Love with feet

I get super insecure about Matt sometimes. Which I think is because, really, I get super insecure about me. Like yesterday? I knew I’d really been neglecting him. At a conference we recently attended, I paid attention to our friend Lauren who went with us pretty much constantly, and when I wasn’t paying attention to Lauren, I was captivated by the readings and speakers and ideas and such. Big Matt neglect.

So yesterday, I realized two horrible things: he had not one clean pair of underwear in his drawer and I sent him to work with no salad dressing. This was all especially discouraging because I woke up thinking, “Today, I am a writer. But today, first, I am a wife, and I need to get some things done for my man.” So I packed his lunch (badly), and I did all of the laundry (too late). I also did all of the ironing and cooking and errands, too, and I spent a good deal of time congratulating myself for these feats, only to make the underwear and salad dressing discovery.

When he got home, I stopped what I was doing to greet him and talk with him. I gave him lots and lots of attention, which I could tell he liked. But two terrible things happened: He spent a lot of time at dinner texting with Heather, his former wife. To be fair, it was about an important, this-must-be-addressed-now issue, but I squirmed in my chair every time his phone vibrated. I finally got brave and said, “I don’t like that. Please turn your phone over.” He apologized and got up from the table and put his phone in our bedroom.

But here’s the second terrible thing: when I was unpacking his lunch bag to put his dishes in the dishwasher, a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup was there amongst the sticky Rubbermaid and lukewarm ice packs. And I said, “Hey, you don’t like these. Was there Halloween candy at work, and you brought home something for me?” And he sort of chuckled and said, “No. I have no idea how that got into my lunch bag.”

A thing in my chest shrieked. What I said was, “Ah. Someone at work has a little crush on my man. This is not cool. ‘Fess up. What’s his name?” And Carrie, our visitor, laughed. And, although I sounded relaxed and funny and unconcerned, the shrieking thing was terrified. So, of course, I ate the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.

This morning, before he left, I said, “So, hey, when someone at work asks you about the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, you can tell that person that your wife enjoyed it and says thanks.” And he said, “Yes, she did enjoy it. After she put it in the freezer.” And I said, “Because it was a gooey melted mess.” He sort of laughed, a bit half-heartedly, a bit uncomfortably. I thought about frozen, sticky messes, and how much I hate being insecure.

Then the good part came. We looked into each other’s eyes for several seconds. I said, “I feel terrible about the underwear and salad dressing.” And he laughed, this time for real, and said gently, “Cute woman. It’s nothing. I love you. I will see you in twelve hours.”

Here’s the deal. It is entirely possible that, at some point in my marriage, one or both of us will fall in love with someone else. People I know and love and respect have done this. Sometimes they ignore it, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they cause damage akin to nuclear fallout, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes the relationship heals. Sometimes it doesn’t.

I desperately—so incredibly desperately—do not want this to happen to my marriage.

But really? All I can do is be a great me. And a great wife. That’s it, that’s my big plan.

Well, and prayer.

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Sometimes prayers go up, and stay a while. Other times, help comes quickly. This time, help came quickly.

I was noodling around on my phone this morning, as I so often do while Matt reads the paper. I came across an article in The Atlantic called “The Critical Importance of Kindness.” The author reviewed a study done by John Gottman and his wife Julia, several studies, in fact, in which the scientists studied the behavior of recently married couples.

To over-paraphrase the Gottmans’ work, they have found that couples who practice kindness and generosity stay married. Those who do not divorce.

Of course, this seems like a big duh, but the Gottmans specifically describe kind and generous behaviors in helpfully concrete terms. For example, let’s say Matt comes home from work and starts talking about, oh, I don’t know, perhaps a meeting in which contractors and designers and technicians cannot agree on something like a particular shade of concrete. Something like that.  According to the Gottmans, when Matt tells me about the concrete color disagreement, he is making a bid for my attention. He would like to be listened to, acknowledged, and—even more importantly—talked with about this concrete thing.

I have options. I can keep noodling on my phone and say, “Mmm, hmm,” which, truth be told, I often do. The “mmm, hmm” reaction is passive, at best, and sends the message that I’d prefer to stay in my head rather than join up in Matt’s. Or, I can be hostile and say, “Jiminy Christmas, Matt, who cares about concrete colors? Seriously? This is what you do all day?” This aggressive approach is active, but not at all helpful. The Gottmans say that when couples do this, they end up divorced.

I am not hostile to Matt. I love this man, and I love his interest in his work. But passive? Oh, yes. I play that game all the time.

Now, clearly, talking about concrete colors with him is not a guarantee that our marriage won’t derail. But turning my body and my voice and my thoughts toward him call attention to a deeper truth, that I care enough about this man to be kind to him, to walk together in an “our” world, rather than stay turtle-tucked into my own.

Being the best me, the best wife—these are good and noble goals, ones I want to chase hard after. But wanting and doing are two very different things. Without clear instructions, wanting is but a wish, whereas doing is love with feet.