Well sports fans, the report today is that the New Englander and I have once again reached an impasse. Which is disappointing to me, even if it isn't surprising. But I'm telling you, I must be the poster girl for the expression hope springs eternal. Because every time it feels to me that the pieces are falling into place, I choose to assume that
this time things will be different.
And things were different this time, for me anyway. Quite a bit different. I could see my role in us a lot clearer than before. I carried less generalized fear into us (thanks to my trauma release/recovery group), and that felt awesome. It also seemed to help our communication quite a bit, and it seemed, to me, that we were beginning to understand each other on a deeper level.
But that understanding did not, unfortunately for me, translate into the kind of consistent communication from him that I so appreciate from my loved ones. When I get right down to it, there's really only one person in my life who is consistently as responsive and communicative with me as I am with her, and that's my best friend. That's probably number one on the list of why she is my best friend, in fact. That and having seen the world together -- those are some pretty great bonds.
The thing about the New Englander is that when he communicates, he is at different turns funny, bright, quick, empathetic, loving, sexy, playful -- all the things a girl (at least this girl) wants in communication with her man. And after a few days, or maybe weeks, I couldn't honestly tell you how long the stretch lasted, of him consistently communicating in all those great ways, I started getting really excited about the prospect of him being my man, for reals this time.
And then, instead, inevitably, it seems,
this song from Hall and Oates becomes the appropriate soundtrack for us, as it did today:
Baby, if we can't solve any problems
Why do we lose so many tears?
Oh, so you go again
When the leading man appears
Always the same theme
But can't you see we've got everything
Going on and on and on
And everytime you go away
You take a piece of me with you
And everytime you go away
You take a piece of me with you
Go on and go free
Maybe you're too close to see
I can feel your body move
But does it mean that much to me
I can't go on singing the same theme
'Cause you can't see we've got everything
Baby, even though you know
That everytime you go away
You take a piece of me with you
You just don't care
Everytime you go away
You take a piece of me with you
Yes he does. A piece of me, and also a piece of us, or at least the promise of us.
This time, when he stopped consistently communicating, I brought it to his attention. Lovingly, I thought, at least at first. Eventually I got mad, but only when I was frustrated that though I tried to express myself, I didn't really feel heard. Or more accurately, though I thought he heard me, his actions afterward belied that fact.
And when I called him on that, he said, quite simply, sorry, but this is all I've got to offer right now. Ok, I said. But it's not enough for me. And there we stand, or sit, or whatever.
On the one hand, I feel sort of relieved. I stated my truth. He stated his. We came to an understanding. But on the other, I still feel frustrated, because I see it differently than he does. I see that it is all he
is offering, but I disagree that it is all he
has to offer. Because choosing to respond, to be responsive, consistently responsive, to your lover is a choice you make not once, but several times a day. Is it always easy to make that choice? No. Is it always convenient? No. But when we make that choice, we build trust. When we choose otherwise, we erode trust.
There's a beautiful story that illustrates this point from
John Gottman, who writes books on marriage and relationships. He says:
"But how do you build trust? What I’ve found through research is that trust is built in very small moments, which I call “sliding door” moments, after the movie Sliding Doors. In any interaction, there is a possibility of connecting with your partner or turning away from your partner.
Let me give you an example of that from my own relationship. One night, I really wanted to finish a mystery novel. I thought I knew who the killer was, but I was anxious to find out. At one point in the night, I put the novel on my bedside and walked into the bathroom. As I passed the mirror, I saw my wife’s face in the reflection, and she looked sad, brushing her hair. There was a sliding door moment.
I had a choice. I could sneak out of the bathroom and think, “I don’t want to deal with her sadness tonight, I want to read my novel.” But instead, because I’m a sensitive researcher of relationships, I decided to go into the bathroom. I took the brush from her hair and asked, “What’s the matter, baby?” And she told me why she was sad. Now, at that moment, I was building trust; I was there for her. I was connecting with her rather than choosing to think only about what I wanted. These are the moments, we’ve discovered, that build trust."
Yep. So now that we are acknowledging that we once again find ourselves in a place where the New Englander feels helpless to avoid eroding the admittedly fragile trust between us, trust that I felt we were once again building, we're taking another breather from regular contact.
And the plan, this time, is that we will only resume regular contact if and/or when this changes on his end...
