Toward Commitment

by Diane Rehm

  JOHN: True. And that annoyed you at times. But you've touched on the illusion of the perfect vacation. I think we all suffer from that. You mention other couples. Looking back, I can think of good friends of ours, couples who have sound relationships, who would show irritation and annoyance over petty matters while vacationing. I think it's difficult for people to spend time in this enforced intimacy. They're going to get on each other's nerves to a degree. But at the same time, I wouldn't take the illusion away from the vacation, because that's part of the fun. The trick is to understand and recognize that the illusion will be impaired to some degree. You roll with the punch and let the vacation continue.

  DIANE: Sometimes it's hard to roll with the punch. In the last few years, you and I have taken shipboard vacations with other couples. The first time we looked at the size of the cabin we were going to be in, I almost fainted! It was no more than six feet across, with hardly any room between the beds. We could barely pass each other in the room. And then the bathroom!

  JOHN AND DIANE: [laughter]

  DIANE: It had a kind of combination shower, toilet, everything. It was enforced intimacy to a degree even I found almost intolerable.

  JOHN: And yet, Diane—this was our Russia trip, from Moscow to St. Petersburg, all by water, through canals, lakes, and rivers— I look back on that as one of our most successful vacations. We were able to transcend the incredible exiguity—

  DIANE: [laughter]

  JOHN: —of our “stateroom.” Of course, being with friends does help. It can ease the situation and relieve the enforced intimacy to some degree. I can remember that each friend of ours on that trip wrestled with the same problem.

  DIANE: Thinking about friends in another context and looking back on our trips to the beach, I used to love to invite everybody down there. At one point we must have had twenty people in that apartment. There must have been ten or twelve kids sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags. I loved every minute of it. It was fun looking around seeing everybody, but I think you had some problems with it.

  JOHN: No question, it was difficult. That situation certainly encroached upon my need for more privacy, more time to be alone, to walk on the beach. But at the same time—and this is part of what you've brought to our marriage, which I really do appreciate—even then, I had fun. For example, I can recall the two of us making breakfast—

  DIANE: —for everyone!

  JOHN: You were the short-order chef, and we were very fussy. We had a menu for each individual, whether it was scrambled or fried eggs, bacon, toast, muffins—all of it. That was quite a piece of theater, which I enjoyed at the time.

  DIANE: So now perhaps you might want to take a vacation that I'd rather not take. I'm not sure I want to visit some of the far-off, more exotic countries I know you'd like to see. I have reservations about food and health. I'm worried about traveling to certain areas of the world. I think I'd like to see more of this country.

  JOHN: That's a new thought, that I might go off on a vacation alone, and I must say, my initial reaction is quite negative. For all the difficulties you and I have had on such trips—and we've had difficulties—I've enjoyed the companionship with you and sharing the exploration, the new events. I would be sad not to have you there to share in that experience.

  DIANE: But I do think we're going to have to negotiate vacations. This notion of “We're going here” or “We're going there” has to be one of agreement for the vacation to have any chance of satisfying both people.

  JOHN: You've used for me what is the key word, “negotiate.” In that sense, a vacation is a test of a marital relationship—not a huge test, but a significant one.

  DIANE: Do you think it always was in our case?

  JOHN: A test? Oh yes, and over the years I think we've learned that negotiation is the key, not that we've always succeeded in achieving an effective negotiation. But a vacation does require a series of compromises, adjustments, accommodations— indeed, negotiations—if both parties are going to derive some pleasure from it.

  DIANE: I would remind you of a trip we took together to Montreal. You and I were so angry with each other. We went into a restaurant together for a cup of tea, and you said, “I want to go home, and you can stay here.” I said, “I'm not staying here by myself.” And then somehow, after we hammered that out—and I remember a waiter hovering nervously nearby, not knowing whether to ask us for our order or not—somehow we came back to our hotel room and had the most glorious meal from room service. I didn't feel like going out to dinner—

  JOHN: —and you had on your nightgown—

  DIANE: —and we just sat there in our room and had that wonderful meal. It was really incredible.

  JOHN: It was incredible. We covered the full spectrum, from this intense dislike—we didn't even want to look at each other— to this wonderful dinner, and fun conversation. I may have had broiled salmon….

  DIANE: I had rack of lamb.

  JOHN: That's a warm and enduring memory. For me, vacations are a microcosm of a marriage. So many people don't recognize that, or they push it aside. But if people could view vacations that way, I think they would tend to have a better time. The illusion wouldn't be so great, but the reality would be more rewarding.

  Criticism

  John

  What are some of the modes of behavior that can corrode a marriage? Several come immediately to my mind—indifference, silence, and anger. All three are variants of psychological abuse. That is, they are willfully inflicted, they are designed to cause pain, and—worst of all—they give the inflicting party at least momentary pleasure. If the relationship contains a degree of vitality, that pleasure will turn into nausea.

