The September 1994 issue of The New Times published an article of mine called "I Love John Because He Treats Me Like a Dog." It was a tongue-in-cheek comparison between the way my partner treats me and the way he treated his favorite canine friend, Zeke (see "A Warrior Dog's Last Dance" for an update story about Zeke, who died at age 13 in 2002).
Prior to the article’s publication, I warned John that going public with the strengths of our relationship would likely cause some "stuff" to come up for us. Because we have done so much work on our relationship, we both scoffed at the idea that anything could come up that we hadn’t already examined from every possible angle. Well, surprise, surprise!
Shortly after the dog article came out, John and I experienced a two-week "shakedown flight" in our otherwise smooth-sailing relationship. So many skeletons jumped out of our respective closets that we thought it was a global Halloween party! In addition to the publication of the dog article, a difficult situation arose that challenged our relationship and intensified the aforementioned shakedown flight.
Since 1992, John and I have been searching for a house in the country that is nearby, so we can both keep our businesses in Seattle. After looking all over Washington state in vain, we decided to explore nearby Vashon Island in Puget Sound. We placed an ad in the New Times, and through that an amazing house on Vashon presented itself, complete with so many omens that even John-the-skeptic had to admit it was probably "the house."
Despite the omens, John’s skepticism turned into a fire-breathing monster as soon as we got close to actually purchasing. Things that he’d been saying were okay–about the house, about the move, about Vashon, and even about our relationship–were suddenly not okay. I felt shocked and betrayed.
Though I'm usually supportive of John (or anyone) changing their minds at any time during a process as long as they communicate about anything that involves me, this time I was overextended and exhausted from the house search. I felt like I would die if I didn’t move to the country now.
For me, it felt as if John and I had spent years in mutual preparation for this "baby," and now that it had arrived, John was having second thoughts about fatherhood. The timing was awful! John recognized the accuracy of this analogy, and he felt terrible about how he was feeling and acting. Nonetheless, it was his truth.
Instead of my typical style of solitary, responsible emotional work, I became rather hysterical when John announced that he wanted to back out of the house purchase. When my emotions became so overwhelming that it wasn't wise for John and me to keep talking, I called one of my best friends (also a longtime therapist), and she came over right away. She knew I'd never asked for help in the midst of a conflict with John, and she understood how important it was–for me as well as John–that I get some outside support immediately.
In the presence of my friend’s compassionate witnessing, and with John now having exited to another room downstairs, I let loose with the fill force of my feelings. Quickly it became clear to my friend and I that my pain was not only related to my conflict with John about the house; it was also related to old abuse memories that had been restimulated by current events. Feeling betrayed and abandoned was the issue–but it went way beyond anything about a house on Vashon.
As the waves of emotion swept through me, it was profound to be held and loved by my friend without a trace of judgment on her part, until my body quieted naturally on its own. Watching my own experience that day, I remembered how many of my counseling clients have told me that they’re afraid to feel the full force of their rage, grief, or fear, because they're afraid the rush of emotion will never stop. I've always assured them that it always stops eventually. If nothing else, you get tired!
That afternoon, the roller coaster took two hours from start to finish. When the wild ride was finally done, I was covered with sweat and hungry as hell. I giggled at that point, suddenly shy about letting it all hang out in front of anyone else. My friend laughed with me, but not at me, and she assured me that she was honored to be trusted so much. Having been in her position many times with other people, I knew what she meant. It takes guts to show someone else your shadow side.
Though I had traded counseling attention with my friend many times in the past regarding other conflicts with John, I had never let her–or anyone–witness one of our "fights" while it was in progress. It was not a pretty sight! In retrospect, I was able to give John credit for his courage, too, in allowing her to be with us during such a vulnerable time.
John and I had navigated other relationship conflicts by remembering the valuable role of conflict in the process of growth. We therefore decided to treat this conflict as a necessary though painful "house-cleaning" that was probably inevitable given that we were facing a deeper level of commitment as a result of trying to buy a house together.
We said nothing to the Vashon sellers about our clash, but instead proceeded with a search for financing. Even though we’d each been successfully self-employed since 1980 (which was more than 15 years by this time), banks and mortgage companies treated us as if we were somehow tainted. As we struggled within our relationship to be seen by each other, we struggled in the outer world to be seen by the Bestowers of Mortgages.
