How Not to Hate Your Husband After Kids

by Jancee Dunn

  Tom and I have clearly lost the ability to argue like grown-ups, rather than two toddlers in a sandbox. Who better to help us than the king and queen of couples research, John and Julie Gottman? After over four decades of studies, the Gottmans can assess five minutes of a marital argument and predict with over 90 percent accuracy who will stay married and who will divorce within a few years. The Gottmans categorize couples as masters and disasters. Masters look purposefully for things they can appreciate and respect about their partner; disasters monitor their mates for what they are doing wrong so they can criticize them. Intent on being a relationship master, I order a stack of their books.

  As I delve into their research, I find some of their suggested dialogue a little corny (“It is wonderful to see how much you enjoy basketball. I feel that way about sailing. I would like to share some of that with you, too!”). But it’s undeniable that their blueprint for successful arguing, adopted by countless therapists, has proven amazingly effective.

  John Gottman identified four behaviors lethal to relationships, which he calls “the four horsemen of the apocalypse.” One is criticism (hurling insults such as “dickbag,” using phrases like “You never…” or “You always…”). The next is defensiveness: counterattacking, whining, denying responsibility. During arguments, we are so busy forming a rebuttal, the Gottmans found, that we’re not listening, so we tend to repeat ourselves in what they call the “summarizing yourself syndrome.” (Although my sister Heather disputes this as a syndrome: “I summarize myself because Rob is not listening the first six times,” she says. “He just cues up a mental streaming video and plays it in his head until he sees that my lips have stopped moving.”)

  The third horseman is stonewalling, defined as freezing out your mate and creating what the Gottmans call a Pursuer/Distancer pattern, in which the Pursuer, feeling ignored, grows more aggressive—that would be me—while the Distancer shuts down or flees. Some 85 percent of stonewallers, they found, are men.

  This dynamic has even managed to slip the bonds of Earth—sort of. In 2014, the Mars Society erected a dome on an uninhabited Canadian island to simulate the lives of astronauts on a mission to Mars. Over the course of a hundred days, researchers studied the crew as they interacted. Crew members could leave the dome only during an extra-vehicular activity (EVA)—excursions taken by foot or by ATV while wearing imitation spacesuits. When conflicts arose among the crew, the females often used “task coping” (or finding a way to deal with the problem), while the men tended to use “avoidance coping”—such as suddenly deciding it was high time to don fake spacesuits and head out for an EVA.

  Stonewalling seems passive, but its effects are profound. In 1975, psychology professor Edward Tronick devised an experiment called the Still Face. A parent sits across from their infant and plays with the baby, who happily gurgles and coos. Then the parent is instructed to turn away and return with a still, or frozen, face and not to react to the baby at all.

  Videos of this simple two-minute experiment are tough to watch: the baby, at first confused, reaches for Mom or Dad and tries in vain to get their attention. Then the baby turns away, looking sad and hopeless, before trying again, growing increasingly fussy and upset until he is fully panicked and crying. Is this outcome so different for adults?

  The fourth and worst behavior, and the Gottmans’ strongest predictor of divorce, is contempt, which they term “sulfuric acid for love”: cynicism, attacking your mate’s character (“You’re selfish”) rather than the problems your mate has caused, eye-rolling, mockery, and—uh-oh—sarcasm.

  When I fight with my husband, sarcasm is my particular lingua franca. Penny Pexman, a psychology professor at the University of Calgary who has been studying sarcasm’s effects for almost two decades, says that not only does sarcasm create a barrier to conversational intimacy, but when parents use it on each other in front of young children, the kids get confused and upset.

  “People may think that kids don’t understand, but the problem is they will at age four or five,” Pexman tells me. “And the evidence suggests that they know you don’t mean what you’re saying, but they don’t get the whole context of why you would talk that way to your mate. For them, it’s cruel to not be direct.”

