Photo by Scott Broome on Unsplash
As a management professional, my life has been built on frameworks, strategies, and key performance indicators. My academic journey taught me that every successful venture, from a small start-up to a global corporation, is fundamentally about one thing: people. The core of my work revolves around understanding human behavior, motivation, and collaboration.
Yet, a few years ago, I realized a profound irony. While I was an expert at managing people in the professional world, my personal life often felt like an unmanaged project, running on instinct and luck. It was a chaotic, beautiful, and often overwhelming journey. This realization led me to a simple, yet powerful, question: What if we applied the wisdom of Human Resource Management (HRM) to our most important workplace—the heart?
This article is an exploration of that question. It is an attempt to bridge the structured world of business with the messy, unpredictable landscape of love. It’s an argument that love is not just a feeling; it is a partnership—a full-time, high-stakes role that requires skill, strategy, and continuous development.
In business, every role begins with a Job Description (JD). It outlines responsibilities, skills, and expectations. Why don't our relationships have one? My partner, Indrani, and I realized that an unspoken JD of the heart exists, and it's what often leads to miscommunication. A job description for a life partner isn't a rigid contract, but a living document that outlines mutual expectations:
By defining these roles, even informally, we create a foundation of clarity. We move from assuming what our partner needs to knowing it, which is the first step towards building a resilient connection.
HRM treats talent acquisition as a science. We screen resumes, conduct interviews, and look for a perfect "culture fit." But in love, this process is an art. My journey with Indrani taught me that the best partnerships aren’t built on matching resumes or shared hobbies. They are built on recognizing a "culture add"—someone who doesn't just mirror your personality but challenges and expands your worldview.
This is where the concept of a "competency-based interview" becomes crucial. Instead of asking superficial questions like "What's your favorite movie?", we must ask questions that reveal a person's character under pressure. Questions like, "Tell me about a time you were truly disappointed," or "How do you handle a conflict with someone you care about?" The answers to these questions are far more telling than any shared interest. They reveal the core competencies of a person's heart: their resilience, integrity, and emotional maturity.
In organizations, we use Key Performance Indicators (KPIs) to measure success. In relationships, our KPIs are emotional. They are not numbers but small, consistent actions that reaffirm love. The danger in long-term relationships is that we stop measuring, we stop checking in, and we assume everything is fine. This leads to a slow, silent disengagement.
My partner and I developed our own "Love PMS" (Performance Management System) to combat this. It was a simple framework of asking each other:
"Did I make you feel seen this week?"
"What's one thing I can do better next month?"
"Did we take time for a 'no-screen' conversation?"
This practice isn't about creating a transactional relationship; it's about making our love intentional. It forces us to move from passive existence to active participation, ensuring that neither partner feels unseen or unappreciated. This continuous feedback loop is the medicine that prevents emotional burnout and "quiet quitting," where a partner remains physically present but emotionally withdrawn.
Conflicts are inevitable. But they don't have to be destructive. HRM teaches us that a healthy conflict resolution process is vital for any team. The same applies to a relationship. My biggest lesson was learning that "not every argument is an exit interview." When Indrani and I faced disagreements, I learned to adopt a "grievance handling" mindset.
Instead of reacting with anger, I learned to:
By establishing ground rules—like not yelling after midnight, using a safe word to pause a heated discussion, or avoiding "you always" statements—we created a safe space to fight for our relationship, not against each other.
In a competitive job market, companies invest heavily in retaining top talent. The same logic should apply to love. Why do good people stay in a relationship, even though hardships? They stay not for the grand gestures, but for the consistent, daily appreciation. They stay because of a strong "Employee Value Proposition" (EVP).
A relationship's EVP is the unique value it offers its partners: emotional safety, a platform for personal growth, and a sense of profound belonging. My partner taught me that "You don't need to worship me, you just need to not let my efforts become background noise." This is the essence of retention. When a partner feels their emotional contributions are consistently recognized, it builds an unbreakable loyalty that no amount of external temptation can shatter.
Love is a full-time role that demands as much dedication as a career. It requires us to be "Romantic Project Managers," "HR Business Partners," and co-creators of our own stories. It is a journey from the "JD of the Heart" to the "Final Offer," where we ask ourselves, "Would I still hire you, knowing everything I know now?" The true beauty of a relationship isn’t in its flawless days, but in its ability to navigate the messy ones with grace, intention, and a relentless commitment to manage love like it matters.