This really has happened. Not just once, but several times. In part, there is an issue here around my husband’s sheer inability to tiptoe. He scares all our houseguests with the way he barrels down the stairs (people often wonder what the emergency might be, and I say, “Oh, that’s just how Ari traverses the stairway”). He sometimes wants to gaze upon our sleeping children late at night, long after their bedtime and right before ours, and we have decided that he really shouldn’t do that unless I come with him to make sure he doesn’t step on their noisemaking toys on the floor or sit down on one of their appendages when he decides he wants to perch on the bed for a moment. He is many wonderful things, this man, but light on his feet and careful with his body are not among them.
But when he does not modify his stair treading, from the house-is-on-fire quality that is his custom to an at least marginally quiet manner that would suggest he does not want to wreck the precious opportunity to greet the day with some peace and quiet, the issue becomes something greater. We are still, all these years beyond the initial transition to parenthood, inhabiting different worlds. There was nothing ill-intentioned about my husband’s disruption of the quiet; I am sure of that. However, I am also sure that he would have made a different choice, and would have at least tried to be quiet, if he shared my hopeful vision for at least a few minutes of serenely sipping coffee before the demands of parenting began. Somehow the cumulative exhaustion of parenting is still, in this very different chapter of our lives in which the caretaking responsibilities are more equal than they used to be, far greater for me. Much of the lost personal freedom I mourned when my babies were new has been restored, but it’s as if some part of me doesn’t realize or believe it. I often catch myself rushing when I am not actually in a hurry. I spend enormous amounts of mental energy pondering the best use of my alone time when I get it, still relating to it as a precious, limited commodity rather than something I’m now able to access fairly readily.
These shifts weren’t experienced in the same way by my husband. I don’t deny that fatherhood has changed him, even in dramatic ways, but his changes are different from mine. Women are taxed, and changed, by parenthood more than men are. This is not my opinion, and it is not a statement based on anecdotal evidence from my particular encounters with clients and friends. It is a statement based on a great deal of scientific evidence, and it is fundamental to understanding the marital distress new parents so often experience. Let’s take a look, from a research perspective, at just how pervasive, and pronounced, that marital distress is.
The Story the Research Tells
Among the many myths of parenthood are the notions that childbirth is the happiest event in the new parents’ life, that women are naturally equipped to manage the demands of the early postpartum period, and that new babies bring couples closer together. While these myths persist in popular culture, for decades the scientific research has told a different story. In chapter 2, we looked at some of the very large body of research that establishes that the birth of a first child (1) represents a period of increased stress for nearly all women, (2) triggers the onset or exacerbation of depression for many women, and (3) presents a challenge for a majority of couples, during which marital or relationship satisfaction decreases, often dramatically. This decline in marital satisfaction has been well documented in longitudinal studies that examine couples’ levels of satisfaction over time, from before the birth of their baby to several months, and sometimes years, afterward. In one large-scale review of the research literature, it was found that for 40 to 70 percent of couples undergoing the transition to parenthood, there is a decline in marital quality, one that is quite steep in the first year of the baby’s life.1 The level of conflict between partners tends to increase by a factor of 9, while the number of positive marital exchanges decreases substantially.2
For many couples, the decline in marital quality is temporary, tending to peak at around one year post-birth and improving within the child’s second year.3 However, even if couples recover naturally from this period of relationship dissatisfaction, there is evidence that marital distress has a negative effect on early parenting4 and even on children’s social and cognitive development.5 In other words, though it’s encouraging to know that a lot of couples emerge, without professional help, from the tough spot in which they found themselves as new parents, that doesn’t mean there was no residual damage or that it wasn’t terribly upsetting for them to be at odds with each other for so long. On top of that, many couples do not recover from the slow decline into marital distress that began when their first baby was born. This happens often enough that having a baby has been identified, statistically, as a risk factor for divorce. Couples without children are, on the whole, more satisfied with their marriages than couples with children, and this remains true long after the children are tiny hand-grenade babies.6
Of course, the story the research tells is not the story of every couple. Quantitative empirical research, by definition, deals in averages and trends, obscuring our vision of those who fall outside the norm. Certainly, many couples weather the storm of early parenthood just fine, and some rare couples wouldn’t even call it a storm. Certainly, many women are thoroughly happy as they cross the threshold into motherhood, and remain so during their babies’ early years. But the empirical fact remains that most couples struggle, at least temporarily, and most women are rattled—even if they ultimately find their footing again—by the transition to parenthood.
That these two struggles are happening simultaneously—a woman’s overall well-being and a couple’s stability both compromised—is not in the least bit coincidental.
