Getting the Love You Want, 20th An. Ed. (21 page)

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Authors: Ph.D Harville Hendrix

BOOK: Getting the Love You Want, 20th An. Ed.
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IT WASN’T LONG before Helen and I were integrating all we had learned about negativity into our therapy sessions and workshops. Since then, we have been pleased to discover how rapidly some couples can weed out negativity, even those who have at times been in grave distress. Helen and I witnessed a particularly amazing and rapid transformation at a recent week-long Imago workshop. Sam and Amelia’s story is a poignant illustration of the healing power of “owning” and then subsequently withdrawing the negativity that you bring to a love relationship.
Sam and Amelia stood out from the other couples from the very first day. During group sessions all the couples sat side-by-side in a semicircle. Most of them talked easily with each other during the breaks. Several couples who were there to enrich, not salvage, their relationships would give each other affectionate looks and touches on a regular basis. But not Sam and Amelia. They talked to each other only when taking part in an exercise. They kept their chairs more than a foot apart, preventing even casual contact. Whenever I looked at them, I saw that Amelia’s face and body were heavy with grief. Sam had a blank look on his face, and he seemed withered and wan. The
two of them came to the dining room at different times or sat down at separate tables. They seemed to be a couple barreling toward divorce.
On the third day of the workshop, however, after Helen had spent some time counseling them individually, Amelia had a profound breakthrough. She and Sam were working on an exercise designed to help them identify their exits—the tactics they used to distance themselves from one another. At one point, Amelia put down her notebook, walked over to Helen and asked her a question. “Is criticism an exit?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Is it possible to exit a relationship by constantly criticizing your partner?” Helen replied that criticism was a tried and true exit and that intimacy was not possible when either or both partners were under attack. Amelia nodded and went back to her chair.
When the exercise was completed, it was time for a break. We asked the couples to spend thirty minutes of their break time talking with each other about their exits. To keep the experience positive, we asked them to share the information using the Imago Dialogue.
The group reassembled in the early afternoon, and Helen asked if anyone wanted to talk about what they had learned. Amelia was the first to raise her hand. “I feel utterly devastated,” she whispered, her voice low and tremulous. The other couples leaned closer so they could hear. “I’m at a total loss. I’ve just realized that I criticize Sam all the time. I’ve been in therapy before, several times, and we’ve been to two marital therapists, but I’ve never seen this about myself. I feel so horrible about what I’ve done to this relationship. And I have no idea where to go with it. I don’t know what to do. If I take away the criticism, there’s nothing left. I’d have nothing to say to him. I feel like I’ve just stepped off a ledge and I don’t know how long I’m going to fall or where I’m going to land.” We were all transfixed. People rarely make such a candid confession in front of others.
Helen and I asked Amelia and Sam if they were willing to come up to the front and continue their story. They both nodded. We took two chairs and turned them so they were facing each other. As Amelia and Sam sat down in the chairs, Amelia drew in a ragged breath. Sam reached out and took her hands, and they looked into each other’s eyes. All exits were closed.
I knelt down so that I was at their eye level. “Would you be willing to talk about what it feels like to be in your relationship?”
Amelia began. “My criticisms aren’t subtle,” she said. “They are overt. Right in your face. If Sam does anything that threatens me, I won’t let him get away with it. If he does something I don’t like, like flirting with a woman at a party, I give him the third degree on the way home. I tell him exactly what I saw him do. And he will say, ‘No I didn’t do that.’ I’ll tell him, ‘For an hour, this is exactly what you did. You looked at her this way. You said this. You touched her there.’ The blaming has been so intense, and I was a hundred percent sure I was right. I thought that if I could just beat him into believing how bad he was, he would change. I did that for twenty years. More, maybe.”
“Did it work?” I asked.
“No. Never!” she laughed at the absurdity.
Sam took his turn. “We almost didn’t come to this workshop because we were going to get a divorce anyway. During most of the first day, I was mentally planning where I was going to live. I wasn’t even thinking about resolving anything. I couldn’t listen to what you and Helen were saying. There was nothing I had to learn. Nothing I had to resolve. I just kept thinking. ‘What am I doing here with this person? I have to get away.’”
I asked Sam how he defended himself against Amelia’s criticism. Amelia jumped in and answered for him.
