I Don't Understand Marriage Counseling
....By Kathrine Jennings-Hancock
My friend Kim is unnaturally excited about it, spewing out all the wonderful effects this therapy is having on her marriage to Ed. She explained this in detail last night as we drove to the mall theaters, and it still doesn't make sense to me.
It doesn't make sense to me because the only reason she went to the movies in the first place was to "escape the unacceptably high hostility levels that had polarized" around her and Ed since that afternoon's session with the counselor.
"Spending any time together right now," she panted as we jockeyed for a place in line to buy tickets, "would be counterproductive to our end goal."
"So, you're saying you're not getting along right now?" I said. She'd lost me after the word, "polarized", and I didn't want to admit it.
"There's an unacceptable hostility level," she repeated. "But that generally follows a session. It'll pass on its own, or we'll work through it next time." She said this as dispassionately as the hospital intern who once detailed for me the waiting process involved in passing kidney stones.
I was still stuck at "polarized".
"But you weren't fighting," I tried again, "before you went to the counselor, were you?"
"Of course not," she said. "Before the session, we were maintaining a mutually satisfying level of intimacy."
"Oh."
I finally got it. What she meant was, she'd just dropped a hundred and fifty bucks to have someone make her mad at her husband. This lunacy made perfect sense to Kim, who saw it as a necessary step toward achievement of their end goal.
Kim and Ed's 'end goal' is to stay married. There's got to be an easier way.
My husband is completely averse to marriage counseling. I'm sure about this, because he told me (and everyone else in the parking lot) three years ago after we'd left our first -- and last -- marriage counselor.
My husband arrived late and proceeded to communicate via his usual grunts, shrugs, and averted stares.
"I frankly find you hostile to treatment, Mr. Hammock," the therapist observed, "and basically hostile in general. I'd go on , but our time is up, and that will be $89.50, cash or check..."
We never went back and I have mixed emotions about that. I believe the first step toward a cure is recognition of the problem, and I'd found her evaluation of my husband...well, redundant, but certainly worth every penny of the $89.50. Especially as he's the one who had to write the check out.
My husband and I share the same end goal as Kim and Ed, it's just that we work toward it differently. When Kim describes the various 'exercises' her counselor inflicts, it gives me hope to realize that my husband and I have similar 'exercises' we've formulated on our own. We must be on the right track.
When Ed's behavior patterns become unacceptable to Kim, the counselor advises her to 'remove herself from the situation', which she does by selecting a comfortable chair, taking a few, deep measured breaths and calling on her spiritual resources. Things calm down, she says, within a few days.
When my husband's behavior patterns become unacceptable to me, I select my most comfortable suitcase, take a few deep navy suits and dresses, measure out my share of the checking account and call a taxi. Things calm down when he realizes that if I don't come back, he's making his own dinner.
When Ed and Kim communicate about a 'sensitive subject' -- say, finances -- they take seats at opposite ends of the kitchen table, place an egg timer between them, and each is then free to express his/her feelings for three minutes without interruption. They take copious notes on 'problem areas' for future discussion.
When my husband and I discuss finances, I barricade myself in the family room, well away from the computer where he's surveying the various forms of damage done with one quick click of the mouse. He generally rages for fifteen to twenty minutes, after which I respond in kind for ten or twelve. We both make detailed lists, verbally, of what the other should do better in the future.
The counselor advises Ed and Kim to view their marriage as a sacred trust, a mutual coming together of two individuals, and to hold uppermost in their minds the psychic damage that would occur should their paths diverge.
I often remind my husband that should our paths diverge, I'm taking half the retirement account and all of the Tupperware. Finding out where I've gone with it all will require the services of a psychic.
The counselor encourages Kim and Ed to vocalize their feelings of devotion for each other. She will say, "I love you and I respect you," and he will respond with, "I respect you and I love you." Their devotion is thus validated.
Quite often, when "ER" is having a commercial break, I pry the television remote from my husband's hand and place my own hand there. "I love you," I say tenderly, and he sighs heavily (deep emotion will do that to people) while swatting my hand for the remote, mumbling, "Yeah, yeah, fine. Me, too." Our feelings are thus out of the way for another day.
The counselor presented Kim and Ed with a two volume set of his perceived guidelines for insuring 'lasting intimacy and togetherness'. These manuals contain words that should never be spoken, boundaries that should never be crossed, and detailed charts and graphs depicting acceptable and unacceptable behavior. Quite often, Kim and Ed consult these manuals in order to discern the proper way of relating to each other and still feeling comfortable with what they're saying or doing. They're reminded that a failure of the marriage would produce dire consequences, both spiritually and emotionally. Considering this, they are inspired to keep the marriage intact.
My husband and I keep several wedding pictures in the living room, the marriage certificate hanging in the hall, and a picture on top of the television taken on our first anniversary. This way, we're both receiving regular subliminal reinforcement of the fact that we're in this thing together and we've both committed for the long haul, come better or worse. We also keep three dogs who love each other very much. A failure of the marriage would produce an empty table top in the living room, a bare spot on top of the TV and an unnaturally clean square in the hallway's paint. It would also traumatize three dogs who would probably then require very extensive counseling themselves, not to mention a repeat of basic paper training. Considering this -- and the fact that we are too tired to break up -- the marriage does remain intact.
When the movie was over, Kim marched nervously toward the parking lot. "I wish I could stop for coffee," she said, "but if I don't return promptly, I'll violate the essential trust Ed put in me to come home right after the movie."
"No problem," I said, waving her off and heading toward my own car. "I have to go, anyway. If I don't come home promptly, my husband's going to start thinking I ran off with someone else. I'd hate to get his hopes up like that for nothing!"
Somehow, I think we'll both achieve our end goals. It's just not going to cost my husband and I as much money to get there!