{Ah, those were the days, planning my Saturday nights around the air time of Bill Maher’s HBO show. Remember them? Pre-tivo, pre-Hulu, pre-find-it-somewhere-on-the-internet. At least then I had a good excuse for never doing anything interesting on Saturday nights. Or, in retrospect, maybe not.}

Marriage is rough. Really rough. Don’t-know-if-I-can-do-this-one-more-day rough. If you haven’t been there and you’re like the rest of us (normal), you will. It might not be today or tomorrow or even this decade, but you will hit a patch so rough it can’t by any rights be called a patch. It’s a freaking chasm. It’s okay. I’m finding that many of us hit that patch in the first year, and some of us call that patch THE FIRST YEAR. And I guess you might not hit a rough spot at all, in which case I wish I lived your life, something I say without a drop of venom. Seriously. But if you’re not, and you’re struggling, you’re not alone. And it’s not just me. I’ve talked to so many newlyweds who had no idea it would be this tough. Sometimes, it is.

Divorce is always an option, even if only in my dreams. You know what they say: if divorce is even an option, it will be an option. Heck, even I’ve said it. And I get the point, really, I do (and if you’ve said that to me lately, I assure you I wasn’t upset and it even probably made me feel better). But it’s always an option, and thinking it – even wistfully, with relief and exhilaration – doesn’t mean you won’t stay married. It just means you’re human and you can dream. Thinking the word, saying the word, not being afraid of the word – none of those things make me a bigger risk for getting divorced. You know what does? Not knowing myself well enough to know what I need, say what I need, and get what I need, even if I have to get it myself.

“I need…” might save your marriage. I suspect it will save mine. Yesterday morning my husband and I went to see our couples counselor. (Doesn’t “couples counselor” sound more fun and hippy dippy than “therapist”? It wasn’t, but let’s pretend.) I’ll admit I didn’t catch or remember every word, weighed down as I was by Theraflu and emotion, but he did say that we should tell each other what we need. Now be careful. The phrase isn’t meant to end, “… you to do/ be _____.” Well, it might be meant to end that way, but it won’t help your marriage. Being able to clearly state what you need and ask for it, however, will. Let’s try:

• “I need to feel loved. Will you hug me?”
• “I need a break to control my temper. Let’s pick it up in 30 minutes.”
• “I need two days with no fighting. We can keep a list of things to talk about later. Will that work for you?”
• “I need Theraflu, a beer, and reruns of The Closer. And for you to not touch me. Can we try again tomorrow?”
• “I need to feel like you’re not going to leave me at any moment. Help me understand how we can keep that from happening again.” {Okay, so I haven’t managed to say this, finding it difficult to even type the words, but I’m working up to it. If you can’t ask for what you need without rolling your eyes, choking on your tongue, or spitting with hostility, wait a moment. And ask yourself if you need something else first.}

Drop It isn’t just for dogs. I teach my dogs to Drop It whenever I ask, usually in exchange for something better. “Well, what have you got there? Drop it!” The whole phrase generally keeps me from barking the command (pun intended). I’m learning to drop yummy subjects because they make my husband uncomfortable. I like nothing more than to pick apart a new topic, learn and debate and come to agreement. Him, not so much. To him it feels like being thrown in front of a Senate panel to talk about pooping or puberty or some equally-embarrassing subject (you know, like FEELINGS). I want to push through the discomfort and get it over with; he wants to take many many breaks to get his head together.

But, I don’t get my way because I’m married and if one of us feels the pressure (literally, his chest will ache because he breathes funny), we both take a break. What my dogs have found with Drop It, though, is that sometimes I’m lazy and don’t give them anything better, and sometimes I just give them back the same treat (for practice). But they still Drop It when asked, because the chance that they’ll get a piece of roasted chicken is worth the little wait and slight risk. So I try to learn from them and Drop It as much as I can. Like my dogs, I don’t like it, and I might not get something better, but I’ll eventually get to chew on it again. You know, like in front of our therapist.

When in doubt, hug it out. Two nights ago, my husband told a fib, left our house, called me a few hours later to tell me he was staying at his parents’ house, then turned off his phone. {Note the maturity I’m exhibiting my stating that in a clear and factual manner. My response to the chain of events, however, should not be taken as evidence of my maturity, but rather as evidence of my temper.} After a series of events – including an out of town trip, discussion about moving, major sacrifice resulting in awesome concert tickets followed by a less than expected reaction, and did I mention I’M SICK? – culminated in the perfect storm of Bad Me meets Bad Him, we fought late into the night, then called a truce the next day. Or so I thought.