“Sam didn’t counter-blame,” she said. “He’d just retreat. He’d disappear emotionally or go to another room. And I chased him so I could blame him some more.”
Amelia continued with the same remarkable candor. “During these last two days, I have had no place to go but to accept the fact that I am a blamer. To deny it, I would have felt even more pain than I was in already. It was the bottom. I was so overwhelmed by my insight into myself, I couldn’t listen to anyone. I couldn’t talk. I realized, ‘This is what I do. I blame all the time. I try to control everything. I want to keep Sam in a little box so that I can know what he’s doing. I want to keep him in box so that I can try to survive over here.’ But all of a sudden, this afternoon, I realized I couldn’t control him or blame him anymore. I have to stop. I have no choice. Now that my eyes are opened, I have to stop the constant criticism. It’s insane. Criticism doesn’t work. It gives you the opposite of what you want. It makes you feel very bad.”
Later that day and the next, Amelia and Sam sought out Helen for more private counseling and support. During breaks, the two of them would sit off by themselves, talking intently, looking dazed and earnest. Their body language was the opposite of what it had been when they arrived at the retreat. They leaned toward each other, looked into each other’s eyes, and touched each other constantly. The connection between them was palpable.
On Friday, the final day of the workshop, Amelia asked if she and Sam could talk to the group once again. Something remarkable had happened to them the night before that they wanted to share. They came up to the front of the semicircle holding hands.
Sam began, “We haven’t slept in the same bed for years. We didn’t want to be that close to each other. So, last night, I was lying in my bed unable to sleep, and Amelia was over in her bed. I could hear her sighing.”
Amelia said, “I was wide awake, and I was having negative thoughts about Sam. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t. Suddenly, I knew that if I stayed in my own bed and remained in my critical state of mind that it was going to be the end of our
marriage. There would be no hope for us if I didn’t act on what I was learning. I knew I should go over and talk with him. But I was frightened—if I broke out of our mold, everything would be different. I had no idea what was going to happen. Then I heard Harville and Helen say in my mind, ‘Just keep on pedaling. Keep on working the exercises.’ So I got up and lay down next to Sam, and said that I wanted to have a dialogue with him. He agreed. I began telling him what I was thinking and feeling. He was present. He listened to me. He supported what I was saying. He mirrored me back. He validated me. He was absolutely incredible. The next thing I knew, all my fear had turned into peace and calm, and I felt this amazing love for him. I’ve treated him so badly, yet he still was willing to listen to me and understand me.”
“It was easy for me to do,” Sam said. “I just followed the steps of the dialogue exercise. Because I knew how to respond to her, what would work, I felt much more self-confident. I could handle her. I didn’t need to retreat or run away. I could just hold her in my mind and see her as a wounded child.”
“This was my very first glimpse of real power in this relationship,” said Amelia. “The real way to be safe. Before, I thought that safety depended on being on guard. I found that being honest and vulnerable in front of him—instead of being critical and controlling—was the only way to connect. For the first time in decades, we both feel safe enough to reach out to each other. We found the bridge to connection.”
In just one week’s time, Sam and Amelia had gathered most of the insights and skills they needed to transform their relationship. They have a great deal of work ahead of them, and they’ve wisely decided to continue the work with a therapist. But in my mind, they’ve made the most important transformation already. They’ve realized on a gut level that their reliance on the complementary defenses of criticism and avoidance was destroying their love for each other. Once Amelia found the courage to acknowledge the extent of her negativity, Sam was
able to open his arms, forgive her, and comfort her. For the first time, Amelia felt safe enough to lay down her weapons.
CORE SCENE REVISION is another exercise that I rely on to help couples eliminate negativity. It is designed for couples who go beyond criticism and avoidance and engage in yelling matches and long, drawn out fights. I call these recurring battles “Core Scenes” because they replay the central childhood traumas of both individuals. Basically, the childhood adaptations of one partner are pitted against the childhood adaptations of the other, making the encounter doubly wounding. Typically, core scenes end in an impasse, with both individuals in deep emotional pain. These futile, hurtful exchanges must end before love can begin.
One couple, Jack and Deborah, had recurring fights that would last until the early hours of the morning. They named them “three-o‘clockers” because, typically, that’s when the fights would end. These were not explosive fights, but wearing, exhausting, and repetitive confrontations that ended without resolution. Following a three-o’clocker, the two of them would be tired and depressed for days.
