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Reconcilable Differences By Andrew Christensen, PhD and Neil S. Jacobson, PhD Three Sides to Every Story Debra’s Story How long can you be married to a stranger? Looks like I may be about to set a record of some kind. After eight years of marriage and almost two years of courtship before that – ten years of being together – I still can’t communicate with Frank. The problem is, he doesn’t listen to me. He never shares his feelings with me, just turns off, withdraws. I hardly ever can figure out what’s going on with him. It’s gotten to the point where I feel closer to Joan, a woman I’ve been working with for just a year, than I do to Frank. At least I never have to wonder what she’s thinking or feeling – she lets me know. A coffee break with her is always stimulating because we have so much to say and so little time to say it. We’re so tuned in to each other we even finish each other’s sentences sometimes. It’s completely different with Frank. We are intimate in some ways, of course. I know his body very well, from years of stroking and exploring. And from his grunts and moans, I’ve figured out his sexual preferences pretty well. I could write a book about his personal habits: the obsessive way he flosses his teeth, the careful way he blow-dries his hair to cover his bald spot, the meticulous way he lines up his clothes in the closet. But I sure don’t know what he’s thinking and feeling most of the time. He gets this look that’s part tired, part concerned, part preoccupied. But when I ask him if anything’s wrong, he says “No.” When I ask him what he’s feeling, he says, “Tired.” When I ask him what he’s thinking about, he says, “Work.” If I ask him what about work, he says, “Just some problems.” All his answers seem perfunctory and dutiful, like he doesn’t want to tell me but has to. He might as well say if right out: “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He’d rather watch a stupid sitcom on TV than connect with his own wife. It wasn’t like this at first. He was never very open, but he enjoyed listening to me. And he would tell me things about himself. In the beginning, even though the communication between us was never balanced, it was at least mutual. I thought he’d eventually get more comfortable with me and confide in me more, but he actually confides less now than when we first met! His lack of communication bothers me most when we disagree about something. I want to discuss our differences and try to work out a solution. I expect conflict in a close relationship; I’m not threatened it; and I want to deal with it openly. But Frank won’t even discuss it. At first sign of tension, he runs. He offers me some feeble platitude like “Things will work themselves out.” I think the root of our problem is Frank’s sensitivity to criticism and anger. He can’t stand any suggestion that he might have done something wrong, especially if I show that I’m angry about it. What does he think a close relationship is, some continuous recording of soft Muzak? He’s not perfect, I’m not perfect – we’re different people with different needs. So of course we’re going to get angry sometimes. That doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. Yet whenever I get critical or angry, he acts as if I’ve violated some sacred law of nature. And then he gets even more critical and angry with me (for being critical and angry at him) than I was with him in the first place.
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