Mistakes Were Made - Carol Tavris [80]
Debra interrupted my ruminations with a seemingly innocent question: “Did you notice how much in tune those two were with each other?” Now I know what’s behind that kind of question—or at least where that kind of question will lead. It always leads right back to us, specifically to me. Eventually the point becomes “We aren’t in tune with each other,” which is code for “You’re not in tune with me.” I dread these conversations that chew over what’s wrong with us as a couple, because the real question, which goes unstated in the civil conversations, but gets stated bluntly in the uncivil ones, is “What’s wrong with Frank?” So I sidestepped the issue on this occasion by answering that they were a nice couple.
But Debra pushed it. She insisted on evaluating them in comparison to us. They had money and intimacy. We had neither. Maybe we couldn’t be wealthy, but we could at least be intimate. Why couldn’t we be intimate? Meaning: Why couldn’t I be intimate? When we got home, I tried to defuse the tension by saying I was tired and suggesting that we go to bed. I was tired, and the last thing I wanted was one of these conversations. But Debra was relentless. She argued that there was no reason we couldn’t stay up and discuss this. I proceeded with my bedtime routine, giving her the most minimal of responses. If she won’t respect my feelings, why should I respect hers? She talked at me while I put on my pajamas and brushed my teeth; she wouldn’t even let me alone in the bathroom. When I finally got into bed and turned off the light, she turned it back on. I rolled over to go to sleep, but she kept talking. You’d think she’d have gotten the message when I put the pillow over my head—but no, she pulled it off. At that point I lost it. I told her she was a baby, a crazy person—I don’t remember everything I said. Finally, in desperation, I went to the guest bedroom and locked the door. I was too upset to go to sleep right away, and I didn’t sleep at all. In the morning, I was still angry at her. I told her she was irrational. For once, she didn’t have much to say.
Have you taken sides yet? Do you think this couple would be fine if she only stopped trying to get him to talk or if he would only stop hiding under the pillow, literally and figuratively? And what is their major problem—that they are temperamentally incompatible, that they don’t understand each other, that they are angry?
Every couple has differences. Even identical twins have differences. For Frank and Debra, like most couples, the differences are precisely why they fell in love: He thought she was terrific because she was sociable and outgoing, a perfect antidote to his reserve; she was drawn to his calmness and unflappability in a storm. All couples have conflicts, too: small irritants that are amusing to everyone but the participants—she wants dirty dishes washed immediately, and he lets them pile up for only one cleanup a day (or week)—or larger disagreements about money, sex, in-laws, or any of countless other issues. Differences need not cause rifts. But once there is a rift, the couple explains it as being an inevitable result of their differences.
Moreover, Frank and Debra actually understand their situation very well. They agree on everything that happened the night of their great blowup: on what set it off, on how they both behaved, on what each wanted from the other. They both agree that comparing themselves to the new couple made them feel unhappy and self-critical. They agree that she is more roller-coastery and he more placid, a gender complaint as common as ragweed in summer. They are clear about what they want from the relationship and what