Rough spots

Why do we not confide in our friends when our marriages hit rough spots?

My parents fought. Understatement. They screamed at each other so loudly that, when I took walks by myself, neighbors stopped to ask me if everything was okay.

My mother confided in her friends about all sorts of things. I know because I eavesdropped. No topic was off-limits, and I mean no topic … except about how much she and my dad fought.

I caught on pretty quickly. When neighbors ask if everything is okay, say yes. When adults start yelling, get scarce.

A couple of weeks ago, I got upset at Matt. I went absolutely stone-cold silent. He out-silenced me with a quiet so deep, I thought I might be alone forever.

This was not a new gig for either of us. We like to joke that a marriage of two co-dependent people means We Are Happy All The Time. Past relationships taught us to be reconcilers, boat steadiers, accommodators, whatever-it-takes-to-quiet-the-storm people, no matter the loss of self.

Going quiet when anger or fear surface? Total self-preservation.

On this day when I was upset with my husband, I decided to be brave. I said, “I want to tell you what’s bothering me. But I’m very afraid if I do that you will freeze, and then I will be even sadder than I am right now.”

And he decided to be brave, too. He said, “You are my priority. We can talk right now. Or I can go to work, and we will talk tonight.”

We picked the after-work version. And I felt better immediately, except that I remembered I had a coffee date with a friend that evening. I texted her something like, “Matt and I are have hit a little rough spot, and we need to talk tonight. Can we cut our coffee date short?” Bravery was singing in my veins.

Here’s the thing: I think telling my friend that Matt and I were in a bit of conflict was almost as difficult as the conflict itself. Seriously.

I know why I freeze up during conflict with Matt—but I don’t know why I can’t confide in a trusted friend who will, in all likelihood say, “Oh, me, too,” and then I will feel one thousand percent better.

And it’s not just me. I know a couple having such a difficult time that divorce is likely. But their Facebook posts? You’d think the honeymoon will never end. They’re all, “I love my husband more than anything,” and “Look at the sweet thing my beautiful wife made me.” Their real marriage? Yikes.

My friend Amy and I had coffee last night. We were talking about hard things. I told her about the rough spot Matt and I hit a couple of weeks back. Her eyes filled with tears, and she said, “Oh, I feel so much better.”

I said, “Amy, why don’t we ask people for help when are marriages go through difficult stages?” She shook her head. I did, too.

Matt and I freeze up when conflict comes knocking because we don’t know how to fight. We assume yelling and door slamming and hard-to-take-back words will ensue, and that we might be just one tiny step away from loss of the forever kind. We learned long ago to just make dinner, open a book, flip the channels, ride out the storm. Now we are learning other ways. Tell our own truth. Listen. Use sentences that start with I. Sit with our hands held open.

But why we (and I mean me) don’t ask our friends for support when marriage is difficult is hard for me to fathom. I’ve been in years of therapy. I’ve worked the steps, had a sponsor, inventoried, the whole shebang. I know secrets make me sick.

So why not just open my mouth and let them out?

In this book We Make the Road by Walking, Brian McLaren writes, “Jesus showed us his scars, and we're starting to realize we don't have to hide ours."

I like that word starting.  For today, that’s enough.