In reality, he was finding it harder and harder to get over the feeling that being with me was a futile exercise in trying to make me happy. He did the only thing he thought he could: he lied so I wouldn’t pitch a fit when he told me he was leaving. Not LEAVING (all caps means permanently), but staying elsewhere for the night. LEAVING and leaving are the same to me when I’m upset. Whether you’re leaving for 30 minutes or leaving me for good isn’t a distinction I can make at that moment. So he did what he thought he had to do. We’ve since had many discussions about why that’s not okay and what being a husband and wife and married and having responsibility to our family means, conversations that are ongoing.

The biggest thing he couldn’t get over? When he was mean and made me cry, I wouldn’t let him hug me to make me feel better. I was fighting the urge to yell ugly things, so the last thing I wanted was to be touched.

In all honesty, I’m a hugger unless I’m pissed, then I wrap my anger around myself like a shell and I don’t let anything permeate it for fear of having to go through it all again. And then I’m pissed because I’m alone and uncomforted. Well, yes, because I won’t let him. So I’m trying to separate those things in my head.

I really DID want a hug, I just didn’t want to set aside my anger to get it. If I took the hug, wouldn’t I be letting him off the hook? No. You can give and take comfort without absolving anyone of anything, just like you can love someone without liking them very much. So when we struggled through all of this last night, and I noticed that he was getting overwhelmed and breathing funny, I hugged him. No words, just a hug. That kind of connection can get you through a whole multitude of hurt if you let it.

I’m not sure I’ll always be able to accept a hug, but I’m giving them out more freely, and he’s reported feeling better. More objectively, after a long hug, we’re able to pick up the conversation we dropped and keep going.

If you find yourself acting like a baby, try treating yourself like a baby. When I’m hurt, I get angry. When I’m angry, I cry. When I cry, well, I stomp my feet, ball up my hands, and growl in frustration. I will bang my fists on the ground while snot drips from my nose to the ground. I will cry inconsolably, fight loudly, and actually wrap my arms around myself to push away the bad. The only bummer is that I’m not a child and my parents aren’t going to pull my into their lap, rub my back and make the bad go away. Or send me to my room, whichever is most appropriate. That’s up to me, not my husband because he’s not my parent. Let me repeat, because this was an epiphany for me: it is not up to my husband to soothe my inner child. Babies have to learn to self-soothe; pick up a crying baby every time and they won’t learn this skill. Even dogs have to be taught to handle frustration with grace, lest your pooch lose his sh*t the next time he doesn’t get what he wants. If babies and dogs can learn, so can I.

So when I feel like a widdle biddy crybaby, I need the adult side of my brain to give the baby side of my brain a hug, a candy, and tell me it’ll be okay. And then we’ll deal with the anger, which needs action or distraction, and since I’m still trying valiantly (and often futilely) not to yell, we’ll sing songs backward and randomly search job boards. {By the way, any activity that requires focus but not logic will work – read a book, recite the alphabet backwards in Spanish, play word games on the internet.}

“All you need is love” is bullshit; YOU NEED SKILLS. I don’t come by relationship communication skills naturally. I am good with the written word, so-so in person, and super duper killer articulate when I’m pissed. I share and share and overshare, but generally only on topics I’m not personally tied to, and can say the same thing nineteen different ways. I am absolutely willing to split hairs (selfish and self-centered are not the same) and am very very very careful and sure of the words I use, even… ESPECIALLY when I’m backed into a corner. I know what I said and I will stand by it, repeat it, scream it if I must. I mean what I say. Oh, and I don’t lie. I may exaggerate when telling a story, might get the exact details wrong when I’m trying to make a broad point, but ask me if I like your hair, hate your boyfriend, or agree with some dude on the radio, and I will tell you the truth. I sometimes fall off the wagon, but having lived through the results of many many lies, I hop back on pretty quickly. I know how and why I communicate. In detail.

When you put an overconfident communicator together with my husband, you get head-banging frustration. My analogies don’t succeed, my words don’t split, and with every synonym and restructured sentence we get closer and closer to the place where he’s not listening, not trying, not thinking anything but how he can get me to STOP. Not a good place. And one person with more than average skills plus one person with less nurtured skills does not equal two. It equals whatever looks like this: @#%$%^$*^@#.

After hearing his interpretation of my words, I understood how he felt so wronged. The words I said got so mangled on their way, it’s a wonder he’s still here. Don’t get me wrong: I didn’t say them incorrectly, but they certainly didn’t land successfully. So we’re working on that.

We both have things to work on, and seeing as how this is my blog, I only share mine. They include being more direct (crazy, but true), not trying too hard, setting boundaries and holding us both to them, and being happier. Really. I’m not generally a content person, something I’ve always struggled with. I know being married shouldn’t be this hard, for either of us, but I’m confident that if we figure out where to try, we won’t have to try so hard.

We both try really hard. I have hope.

More tomorrow on a new plan to be happier. Thanks for your words of support and advice; they helped more than you can possibly know. I love you all (especially the one who brought me two boxes of Kleenex, a magazine AND chocolate, then sat and talked with me for four hours – especially you).