Years ago, when Michael and I were fighting all the time, there was a ‘fix your marriage’ book about respecting your husband.
Even I though hated the book, I was fascinated. I bought it several times.
The sexist language would irritate me, so I’d get rid of the book. But then I’d buy it again.
What I didn’t realize at that time, the reason I was so fascinated by the sexist book, was that I DID need to respect Michael.
But the word ‘respect’ seemed to come from an authoritarian mindset, from the 1950s.
From a Leave it to Beaver world that had nothing to do with me.
I’m still ambivalent about the word ‘respect’ because it still doesn’t sound romantic or intimate. Probably 'unconditional love' is a better word.
I needed to love him unconditionally, not because he was my husband, not because he was a man (women should respect men, the sexist book explained) but because he was a human being.
Human beings thrive when they get respect.
Human beings fail when they receive criticism.
Relationships fail when criticism becomes predominant.
Our marriage had become polluted.
At the time I thought honesty was equivalent to intimacy—or what I thought was honesty. Now I’d say it's sharing every teeny thought that passes through my mind.
I thought an adult relationship meant that we put all our cards on the table and worked it out together. I thought that saying all my bad thoughts or feelings was being honest.
I thought I could say all my negative thoughts and feelings, even about him, say them TO HIM and that somehow, he was supposed to tolerate and utilize this information.
He was supposed to know they were just momentary thoughts and help me sort them out.
After all, I was a psychologist and that’s what we believed in—talking through problems.
When I think about it now, I must have thought Michael was either my psychotherapist or a saint.
That’s what I thought then.
Now I think that what I called ‘honesty’ then is more like spilling my bad feelings all over another person.
Fortunately, my children were luckier.
Somehow I knew that seeing them positively was key to their well-being. And that it was a responsibility I wanted to take on. It was a choice I could make.
That if I saw my children as successful, adorable, agreeable, they would be all those things. And occasionally when they weren’t successful, adorable or agreeable, I’d let them know that was the aberration. That they were wonderful, regardless.
That’s what love is—being committed to seeing the good in another person even when it’s hard to see.
I am so glad I took that on as my commitment as a mother. Unconditional love.
I want to be clear, I am not suggesting positivity at the cost of honesty, because that would sacrifice intimacy.
However, even though I knew that with my kids, I didn’t know how to do that with Michael.
Instead with Michael, I was stuck on this idea that as the adults in the family, as partners, that he and I should work things out together.
That if he was doing stuff I didn't like, I should tell him it was a problem and then he should change.
I was very invested in the idea that that’s what adults did, that’s how adults behaved who loved each other and were intimate.
In moments when negativity was predominant, I thought I could, or should, turn to him and that he would fix things and fix himself.
Often, the moments I wasn’t happy “with him” were more accurately moments when I simply wasn’t happy.
Where did I get the idea that when I was at my worst was the exact moment Michael could be his best?
Quite the opposite….
In fact, when I would download my bad feelings, I’d make him miserable too and then everything would simply go from bad to worse.
What I thought was intimate and honest was actually lack of respect, but I didn’t know that.
I thought sharing the thoughts and feelings would create understanding and closeness but instead it creating disrespect and disconnection.
I didn’t know I was creating an environment where criticism had become predominant.
