by Jancee Dunn
During the quotidian moments of life, they found, couples should have a 20:1 ratio of positive to negative interactions. During times of conflict, meanwhile, the magic ratio is 5:1. Positive interactions can be the tiniest of gestures: a smile, making eye contact, nodding to show you’re listening, a quick joke.
This game-changing little ratio forced me to pay attention to the tone of our daily exchanges: how often are we actually being nice to each other? For the first week I keep a loose count, I notice that a dispiriting number of our communications are administrative: What time is the birthday party? Did you buy shin guards for her soccer class? Our positive interactions are mostly confined to fond chats about Sylvie after she’s gone to bed. We are fading as a twosome, like the holiday photo cards we receive from friends: once they become parents, they vanish from the frame. Only the children remain, while the parents are the Disappeared.
I have been counting as “positive” interactions such as Tom’s offer to clean my computer keys by spraying them with compressed air, which is done with a gallant sort of flourish. I worriedly ask Julie Gottman if one of our many neutral interactions can be labeled as positive if we’re pleasant about it. “Let’s say I tell my husband, ‘Here’s your coffee,’ but I say it in, you know, a nice tone of voice,” I tell her.
She thinks for a moment. “That would be considered positive, yes,” she says. I sigh with relief.
Still, our feeble ratio of positives is a warning that we have to strengthen our daily bond. One of John Gottman’s best-known findings is that happily married couples frequently and consistently respond to their partner’s requests for connection, which he terms “bids.”
When Tom is reading the paper, for example, he occasionally comments, “Hmm, that’s interesting.” This is a “bid,” a sometimes-subtle appeal for attention. If I reply, “Oh, what are you reading?” this response is what Gottman calls “turning toward” my partner—I have given him the encouragement he’s seeking. If I ignore his bid, I am “turning away” from Tom. It can be hard to take note of these bids—especially when children seemingly lie in wait to release a volley of their own bids the moment they see you sit down. A spouse’s bidding can also be brushed off as needy or annoying, but often what they want is simply a quick connection: a brief chat, a smile, a reassuring word.
In a now-famous study of newlywed couples, John Gottman found that these seemingly insignificant bidding exchanges had a huge impact on marital happiness. After a six-year follow-up, he learned that the couples who had divorced had demonstrated “turn-toward bids” only a third of the time—while those still together had “turn-toward bids” almost 90 percent of the time. “All the research shows that being able to turn toward one another, and be there for one another, is what produces happier relationships,” Julie Gottman tells me.
I begin to pay attention to, and identify, bids from Tom that might have slipped by me before. As it turns out, the guy is the human version of click bait:
Staring through binoculars at our neighbor’s apartment across the street: “Huh.”
Examining a coin from his pocket: “Now, that’s something you don’t see every day.”
Reading New Scientist magazine: “Hmm. Pretty incredible about eels.”
I even detect a bid from the wild-eyed, unkempt man who makes his way toward me on an otherwise-empty F train, sits down heavily next to me, and sighs. “What a day,” he announces with pronounced weariness, looking at me hopefully.
After you actively look for the good things in your spouse, say the Gottmans, build a culture of appreciation by pointing them out.
It’s not enough just to think good things, says Helen Fisher, the biological anthropologist. She tells me that giving your mate affectionate comments daily is beneficial for them, but also helps you by reducing cortisol, lowering blood pressure, boosting your immune system, and even reducing cholesterol levels.
How important is this habit? Researchers from the University of Georgia found that what distinguishes marriages that last from those that don’t is not necessarily how often couples argue, but how they treat each other on a daily basis when they are not bickering. Expressions of gratitude were the “most consistent significant predictor of marital quality.” The power of a simple thank-you, as it turns out, is considerable.
Several studies have found that expressing gratitude creates a reciprocal “cycle of virtue,” so that over time, even the less expressive mate will eventually voice their appreciation more often, creating an upward spiral of good feeling. Bearing this in mind, I thank Tom whenever it occurs to me—for ordering our daughter a new striped backpack she didn’t need but desperately wanted, for bringing home a half dozen chocolate bars and conducting a family taste test for fun. I feel queasily New Age advancing this “attitude of gratitude”—yet is it any less strange that I politely thank Andre our UPS guy way more often than the person I married?
My friend Jenny, mother of two, tells her husband that saying “thank you” is the ultimate cheap buy-in. “The average mom does a hell of a lot,” she says. “And unlike at work or school, at home, rarely is anyone saying, ‘Good job.’ There are no raises, rewards, or bonuses. In fact, there are, regularly, anti-rewards: screaming, complaints, and bad attitudes. So it helps tremendously.” And men need emotional high fives, too, she adds. “Saying, ‘Hey, thanks for making pancakes’ or ‘The kid really liked it when you talked into his foot like a cell phone’—these little praise seeds could blossom into more full-blown help in the future.”
Just as important as “thank you” is a simple “yes.”
John Gottman claims that all his research findings can be captured in the metaphor of a saltshaker: instead of salt, fill it with all the ways you can say yes, and sprinkle them throughout your daily marital interactions: Yes, that’s a good idea. Yes, I’m totally on board. Yes, that looks fun. Couples who make a practice of doing this, he has said, are much more likely to go the distance.