As discussed in chapter 2, research on postpartum depression, and depression in women in general, illuminates the connection between marital adjustment and women’s well-being. First, marital dissatisfaction is a strong predictor of depression in women. This means that when a woman’s marriage is unhappy, her likelihood of being depressed is higher. Second, there is evidence that when a mother is depressed, her husband is also more likely to be depressed. These findings point toward the notion of a distressed or dysfunctional interpersonal system, as opposed to a distressed or dysfunctional person. Interestingly, depression is being reconceptualized within the mental health field as akin to a fever—as a nonspecific condition that can signal many possible underlying problems. A fever tells us something is wrong within the body, but the “something” could be a virus or bacteria, a mild or serious illness; it could require treatment or just rest; it could be life-threatening or not. In a similar manner, depression tells us something is wrong within a person’s life, but the possibilities are many. Maybe it is a role transition or loss or bereavement, maybe it is inflammation or hypothyroid or a chemical imbalance, maybe it is a distressed marriage.
Again, one finding that turns up over and over in the research is that poor social support, particularly within one’s own marriage or primary relationship, is linked with depression in new mothers. One study even found that the husbands of women who had not just one but two episodes of PPD* were rated by independent observers as being indifferent toward their wives.7 It is worth noting that this finding came as a surprise to the researchers, who expected hostility or criticism in husbands, not indifference, would place women at greater risk for PPD. This unexpected finding points precisely to the notion of loss we have discussed so much already; the depressed mothers in this study had lost their partners’ attunement and responsiveness. As we will soon see, it’s quite possible that the husbands had suffered a similar loss.
Findings like this hint at what, exactly, goes awry for couples when they become so unhappy. We’ve established that most couples aren’t having a fabulous time of it when they’re adjusting to the new territory of parenthood. We’ve established that moms aren’t, either. We’ve established that these two things are not a coincidence. The question now becomes, why? What’s happening at a deeper level that explains all the turmoil?
If I had only one word to
answer that question, it would be this:
Attachment.
Within the bond of marriage (or any long-term, committed, monogamous intimate relationship) there is so much at stake.
“The good news is that sometimes the bond between a husband and wife is stronger than any damage that can be done to it. The bad news is that no two adults can do each other more damage than husband and wife.”8 These words, written by Judith Viorst, the author best known for Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, may seem to state the obvious. Maybe everybody knows that marriage can either be our salvation or the death of us. What is far less obvious is that sometimes, these two seemingly opposing states can coexist.
My client Tess is in a very difficult place, fairly perpetually, in which she feels outrage at her partner while simultaneously craving his attention and affection. He used to walk through the door each evening and move toward her for a kiss, but not anymore. He’s grown tired of his lips landing on her cheek, her eyes looking the other way, in that moment of desire and vulnerability when he attempts a connection. In his view, Tess is too angry to respond to his bids, so now he doesn’t even make them. He has no idea that what he perceives as a stony anger in her is infinitely more complex.
Tess and I have discussed that her reaction to psychological pain is not unlike that of an injured animal. Her instinct is to crawl into the woods alone and lick her wounds in a place that feels safe. Her partner, not consciously aware that he has inflicted these wounds, wonders why she seems to snarl at him from her distant position. She is trapped in a tight corner of safety from which she cannot emerge, a self-imposed solitary confinement.
Her wounds are complex, and we have spent much time in therapy trying to better understand them. One thing we have learned is that her most painful wound—the one that aches each day and sends her into hiding—is at its core an attachment injury. Tess’s partner has never asked her to be his wife. They have two children and a long history together, but they are not married. He tells her he does not see a need to go through with a ceremony, that his commitment to her should be obvious by their shared life, their children, and his efforts to support their family. She hates that this bothers her. For a long time, she feigned agreement and eschewed the institution of marriage. But she has realized, slowly and much to her dismay, that she was only pretending it didn’t matter to her. It matters enormously.
For Tess, as for so many others, the question of marriage is not a religious or legal question. It is not even a question of social pretenses or appearances. It is about what the decision to marry represents at the most fundamental psychological and emotional level. Tess cannot shake the feeling that her partner has not yet truly committed to spending his life with her. She tells herself she is crazy to feel this way, since they have two children and a third on the way and own a home together. The years are ticking by, and they are, in effect, spending their lives together. Nonetheless, her feelings are understandable. Sure, not everybody in her position would feel that way; plenty of lifelong committed couples are happily unmarried, with neither the relationship nor either partner’s self-esteem suffering as a result of their choice not to marry. For Tess, though, her partner’s reluctance to marry her even now that he knows how much it would mean to her is extraordinarily painful. She is not confident in his availability. She cannot get an affirmative answer to the million-dollar question: “Are you there for me?” He is not, therefore, a safe haven for her from the fears and uncertainties of life. In her mind, if he were really, truly, no-holds-barred there for her, he would have no hesitation about getting married. In the attachment terms we are about to discuss in depth, their bond is not secure.
