Being in a romantic relationship is like inviting someone to come and live with you while you unavoidably reveal each and every one of your deepest, most intimate flaws—the flaws you spent so many years obsessively trying to prevent him/her from ever seeing in the first place. St. John of the Cross writes, “What you are always comes out; what you project rarely comes off…For almost a lifetime we may project an image of ourselves that enables us to get through, that deceives others and may even deceive ourselves. In the end, however, what we are always comes out; and it is for what we are that we are responsible.” I think a romantic relationship, a deeply intimate one, is a place—and perhaps the only place—where the “real you” can’t help but surface and be revealed for all its grueling and ugly parts. In all other relationships, escapes and detours are often a possibility. But in true intimacy, the chances for escape seem impossible. Nowhere else do we get so close to another person. Nowhere else are we examined like a guinea pig at every moment—even, horrors, at our worst moments.
Luckily most partners can forgive and/or deal with all of the flaws; even better, sometimes advanced partnerships can design methods for turning each flaw into something healing and even productive. But what about when the flaws are more than just little flaws? What about when they are damaging to the relationship, to your partner? And worse, what about the behaviors that feel hardwired, like knee-jerk reactions that seem impossible to control or predict or prevent?
I have one of those. Growing up in a verbally abusive household, I quickly learned and mastered how to defend myself using words. After being exposed to my family’s brand of intense, toxic communication style, it became part of me, and though my rhetorical prowess defended me in my youth, I inadvertently bring that survival skill into my romantic relationships, I fear. And it took me the longest time to see it manifest and surface.
The first time I really saw it was a few months ago. I completely overreacted to something that was harmless. I saw myself escalate so quickly that my head was spinning by the end. How did I let myself get so worked up over something so small, so petty? How could I so easily wound a person I love and care about? When I started thinking about the grand scheme of things, my behavior was unwarranted and unfair. I was ashamed at my ability to react in such a way.
A week after this incident, I was visiting my grandma's house in Lake Arrowhead. I was just returning from a day on the lake when my grandma lays into me about how Samson (my dog) ruined the blinds in the living room. She stormed off to her room, leaving me feeling like I walked into a battle zone without armor or weaponry. Shortly thereafter I apologized to her for the blinds, and she apologized back for yelling. That exchange got me thinking about how similar our reactive tendencies are. Grandma’s attack to me seemed ridiculous, entirely undeserved, and utterly unfair. After all, it was just an accident. I hadn’t left the blinds down for Samson to ruin on purpose. When I realized this coincidence in our behaviors, I thought back to other moments when my family demonstrated this same behavior during my childhood. The memories were suddenly circling around me like a swarm of wasps. What was worse, I started retrieving recent memories of myself acting out in that same fashion toward many people in my life. Despite my efforts to be otherwise, I was modeling the overreactive behavior I saw growing up, and with each outburst, I was hurting my loved ones more and more. The thing that startled me most was that I didn’t know how to fix it.
When I shared all this with Dr. Dan, he had some trusty treatments for me to try. He assured me that this behavior was something I could reverse. He also assured me that this, like anything else in life, was an obstacle that I would have to work through. We came up with certain strategies that I could implement on a regular basis to help keep me calm and centered—like yoga and meditation. And we came up with actions that the people in my life could adopt to help temper me in moments of rising fire—like reaching over and soothing me when I start to get riled up. Perfect, I thought. Using these few strategies should make me better in no time.
And yet, this reactive behavior is harder to shake than I imagined. What’s been really hard is that I often can’t even tell what causes the behavior to come and I usually can't recognize that it is happening in the moment. So Dr. Dan referred me to a woman who will do Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy with me. I go on Tuesday for what will hopefully be the beginning of a series of visits. Do I think she can magically cure me? Not really. But do I think that there is some hardwiring from the verbally abusive environment in which I grew up deeply embedded in my subconscious that is impacting my communication style? Absolutely. And I believe in the power of healing old wounds, especially when doing so can bring forward a better present moment. I believe in the importance of being transparent with myself about the problems I face today and will face tomorrow if I don't get to work now.
When thinking about how I interact with my loved ones, I don’t want to be a battlefield full of land mines that go off when least expected; I want to be a safe harbor for the people in my life. While I trust Dr. Dan’s prognosis, I fear the possibility that I have already done much damage to my relationships. But I suppose that is the beauty of love and forgiveness, that both parties in any relationship keep saying yes, no matter the permutations of the problem.
