individual therapy. I wrote about how shifting from English to a mother tongue — or another familiar language — can bring certain memories and feelings closer to the surface, or sometimes hold them safely at a distance.

In couples therapy, these dynamics can be even more complex. When partners come from different cultures or speak different native languages, language is never simply a neutral channel of communication. It can be a bridge that brings them closer, a shield that protects, or a barrier that subtly keeps them apart.

This is something I have seen repeatedly in my work, both in my years of practice in London and since moving online during the pandemic. Many couples — sometimes consciously, sometimes without quite knowing why — seek out a therapist who can hold more than one language and the cultural associations that come with it.

Working in English, French, and Greek, I’ve often noticed how the choice of language in a session is connected to which part of the self is speaking, and which feelings feel safe to share. Couples may move between languages not simply for clarity, but because certain words carry different weights of belonging, desire, or conflict.

In this article, I want to explore how language in multilingual couples therapy can become both a bridge and a battleground—and how paying close attention to this can open up new possibilities for understanding and connection.

The subtle power of language in relationships

In relationships where partners share more than one language, words often carry hidden emotional meanings. The choice of which language to use is rarely accidental. It can reflect a wish for closeness, a need for distance, or a longing to be understood on different terms.

Couples often move between languages in ways they don’t consciously register. One partner might slip into their mother tongue when expressing anger, or switch back to a shared second language when trying to smooth things over. These shifts can tell us a great deal about where safety and threat are felt, and about the internal landscapes each person inhabits.

Clinical vignette – Philippe and Anna

Recently, I worked with a couple — Philippe and Anna — who live in Paris. Philippe is French, divorced, and has a young daughter. Anna, who is American, has never had children of her own. They had chosen to work with me because I could offer therapy in both English and French, the languages they used together in their relationship.

In all our previous sessions, they had joined the call together from Philippe’s living room, sitting side-by-side with an iPad propped up in front of them. On this occasion, however, they appeared separately on my screen in two windows — Anna joining from her own flat in central Paris, and Philippe from a conference room at his office in La Défense, the financial district.

From the beginning, Anna was noticeably more reserved. In earlier meetings, she would often greet me in French, engaging in a little polite conversation before switching to English. This time, she spoke only English and used very few words.

Philippe, by contrast, seemed almost nervous — talking quickly in English and filling the silences. About twenty minutes into the session, Anna quietly said that something had happened the night before and she felt she needed to share it.

They had spent the night together as part of their trial period living in Philippe’s flat. It was late June, and the city was unusually hot and humid. Philippe was tired from work and uncomfortable in the heat. Anna, although not seeking sexual intimacy, wanted to feel close and reassured. As they lay in bed, she placed her hand gently on his shoulder. In his sleep, Philippe pulled away from her, turning further to the side.

Anna described how much this had hurt her. She said that in that moment, she felt rejected and alone. When she finished, there was a long pause. Philippe looked down for a moment, then asked me, in English, whether it would be all right for him to share his perspective in French. Anna nodded and said she preferred that he express himself in whatever language felt most honest, adding that I could respond in French if needed before translating for her.

As Philippe began to speak in French, his tone softened. He explained that he had been exhausted and overwhelmed by the heat, and that he hadn’t intended to withdraw from her. Speaking in his native language, he was able to describe the physical discomfort and the feeling of needing space in a way he struggled to convey in English.

At that moment, I was aware that I had become both a bridge and a wall between them — something like a medieval fortress with a gate. My role was to hold the space, to help Philippe speak more authentically, and to help Anna hear the intention behind his reaction without feeling erased by the difference in language.

What language reveals in couples therapy

From a psychoanalytic perspective, the language a person chooses in moments of vulnerability can tell us something about which part of the self is speaking. Winnicott described how the True Self can emerge more freely when conditions feel safe enough, while a False Self adapts to what is expected or permissible. In this sense, Philippe’s decision to speak in French allowed a more authentic voice to surface — one that carried the texture of feeling he struggled to access in English.

Bion might say that the therapist in these moments takes on a containing function, helping to hold and digest the intensity of what is being shared before offering it back in a form that can be tolerated by both partners. Lacan also reminds us that language is never just a code — it is the field in which desire, belonging, and loss are negotiated. The tone and cadence of a mother tongue can transmit something beyond meaning, something closer to what he called the “object voice,” carrying affect that precedes understanding.

When couples become aware of these subtle dynamics — how language holds different parts of themselves, how it carries memories and desires that are sometimes easier to feel than to explain — it often becomes possible to step out of fixed patterns and to start building a more flexible, shared language for their relationship.

Building a shared language in couples

Language in couples therapy is never just a means of communication. It’s a window into identity, power, memory, and desire. It reveals which parts of ourselves feel welcome in the relationship, and which remain just out of reach.

When couples begin to notice how language choices reflect emotional positions — how speaking in one tongue or another affects who is heard, who feels exposed, who retreats — they start to build a more open and flexible way of relating.

That process often begins with simple curiosity. Which language do I turn to when I feel vulnerable? What words feel emotionally charged for my partner, even if they’re neutral for me? What tone do I use when I’m asking to be understood?

Sometimes, just asking a partner, “Could you say that in the language that feels most natural to you?” can shift the conversation from conflict to connection.

In many relationships, the most meaningful shared language isn’t one either partner speaks perfectly—it’s the one they shape together, word by word, through care, listening, and a willingness to be known.