During one therapy session, I asked them to recount several of their recent fights to see if they could identify what the fights had in common. Jack was quick to see their repetitive nature, and once they had reduced their fights to their lowest common denominators, they both laughed. But then Jack said with a note of sadness, “This isn’t something that I feel very proud of. Why do we fall into the same trap over and over again? I’m sick of it.”
According to their description, their core scene goes something like this:
Act I: It is five o’clock in the evening. Jack comes home from work and is confronted by Deborah, who wants him to do a chore. It could be anything—help plan a vacation, do some yardwork, sort through the mail. Jack says he would be happy to do it—later. After he has had a chance to take his evening run.
Act II: Jack goes jogging. He comes home. As he enters the door, Deborah approaches him again and asks if he will now do X. Jack says, “Sure. After I take a shower.”
Act III: Jack takes a shower. Deborah tracks him down and insists that now is the time to do X. Jack says, “Just let me have a drink.”
Act IV (the climax of the drama): Jack has several drinks. He begins to relax and enjoy himself. Deborah enters the room, irate. “Why don’t you either do it now or tell me you aren’t going to do it?” Deborah yells. “You are driving me crazy!” “But I do want to do it,” counters Jack. “Just give me time. I’m tired. I want to relax. Back off.”
Jack works on a crossword puzzle or watches TV and ignores his wife. She gets hysterical. “I hate you!” she cries out. “You never do what you say. You never listen to me! I feel like I’m living with a robot! I have no feelings for you!” Jack tries to block out her anger by concentrating more intently on what he is doing. Then, finding no peace, he gets up and leaves the house.
Act V: Jack comes home hours later. He’s had several more drinks. Deborah launches into her attack once more. The fight continues, with Deborah delivering devastating criticisms and Jack trying either to placate her or ignore her. Eventually they both get tired of the melodrama and turn away from each other in despair.
Let’s analyze this drama for a moment. If one were to search for Jack and Deborah in the psychology textbooks, Jack would be described as “passive-aggressive.” He is angry at Deborah for organizing his life and intruding on his space, but is afraid
to express it directly. Instead he stalls, jogs, showers, drinks, works on the crossword puzzle—in other words, takes full advantage of the numerous exits he has built into the relationship. Deborah would be labeled as “aggressive-aggressive.” “She’s a bulldog,” says Jack, not without admiration. She is up front with her demands and her anger. The irreducible element in their core scene is that the more Deborah attacks, the more Jack retreats, and the more Jack retreats, the more Deborah feels abandoned. Deborah’s anger at Jack’s passivity is, in reality, disguised panic. She is terrified of being left alone, and Jack’s inertness makes her feel as if she were dealing with a nonentity, a ghost partner.
I explained to Deborah and Jack that, in order to end the impasse, it might help to rewrite their play—not metaphorically, but literally. I suggested that they go home, take out paper and pencils, and rewrite the drama to give it a happier ending. It might help to read their new script several times so that the new options would be just as instructive to them as their habituated ones. I assured them that any change at all would be beneficial. Indeed, just being able to recognize a given fight as a core scene would be a positive step. Then, even if they managed to change just one of the acts, they would be creating the possibility of a new resolution.
Here are a couple of ways Jack and Deborah’s core scene might be revised: Deborah could become less aggressive, essentially honoring Jack’s request to “back off.” After asking him once to do a particular chore and getting no response, she could stop making the request. Jack’s need to withdraw might become less intense. He might gain the psychic space he needs to be able to do the chore before taking a shower or doing the crosswords.
Or the script might be rewritten so that Jack states his position more openly. “No. I don’t want to do that job. It’s not all that important to me. I’d rather do Y.” Deborah would be startled by his assertiveness, but if he persisted in affirming his
own priorities, she would eventually become relieved. After all, what she really wants is a partner who is an independent, confident human being, not an automaton.
This practice of defining a core scene and then writing alternative versions can be an effective tool. When couples are able to objectify their arguments, identify the key elements in the drama, and then create different options, they are using the rational new brain to defeat the old brain’s fight or flight response. They are creating new neural pathways that channel their feelings into a more calm and positive direction.

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