  In the past, though less so today, Diane and I have used criticism of each other as a corrosive agent. I'm not talking about criticism that is offered and received in a constructive way. If we are feeling relatively secure in our relationship, Diane's criticism of me need not be divisive, and can, in fact, bolster our relationship. At the very least, it can provide a basis for exploring whether the criticism is valid and, if so, what steps can be taken to address its cause.

  The criticism I have in mind is destructive and typically reveals three stages. First, it has an objective pretext. For exam-ple, I may criticize Diane for accepting one too many invitations. Or Diane may criticize me for not having replaced frayed shirts with new ones. In each case, the criticism has some initial validity.

  Second, the criticism provokes an exchange that broadens the complaint at hand. Almost before we know it, I'm accusing Diane of not taking into account my limited tolerance for socializing, and Diane is taking me to task for not being sufficiently sensitive to her desire that I look presentable. Initially the criticism was fueled by irritation and directed to a particular issue. Now the criticism taps into animosity and attacks an aspect of the other's personality. Objectivity has become subjective, and the specific has turned into the general. Voices are raised, and comments become increasingly personal.

  Third, the now heated debate resorts to what I call the vocabulary of the absolute. I find myself characterizing Diane as being “always” self-centered and authoritarian. For her part, she depicts me as “never” caring about her feelings and attempting to hurt her through my lack of sartorial attention. For a few minutes, my sweeping condemnation of Diane gives me a perverse sense of power and pleasure. As emotions cool, I am saddened—even sickened—by my words. I wonder how I could have so exaggerated such a minor, seemingly soluble problem.

  The fact is, I'm particularly sensitive to Diane's criticism. More than anyone else, she can get under my skin and make me feel less than competent. For the most part, her criticisms tend to be minor, and I have learned not to react immediately to their sting. A pause gives both of us the opportunity to prevent the issue from getting out of hand. By keeping it in its original context, we stand a chance of addressing it in a constructive way.

  Diane

  I grew up hearing constant criticism, from my parents
and from my family generally. My hair was too curly, too filled with tangles, and unkempt. My dresses were wrinkled. My face was dirty. My voice was too loud. My friends made too much noise in the house. My fingers were ridiculously long. I was a tomboy. Every aspect of my life came under parental scrutiny and criticism. Teachers, on the other hand, gave me praise and support. Nevertheless, it was my parents' behavior that established the pattern I carried into my marriage to John.

  John grew up assuming that everything he did was exemplary in the eyes of his parents. When I came along and began to criticize, for example, his lack of attention to his frayed collars, his worn-out shoes, his heavy glasses, I guess it was the first time in his life he'd heard any such criticism. I held back nothing, and didn't hesitate to deliver those criticisms in a stern, sometimes mocking voice. He was always immaculately groomed, but what he wore was of little interest to him.

  Likewise, if there was a moment in a restaurant when I perceived that his voice was getting too loud, I would try to shush him. It reached a point where he would actually get louder, just to spite me. Or, in a much less public setting, if I felt he was careless with the dishes as he emptied the dishwasher, I would say so, and probably not in a very kind way. That would lead to an argument, a bitter exchange of words, and, ultimately, slammed doors and silence.

  As my criticisms of John intensified in the early years of our marriage, he fought back, with comments about how I looked, my complexion, how I kept house, anything at all he knew would hurt me. I knew the children were affected, because after one of these bitter back-and-forth exchanges, they would come to the dinner table very quietly, feeling that what had been said had somehow undercut their sense of security in the household. It was a horrible way to live, and we had to find a way to stop it.

  Dialogue on Criticism

  JOHN: This issue is a really rough one for me, for several reasons. I grew up without experiencing criticism. To almost a literal degree, in my parents' eyes and in my own, I could do no wrong. There was no need to criticize me. And based on my recollection, my father and mother didn't handle criticism from the other very well. It either sparked emotional conflict of one kind or another or else moody silences, so I didn't have a good model for dealing with criticism and therefore was badly unprepared as I entered into marriage with you.

  DIANE: I think when you're in the throes of love, your emotions take over. When the day-to-day living process comes down to reality, the criticism comes all too easily and all too often. I do agree that you were hypersensitive to most any criticism. My failure was not to realize early on just how sensitive you were, because of your background and upbringing. I had no idea that I was the first person in the world who had ever criticized you. I had come from a household where everything I did was criticized. It came too easily for me, sadly, until we reached a point where we couldn't even speak to each other anymore. We reached a terrible impasse because of criticism.

  JOHN: Because of my lack of experience and preparation, even the smallest issue that you might raise almost immediately went beyond the bounds of the issue itself. In most cases, the issue was probably valid. But in my case, there was an immediate leap from the issue itself to a presumed attack on my integrity, value, and worth. In emotional terms, small issues had a way of exploding and suddenly raising the authenticity of my own self.

  DIANE: Can you think of an example?