So are those who touch regularly. Even a quick squeeze on the arm seems to reduce levels of the stress hormone cortisol and triggers the release of the brain chemical oxytocin, which promotes trust. Helen Fisher says that merely touching the palm or arm of someone raises your face and body temperature (as she says, “People keep us warm”).
So I make an effort to grab Tom’s arm when he walks by, or sling my legs over his while we are watching a movie. Going further, I’ve made myself reach for his hand when a fight is looming—even if I’m so irritated that I’d rather pick up a live rodent. Soon enough, I calm down. It’s hard to holler at someone when they’re mere inches from you, and the familiar contours of his hand remind me that this is the person I married, not the bogeyman.
How important is touch? In 2010, scientists from UC Berkeley studied and coded every physical interaction in a single game played by each team in the National Basketball Association, from chest bumps to high fives. They found that with few exceptions, the teams who touched the most won the most (at that time, it was the Boston Celtics and the Los Angeles Lakers). Their conclusion: good teams tend to be more hands-on than bad ones.
Is there a more apt metaphor for marriage?
No affectionate gesture seems too small. In the UCLA study of families cited earlier, seemingly trivial behaviors like greeting or noticing a family member when they returned to the house was important for “nourishing parent-child and couple relationships.” Acknowledging a spouse takes less than a minute, researchers said—but if this habit is neglected, over time it can “adversely affect the quality of family relationships.”
Often, I have been so caught up in the swirl of domestic life that when Tom returns from being out all day, I barely look up. But how hard is it to say hello or bestow a quick kiss? I also take the advice of a friend who tells me that she and her husband try to set aside ten minutes a day to chat about anything but kids, work, or scheduling (for the first few tries, we are alarmingly short of ideas).
Admittedly, “looking for the good” requires effort. W
hen I complain to another friend about feeling invisible at home, she tells me that she had a revelation when she was away from her husband and two children on a business trip. “I was gone for a week, and my husband said they all felt sort of adrift,” she said. “He said that I was the sun, and everyone revolved around me.” She laughed. “Well, of course, I loved that image. I think about it when I’m feeling annoyed.”
I try to do this when Tom overlooks Terry Real’s message to “cherish more” and forgets my birthday. It is a Saturday, and when it hits me that he has forgotten, I feel so dejected that I crawl back into bed. This sends Tom and Sylvie into a mild panic. She’s in bed? In the daytime? Now what?
I can hear them moving around uneasily outside the door. After a while, Tom runs out to get a cake and flowers, while Sylvie draws me a series of cards that say, “I love you Mommy.” Part of their discomfort, I know, arises from the fact that I’m not making my usual Saturday morning blueberry pancakes. But part of it is that, as my daughter puts it, “You weren’t in your spot”—the sunny place near our terrace where I like to read. Looking at their anxious faces at the foot of the bed, it occurs to me that maybe I am the sun, too.
My sunniness has limits, however. After that little episode, I realize that some of my stress arises from wondering whether Tom will remember holidays that are meaningful to me. Two weeks before Mother’s Day, I send him an email saying This is where I would like to go for Mother’s Day, and provide a link to a restaurant reservation. Then I write, Here are three options for presents I would love, with links for each (this adds at least a minor element of surprise). Finally I write, Please let me know when you have ordered, unless you want me to take to my bed again.
Is this romantic? No. But in this way, I eliminate my stress—as therapists say, I have “stayed on my own side.” I have made a direct request and communicated what I would like (he usually asks me what I want, anyway). Type in husband forgot on Google, and Autofill supplies my birthday, our anniversary, and my birthday again. Why not remove the worry?
Which brings me to another important point: along with seeking out the good in our partners, brain science tells us it’s also beneficial to look the other way. Helen Fisher and her partners conducted brain scans of parents in long, happy relationships and discovered a trio of brain regions that become active in long-term partnerships. “One is linked with empathy,” Fisher tells me, “another with controlling your own emotions, and the third with positive illusions—the ability to overlook what you don’t like about your partner.” Or, as Ben Franklin wrote in Poor Richard’s Almanack, “Keep your eyes wide open before marriage, and half shut afterward.”
Avoid Fights!
Things women should perhaps not say to their husbands (actual quotes):
Just remember that I carried her for nine months.
That’s not how he likes his cereal.
There’s nothing as strong as a mother’s love for her children. I mean, no offense, I love you, too.
This little observation recalls a study by the Open University in the UK, in which thousands of parents were asked to name the most important person in their lives. The disparity in answers among mothers and fathers was noteworthy: two-thirds of the fathers cited their wife or partner, while well over half of the mothers named their child.
That doesn’t mean you have to tell your husband that. Yet I have heard this on the playground more than once as a mom throws out an ethical “trolley problem” and others nod in agreement: If there was some sort of accident and my husband and child were hanging from a cliff, I’m choosing my child. No question.
I, too, have made this dramatic declaration. I think what we are trying to get across is that our love for our children is so fierce that we would sacrifice our own mate for them. We feel guilty—but the slightest bit heroic—saying it aloud. But given the infinitesimal possibility of this disaster occurring—particularly in Brooklyn, which is free of cliffs—why am I constructing a scenario that sends my defenseless husband hurtling into a ravine? This isn’t good for anybody.