These outer world challenges further fueled John’s fears about being overextended financially, and they fueled my anger about John’s unwillingness to risk. I felt held back by John, and he felt railroaded by me. For years, we've been aware of our differences in "speed," generally speaking, and we’ve worked hard to develop mutual respect for these differences. However, this house conflict brought up our resistance to each other's style in spades. We were each afraid that there was no way for us to get our individual needs met and still stay in relationship. Because we love each other so much, the experience was terrifying. We didn’t know if our relationship was dying–or being reborn.
Concurrent to our relationship struggles and financial challenges, I was struggling with myself. I had a sense that I wasn’t being fair to John, but my own needs were so loud that I found it difficult to appreciate his position. Gradually, with the help of a lot of good counsel from other therapist-friends, I realized that I needed to let go of my self-righteous indignation about feeling betrayed. Though it was important for me to feel and express my own pain, I wanted to find more space in my heart to hear John’s pain as well.
As I worked hard to soften my position, John was able to voice his fears more clearly, and we found other ways together to keep exploring the Vashon home purchase. At the same time, we kept talking about the scary stuff, because this incident had caused old fears to resurface for both of us, not just for John. We both discovered how much we had let our individual needs "go underground" in order to keep from rocking the boat, and neither of us wanted to keep going in that direction.
To make a long story shorter, let me just say that we came back into the house process together and rebuilt some mutual trust, then John vetoed the purchase again. Then I went numb, then I realized I wasn’t being fair to him again, and later I softened and he softened again, and then we resumed the house process together again. It was quite a little saga.
The financing search provided an interesting parallel adventure. Two weeks into this roller coaster ride, we had to make a final decision about the house in order to honor our earnest money agreement–either by going forward with the deal or saying no in time to get our earnest money back based on one of the contingencies we'd written into the contract. That night, we were so confused about what to do that we joked about calling "Dial-a-Psychic." We didn’t, but we did turn the process over to our dreams.
The next morning, we compared notes. John, who had already been having many anxiety dreams about the house, had yet another distressing dream. We didn’t know if this was fear that needed to be overcome, or if it was a warning. However, John also dreamed that his piano (his real-life symbol of soul-centering and meditation) was destroyed by being in the house on Vashon.
That did it. Neither of us was willing to put John’s soul at risk. Interestingly, my dreams told me the last thing I expected, namely, that I would be more likely to find my strength and power in the city than in the country, for now.
Putting these dreams together, our course of action was clear. We called the sellers and let go. Since we had not yet secured financing, we simply told them that the money did not come through, which was true. Ironically, a few hours later, we heard from the third bank we had contacted and they gave us the "good news." This was a strange twist of timing, but we did not doubt our dreams. We told the bank that we wouldn’t be buying the house on Vashon, but that we were grateful to know our financing was in place for whenever we did find the right home.
When the smoke cleared and the rumbling quieted, John and I reviewed the aftermath of our emotional eruptions. We realized it was essential to take stock–both individually and together–to access what we'd learned from this "Monster Mash." We vowed to do another round of regular counseling sessions with our trusty relationship consultant, so that our skeletons could be given an opportunity to flesh out and find new ways to express themselves more responsibly. We knew that our relationship was in a vulnerable place, and we also knew that our only hope for keeping it healthy and strong would be to find new ways to honor the parts of ourselves that we each feared the other could not love.
Some people may wonder why I would want to expose the soft underbelly of our relationship, not to mention my own soft underbelly. There are many reasons, three of which I’ll mention. First, I want to show that a full-out relationship definitely includes love as well as hate, joy as well as despair, and clarity as well as confusion. Many people never reveal their vulnerabilities and fears, which leads others to assume–often with shame–that they are alone in having shadow sides. However, everyone has skeletons in their closet!
Another reason I share this process is to counterbalance the piece called "I Love John Because He Treats Me Like a Dog," (which I mentioned at the beginning of this article), because it only showed the high side of our relationship. By doing that, it ran the risk of people not appreciating how hard we work in order to enjoy a generally smooth relationship. Though John and I rarely experience such profound levels of conflict as those mentioned in this story, conflict is a part of our life together. In fact, our willingness to work through conflict is a major factor in the strength of our bond.
A final reason I share this story is to experiment with an idea I’ve been mulling around for years. That is, if writing about the high side of an experience can scare skeletons out of the closet, then I wonder if writing about the monsters will coax some angels out of hiding? I don’t know the answer yet, but as John says, "It’s always good to play your options!"