  During our arguments, all these horsemen have come riding roughshod—sometimes all four at once. But we are not necessarily doomed to divorce. The Gottmans’ formula for relearning how to fight is a straightforward one.

  To begin: when an issue arises, instead of pouncing on your mate with criticism, use what the Gottmans call a “softened startup.” Start with an “I” statement rather than “you”—instead of “You never get up with the baby, which makes me want to stab you,” try “I feel so much better and less tired when we take turns getting up at night with the baby.”

  “This is one of the things I think is super important during conflicts,” Julie Gottman tells me. “You describe yourself, and your own feelings about some particular situation that you’re upset about. You don’t describe your partner. You get into trouble describing your partner—because usually you’re going to be doing that with criticism or contempt. And then that only creates defensiveness, and sabotages your being listened to.” For me, taking a moment to identify my rampaging emotions uncomfortably mimics a book my daughter loved in preschool called The Way I Feel—but it has proven to be the best way to cool my anger.

  Next, talk about your feelings. Psychologist Darby Saxbe says that couples therapists work to uncover the “soft” emotions—like fear, shame, and sadness—that often lurk behind the “hard” anger and defensiveness that couples wear into battle like armor. She says it’s important to try to locate the deeper feelings behind your reaction: What are you really feeling? Are you hurt? Are you rushing to blame yourself before anyone else can? What are your assumptions versus the actual facts? When I lash out at Tom, I realize, my soft emotions are often that I am hurt that he doesn’t sense that I need a hand, and embarrassed that he seems to think I’m somehow better suited to do the grunt work.

  Talking about your feelings is also, frankly, strategic. For instance, one afternoon I ask Tom to stop by the grocery for milk, bread, and juice boxes. He promptly returns with a bachelor party fiesta of beer, salsa and chips, and olives. (This forgetfulness is something of a family characteristic. When I tell my sister Heather about it later, she says that is nothing. “The morning I gave birth to Travis, Rob nicely volunteered to go to the bakery to get me breakfast,” she said. “I told him, ‘Anything but a cranberry muffin.’ In five minutes, he triumphantly returns with a cranberry muffin.”)

  How, then, is talking about your emotions strategic? Normally, I would pull out my usual accusation that Tom lives in a single-guy bubble—but if I do, he will just tell me I am wrong. Instead, I say, “I feel depressed that you didn’t remember to get basics like milk and bread at the store.” Well, he can’t challenge or question my feelings, can he? I feel depressed. And this sort of confession engenders sympathy: rather than argue, he is abashed. More so when I have him return to the store.

  Moving on, describe what is happening without judgment or blaming, focusing on the specific issue rather than the person (“The house is a mess, and the kids are running wild”). Then—once again—state clearly what you need. As Julie Gottman puts it, “Describe what you do need, as opposed to what you don’t need.” (A prime example being “I don’t need this shit.”) Admit your role by finding some contribution you made to the problem (“I was already cranky because I just stepped on a Lego with bare feet”).

  As you both (hopefully) calm down, find a compromise. Ask each other: What do we agree about? What are our areas of flexibility? My friend Michael says that when he and his wife clash over an issue, they have learned to ask a simple question: Why is this important to you? “It seems so obvious,” he says, “but it really helps cut through the clutter.” And sometimes, if you’re honest, the issue is important to you… because you want to win the argument.

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sp; Finally, repair the situation with a few words, jokes, or gestures that get you back on the same team. “When we repair,” Julie Gottman tells me, “we apologize, explain what was so difficult or frustrating for us that led us to that behavior, ask for forgiveness, and listen to our partner as they say what impact your behavior had on them.” (Phrases to use: Let me try again. How can I make this better? Can I take that back?)