Things men should perhaps not say to their wives:
Can you unload the dishwasher more quietly? The Falcons are going to score any second now.
Where are Jack’s socks? Note: Jack is seven.
Points to youngest child: Why is this one acting so crazy?
What do the girls want for dinner?
I told the kids, “Let’s go see what Mommy’s doing!”
At least I’m a better husband than Justin! Note: Justin, a strip club enthusiast, gave his wife crabs.
It’s one thing to decide to look for the good in one another; it’s surprisingly difficult to put these noble intentions into practice. Tom thinks I should just be inherently aware that he appreciates me. As he points out, “You know how I feel; why do I have to tell you?” In his more freewheeling moments, he has quoted the Slovenian “wild man of theory” Slavoj Žižek: “If you have reasons to love someone, you don’t love them.” But when he doesn’t express appreciation, I feel taken for granted (something that is felt acutely by mothers, as your infant isn’t going to send you a “sorry for the explosive diarrhea” card). Tom doesn’t seem to grasp that nihilist philosophy is not necessarily the best way into a girl’s heart.
As for me, while I know intellectually that I must focus on the good, out of long habit, I still reflexively focus on the irritating.
I feel we need a professional nudge to help us connect more deeply and rebuild our friendship—perhaps from a couples therapist we could visit more regularly in New York.
Tom is wary about more analysis, but, once again, he admits he’s intrigued by the idea of having our relationship examined by a third party. He resignedly goes along with it when I bribe him with a lavish Manhattan lunch after each session. I immediately think of Guy Winch, a New York psychologist in private practice whom I have interviewed for health articles. Winch has an appealingly dry sense of humor that I sense Tom might like.
On the day of our first appointment, we linger nervously by the door of Winch’s office in the Flatiron district before he finally invites us in. He is trim and straight-backed, with close-cropped hair and kindly eyes.
We take a seat in his office, a serene contrast to the chaotic street scene outside his window. The couch is so soft that I fight an urge to lie down. I wonder if anyone has ever fallen asleep during a session.
Winch sits back, crosses his legs, and invites us to tell him why we have come. We once again rake over our areas of conflict, as we had for Terry Real a month prior. It takes almost the entire session.
“I don’t want to nag,” I say, finishing up. “I’m tired of nagging. I was class clown in high school, Dr. Winch. Okay? I’m fun!”
He nods gravely. “You were class clown.” Aha, I know what you’re doing, I think. You’re mirroring. I remember it from the hostage expert.
I explain that we’ve almost stopped expressing affection for each other, because we’re having trouble getting past our mutual resentment. I tell Winch about the spaghetti Bolognese episode and then interrupt myself.
“I feel stupid that I’m even talking about this,” I say. “It seems so trivial.”
Winch waves away my concern. “In my over twenty years of seeing couples,” he says, “I have yet to see one that fights about world peace.”
He tents his fingers and leans forward. “You don’t feel appreciated,” he paraphrases.
“Right,” I say, feeling as if I am tattling on Tom. “When I have asked him to express his appreciation for taking care of him and our child, he just can’t do it, even though it would mean a lot to me. He’s just not Mr.…”
“Effusive,” Tom puts in. “Verbally. But it’s hard when it’s called upon. I get a kind of performance anxiety or something.”
Winch nods. “A lot of men feel like a performance animal, going ‘Arf, arf!’ If Jancee asks for praise, you hear it as ‘She’s telling me what to do.’ But if you could reframe it as ‘She’s fee
ling unsettled, and I can do something that will help her feel more settled,’ it’s much easier to think of it as her need, rather than her telling you what to do. You could even simply reach out and squeeze her hand.”
Winch discreetly glances at the clock. “I want to give you some homework for our next session,” he announces. He turns to me. “Jancee, I want you to make a list of all the things that Tom brings to the table as a partner, including parenting.”
I make a careful notation on the pad of paper I have brought. “Positive things?”
He suppresses a smile. “Um, yes. ‘Bring to the table’ usually means—”
“Right,” I say quickly.
“—the small gestures, the thoughtful stuff he does automatically. And try to make it detailed. And then in another column, the things that annoy you. I think it will be interesting to see the spectrum in terms of the good versus the bad. Because when you squabble about small things, they get inflated. You lose perspective and it’s all about the mess in your apartment. The other stuff gets lost.”
When couples have been together for a long time, he continues, they end up almost stereotyping each other—reducing their partner from a three-dimensional, complex person to a much more two-dimensional caricature. “Like that of, say, a control freak who is constantly complaining,” he says, gesturing toward me. Wait, what?
“And when your perception is slanted in that way,” he goes on, “you naturally register everything that reinforces those perceptions, and ignore things that don’t. And over time, that becomes a really narrow misrepresentation. It’s a gradual process, and you want to fight against it by reminding yourself of the complexity of the other person.”
Then he assigns Tom homework of his own: he, too, is to list specific things he loves about me, as well as potential remedies for the things that are bothering me.