  JOHN: Yes, as you'll recall, we periodically met with David's teachers. They didn't see any need to do so, because David was such a fine student. But we wanted to keep up with his progress through their eyes. On one occasion, we were scheduled to meet at a given time. Because of events at the office that I couldn't control, I got home late, thus making the teachers wait for us beyond the appointed time. As we got into the car, you began immediately to berate me. I think I may have tried briefly to explain my predicament at the office, but in the face of your continued carping, I exploded and repeatedly yelled, “F— you.” The windows of the car were wide open, so that anyone who happened to be near could certainly hear my words and my rage. I eventually subsided, but it was a good example of an intensity of anger that went well beyond the issue at hand—the time of our meeting—and tapped into underlying problems of much greater severity.

  DIANE: I remember that so vividly. Without therapy, I think we might have separated over the issue of criticism, because it became such a central part of the difficulties between us. You inferred criticism from even the slightest hint of a question. Even now, I have to say to you, “Scoop, I'm just asking you a question. I'm not criticizing you.” So after forty-two years of marriage, I realize that you still have that sensitivity. I don't know if it's a matter of how each of us grew up, but what we finally had to come to was a written contract.

  JOHN: A written contract that essentially said, “I will not criticize you …” in the slightest way or over the smallest issue for a given period of time.

  DIANE: And we kept having to revise and update the contract, over a period of time. We'll include the first version of the contract following our dialogue.

  JOHN: Certainly for me that was a breakthrough, to be in an environment where I was neither the one who criticized nor the one being criticized. It was a kind of truce, and it had some healing qualities.

  DIANE: It was difficult to get you to sign it at first. We were in New Hampshire, and I said to you, “Are you ready to sign this contract?” And you screamed back at me, “I don't know.” So it was not an easy process, as though we just had to draw up a contract and everything would be fine after that. There was a war going on within this marriage, and criticism was a central weapon of the war.

  JOHN: And why did there have to be the war at all?

  DIANE: Because we came from such different backgrounds, with such different perspectives about what a relationship was. I think you came to the relationship thinking you would continue with the independence of thought, you would continue with your sense of self-acceptance, and acceptance by others—namely, me—of your behavior, attitude, voice, dress, everything. And when I raised any objections whatsoever, you became furious.

  JOHN: Do you think you were excessive in your criticism of me?

  DIANE: I think I became so. There was escalation going on.

  JOHN: Why did you have to take the route of escalation?

  DIANE: Because I couldn't reach you.

  JOHN: So out of frustration and the like—

  DIANE: And nonresponsiveness—

  JOHN: Well, that's true. Nonresponsiveness to criticism certainly existed in my family, and I suppose I drew on that experience.

  DIANE: You drew on that experience, and used nonresponsiveness as a way to shield yourself from my criticism.

  JOHN: And, of course, nonresponsiveness was also consistent with my normal inclination to withdraw when difficulties arose. But looking back, with all the benefit of hindsight, what should we have done to avoid the extreme frustration and severe escalation that developed?

  DIANE: It would be interesting to outline a series of questions for young people or older people considering a long-term relationship to integrate into their own conversations before they enter that relationship. What if I had asked you, before we were married, “What role did criticism play in your life as you were growing up?” and you had said to me, “Absolutely none. No one ever criticized me for anything.”

  JOHN: That would have raised a flag, and we could have pursued that issue.

  DIANE: Exactly. And in my case, totally the opposite of yours, criticism became part of a way of life.

  JOHN: This is consistent with my theory that people are fearful and in some ways almost childlike deep down. If you lack self-confidence, or your confidence is less than adequate, then I think criticism can all too readily be taken—not necessarily correctly, but nevertheless taken—as an assault upon the self. So maybe you're right, Diane. If we could have begun to discuss that issue, which I think is so loaded, that might have eased things for us later on.r />
  DIANE: I can recall going together to various events when you and I weren't even speaking, because of some element of criticism. Those long periods of not even talking came about largely as a result of criticism, some form of rejection of the other because of criticism. I wonder whether we were both so immature that we had no idea how to be in a relationship.

  JOHN: Perhaps that was part of it. We have often talked about the fact that you and I were so different and came from such different backgrounds. In some ways, that enriched the relationship. But perhaps it's made it all the more difficult to find common ground and to anticipate issues before they arise and get out of hand. Criticism is a serious issue, I daresay, for most people. We should try to find ways of dealing with it and rendering it constructive rather than destructive. Even the most legitimate criticism, given or taken wrongly, can quickly become destructive.

  DIANE: How would you pose the question to a couple considering a long-term relationship? One question within a series of questions about what they anticipate the relationship might be?

  JOHN: I think my question would be, “As you grew up in your family, what role did criticism play, and how do you recall dealing with criticism, from parents, siblings, and friends?”

  DIANE: And “How did it affect you?”

  JOHN: And “What was your emotional response to criticism, as well as the more rational response?”

  DIANE: But here we must go back to therapy. I realize that without it, you and I might not have been able to look at criticism rationally, and understand how difficult it was.

  JOHN: Certainly, for me, therapy provided a valuable experience with respect to criticism. I discovered that others were just as frail as I, deep down underneath. They had comparable difficulties in dealing with criticism, although, as articulate, sophisticated, well-educated people, they were skillful at putting on the mask and pretending that the criticism could be dealt with easily and readily, and that it didn't have an emotional impact, when it really did.