  I try out my new script on Tom:

  I felt sad (hidden soft emotion) when I offered to make you spaghetti Bolognese and you turned up your nose—I mean, when you said you did not want spaghetti Bolognese. Cooking is how I express that I care, so I suppose I also felt rejected. (Describe what is happening without blame.) I wish that you were more enthusiastic when I offer to make you a dinner that takes a lot of work. (State your need clearly.) It would help if you start off by telling me how much you appreciate the nice dinners I make. Then I will be less likely to fly off the handle when you turn something down. (Accepting influence.) That said, I should not have called you a dickbag. And it is true that lately we have eaten a fair amount of bacon. Also, I forgot about the pulled pork sandwiches we had at that barbecue place in Red Hook, which were quite tasty but the size of a human head. (Compromise that is perhaps a little sarcastic, but baby steps.) If you are so concerned with meat intake, how about offering to make us a vegetarian dinner instead? (Repair.) How can I make this better? Not throw menus at you? Maybe not throw things in general? Right. That’s probably a good start.

  Sometimes, of course, resolution is not so tidy. If you’re deadlocked, the Gottmans highly advise taking a break. In one study, they interrupted squabbling couples and told them that they needed to adjust their equipment. They asked them not to talk about whatever issue they were wrangling over, but to read magazines for half an hour. When the couples resumed their discussion, their interactions were more positive and productive. Half an hour, the Gottmans found, is also about how long it takes for the chemicals released during “fight or flight” to exit the body.

  Eminent New York family therapist Laura Markham lists for me the many ways to take a break: walk around the block, leave the room and take deep breaths, listen to music, remind yourself, “My partner is a good person and so am I” (even if I have just hollered at him that he’s a useless piece of crap).

  “Go to the bathroom and splash water on your face,” she says. “Breathe deeply, and say a little mantra that restores your calm, like ‘This is not an emergency… this too shall pass.’ Research shows that the more calmly we speak, the more calm we feel, and the more calmly others respond to us.”

  This technique, by the way, is useful to employ before sending an angry text to your spouse. Technology may make us feel conveniently detached from the consequences of lashing out, but if you’re furiously typing a message to your husband and get hit by a bus, you do not want your final earthly communication to read U FORGOT 2 ORDER DIAPERS AGEN ASS HOL.

  Another way to break the tension quickly is to announce, “This calls for a coffee.” Tom, whose java intake rivals Balzac’s, can always be distracted with this offer, which doubles as both a time-out and a collaborative activity. (Alternatively, if you are having an evening tiff, try “This calls for a glass of wine.”)

  When the skirmish is over and you have made a decent repair, do not ruminate (something of a pastime of mine, one that some studies show is more common among women in general). Happiness researcher Sonja Lyubomirsky observes in her book The How of Happiness that research demonstrates ruminating makes sadness worse, messes with your ability to solve problems, saps motivation, and interferes with concentration. “Moreover,” she writes, “although people have a strong sense that they are gaining insight into themselves and their problems during their ruminations, this is rarely the case. What they do gain is a distorted, pessimistic perspective on their lives.”

  With this in mind, I tell Tom that if he makes an effort to deal with me during a conflict and not retreat, I promise not to obsess about an issue that we have talked through already. Nor will I—another hobby of mine—bring it up in bed when we’re about to turn out the light.

  Moving on to your children: if, despite your best intentions, you have a blowout in front of the kids, do damage control immediately.

  Therapist Ann Dunnewold says that if you’re hashing things out fairly, it’s actually good for kids to see, because they learn that people can be mad at each other but still love each other. “The two things can coexist,” she says. “But it’s got to be fair—it’s got to be ‘I’m really upset right now that you said that to me. How do we solve this?’ rather than ‘You stupid idiot.’ But it’s good for kids to see that we’re human beings, and sometimes we have strong feelings that take a toll on us, and we have to work to recover; we have to work to apologize. So that when kids have strong feelings of their own, they don’t feel like they just wrecked something.”

  Because if you’re calling your spouse a stupid idiot, your child assumes that this is how you deal with a dispute. As Texas family therapist Carl Pickhardt puts it, “If you’re yelling and calling names, your kid thinks, ‘If I get in a disagreement, the way to resolve it is to speak more forcefully, more loudly, and to say harsher things to get my way.’ I grew up seeing people pop off, but you can change that with your own kids, which is what I did. Take responsibility, recognize your choices, and then start practicing that behavior.”