An Attachment Perspective on Adult Love
Let’s consider the kinds of questions and remarks we would hear if we were eavesdropping in the homes of new parents:
“Did you really have to work late yet again? You know my days with the baby are so hard!”
“Can’t you put the baby to sleep in her crib instead of our bed just this once?”
“I can’t go to my Spin class unless you pick up the baby from day care. Can’t you just agree to that one day a week?”
“How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you to the baby’s checkup? You act like you don’t want me to be a part of those things.”
“I have no idea why he’s not sleeping through the night yet. But you don’t even have a clue how many times he’s waking up, because you get to sleep through it.”
The deeper questions being asked are these:
Are you there for me?
Where did you go?
I’m calling for you and I don’t know if you hear me.
Can’t you see how much I need you?
As a psychotherapist and a professor, not to mention a wife and a mother, I cannot imagine functioning without the framework of attachment theory. I became involved in research on attachment as an undergraduate, and never looked back. It organizes my thinking in all my roles. It helps me understand what I am feeling, what my children are feeling, what my husband is feeling, and what my clients are feeling. Since this lens allows us to make sense of nearly everything about how and why couples struggle during the transition to parenthood, it’s worth getting into in some good detail. We’ll do this by looking at some of the key principles that define attachment theory.9
First, attachment is an innate motivating force. When my students learn about attachment theory, they have no trouble grasping the key concept that babies, because they come into the world so helpless and vulnerable, are biologically wired to seek and maintain close contact with their mothers. Likewise, students understand readily that mothers are also biologically wired to keep their babies in close proximity to ensure their safety and well-being. This just makes sense. But a concept less readily embraced is that this innate motivation to seek closeness with significant others stays with us across our life-span. As a culture, we frown upon dependency. We herald autonomy and expect that healthy adults have “outgrown” their dependency needs. Attachment theory suggests a very different view of dependency: it is a lifelong need, a defining feature of the human condition that organizes and motivates behavior “from the cradle to the grave.”10
I am struck, over and over again, by my students’ complex mix of reactions to this concept. On one hand, I sense in them some relief. They recognize their own dependency needs as young adults and are glad to have them sanctioned by a well-established psychological theory. Sometimes there are audible sighs of relief at the realization that the time to cross over from dependency to autonomy is not, after all, growing short. On the other hand, they are a little bit puzzled, a little bit resistant, a little bit argumentative. The cultural narrative is that the farther up the independence ladder we have climbed, the more mature we are. Only babies and small children should need the safe haven of a close other. At best, we concede that adults thrive on close connection, too, but we believe it isn’t actually necessary for survival or well-being the way it is for a child. At worst, we pathologize adult dependency, seeing it as a sign of weakness and a symptom of low self-esteem, dysfunctional relationships, and psychological disorders.
Since nobody actually outgrows their dependency needs and the prevailing cultural dictum is that we should, we are in a bit of a bind. We may resolve that bind by denying our dependency needs, even to ourselves. We may acknowledge them in secret but never express them freely. We may express them reluctantly, cautiously, sheepishly, tangled up with shame and self-castigation. Mostly we move through life vaguely aware of how good it feels to know a close, trusted other has our back but not broadcasting how much we hunger for that need to be fulfilled.
Another key principle of attachment theory is that secure dependence complements autonomy. This, too, is an idea that challenges popular notions of what it means to be a healthy, independent adult. From an attachment perspective, the fulfillment of dependency needs is precisely what allows for autonomy. The key insight
is that dependence and autonomy are two sides of the same coin11 and that each fosters the other in ongoing, reciprocal fashion. Attachment theory proposes that the fulfillment of dependency needs in an enduring manner across the life-span is actually what allows for continuing self-growth, individuation, and self-assuredness. There is no point at which we have gathered enough strength from close connection to function autonomously, nor is autonomy seen as impeding the possibilities for closeness. Rather, the more we can rest securely in a felt sense of close connection, the more defined our sense of separate and unique self becomes.
When, for instance, a wife feels certain that her husband is interested in understanding her internal world, she can risk divulging increasingly intimate details to him. Rather than being preoccupied with whether he cares or whether he’s truly listening, she is freed up to explore her own thoughts and feelings. Her capacity to rely on him—unencumbered by doubts—not only facilitates her own self-understanding but also emboldens her to step into a new arena.
To Have and to Hold Page 15