  Markham advises me to draw from the same patience I use with my daughter. “I’m sure you’ve been frustrated when she wants to go to the playground and you want to go to the store,” she says. “I’m sure you’ve been ready to scream sometimes, right? But you have, through self-control and hard work, summoned all your patience, listened to her side of things, and tried to work out a win-win solution. But none of those included screaming at your child as a way to resolve the conflict. And I would submit to you—and this is an aspiration, not an expectation—that it’s completely possible to have a relationship with your partner that does not include screaming.”

  It may be possible, but at the moment, it’s not probable. Two days after talking to Markham, Tom informs me as we sit down to dinner that he has landed a last-minute assignment to bike through California wine country for a week and will leave in two days. Then he adds that he has signed our daughter up for a chess class after school without my knowledge.

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “She’s in two after-school classes already.”

  “I knew you would say that,” he says. “But we both have a ton of work lately. Besides, I already paid.”

  “Why didn’t you consult me?” I say, my voice rising. As our argument kindles into a brushfire, I remember Terry Real’s command to fight behind closed doors—but the doors in our small apartment are cheap and porous. I run for the iPad and Sylvie’s low-noise headphones. “Put these on and play Minecraft,” I command. I drag Tom into the bedroom and shut the door.

  The fight quickly bleeds into other issues. He accuses me of being crazy, which makes me crazier. I begin to cry. “She’s going to come in here, so we have to take a time-out,” Tom breaks in.

  I hastily dry my tears. “You’re right,” I say. If the motivation to stop fighting still originates in the affection we share for our daughter and not for each other, so be it. When Sylvie bounds in a moment later, we are calm. But just in case, I repeat the script Markham had given me to tell our child in case I lose my cool. I’m so sorry. No one deserves to get yelled at, including your dad. I try hard to control myself, and sometimes I don’t do a good job, but I’m working on it. I want you to know I really love your dad and I’ll always work things out with him. I give Tom a hug (a real one) and Sylvie laughs and tries to wriggle between us in a ploy she calls the “sardine can.”

  No damage done, at least as far as I can tell. Later, when I have sufficiently cooled off, I confess to Tom the “soft emotions” behind my outburst: when he goes on extended bike trips, I miss him. Also, I am, frankly, jealous that he gets pai
d to pedal through vineyard-covered valleys while I am in the midst of writing a health story on the importance of dietary fiber. And I don’t want to put Sylvie in another class because I feel guilty that I am working so much. I don’t want to miss any time with her, I explain, even a few hours after school. The bittersweet part about having an only child is that every milestone is the first and last. (When I dropped her off on the first day of kindergarten, I cried so hard that her new teacher had to comfort me. Eventually, my carrying on upset the other children, some of whom began to cry themselves—so I was gently asked to leave.)

  Then I wander into Sylvie’s room. I have a few questions that Pickhardt advised me to ask her about our fighting. He tells me it’s helpful, and sometimes surprising, to know how we come across to our children. I approach her as she’s seated at her desk in her room, absently humming and coloring a picture of a purple frog.

  ME: Honey, I have a question: how would you wish that I argued differently with your dad?

  SYLVIE: I wish you would not yell, because Daddy looks sad.

  ME: Tell me how you feel when I yell at Daddy.

  SYLVIE: I sometimes like to listen and hear you yelling at Daddy. It’s kind of fun and I like to peek out of my room and see Daddy looking like Grumpy Cat.

  ME: What are some ways that I behave that make you feel unsafe and unhappy?

  SYLVIE: I don’t like it when you and Daddy aren’t talking to each other and I don’t know why.

  One crucial step remains to help stressed new parents avoid divorce court: look for the good. This means voicing what the Gottmans call the “three As”: affection, appreciation, and admiration.