Second Ingredient in the Triple Blame Whammy, the Spouse

Triple Blame Whammy

Part 2:  If my spouse only loved me enough to treat me the way I should be treated, I wouldn’t be having these problems now.

Following this line of reasoning can mean wasting your whole life.  I’ve spent many an hour explaining, I thought quite clearly, the specific personality flaws my spouse needs to work on and how 24 hour happy I would be if he’d cowboy up.  And yet, he goes right on being himself. 

Now, I’m not talking about extremes, where you really should start over–I’m talking about the 98 percent of us married to special someones with the same level of emotional functioning, but turn out to be different from ourselves. 

I know of only one exception so far and that would be my marriage.  My spouse surely must have snagged me during a temporary low functioning moment in my life.  Hey, you were thinking the same thing about your relationship.  I know it’s scary to think we are muddling through along at about the same level as our spouse, and we may have a better “front office,” but people marry people who are similar in level of emotional functioning.

So, what if we fired ourselves from consistently pointing out how our special other could be different and make us feel better?  Notice I said firing ourselves from our consistent efforts.  We’re not stones, we will slip.

Am I saying we should roll over and take whatever other people dish out?  Of course not.  I’m talking about switching our focus to more productive means of changing our lives to better fit what we want. Doing something that works and, just maybe, is less annoying.

Example.  When having friends over, the worst part, anxiety-wise, is the first few minutes.  My special other had the habit of finding himself conveniently occupied during the first fifteen to thirty minutes of a gathering.  Usually, “things came up” which rendered him unable to start his shower until showtime.  After many years of psycho-babbling why he was the way he was (running his parent’s through the wringer, making up all sorts of cute explanations), then trying to convince him to own up to his “problem” and promise to greet guests with me now and forever after.  Which of course he did.  The promise part I mean.  My harranges and psychobabble left him no choice but to promise to change as the trumped up alternative I provided was to admit to acceptance of life-long emotional disorder that was clearly “causing” me too lose my grip.

As for the being present when guests arrived?  You know the answer.  But, rolling over isn’t in my nature.  The next time we had guests coming over, I didn’t say a word and I stayed happy and pleasant.  I did, however, make sure that my getting ready procedures did not get out ahead of his.  If he hadn’t showered and he asked me if I was taking a shower, I’d answer, ”That’s okay, I’ll wait until after you…I’m not sure what I’m going to wear”….”But, people will be arriving soon,” he’d say.  “That’s okay, the door’s open,” I’d say. “I’ll just hollar down….I don’t know…I could wear the black Polo polo with the eagle…or the one with the white collar…what do you think, honey?”….”I think one of us should be downstairs when our guests arrive,” he’d say.  “Me, too,” I’d say, pausing to give him a long kiss that had him totally confused.  “It’s just that I have this eagle-white collar dilemma…”  Smooch, smooch.

Manipulation you say. Darn right, it was.  And exactly what was all that haranguing and psychobabbling?  At least this way, I didn’t have to pretend I didn’t want my way or that my way of doing things was some kind of moral imperative.  I also wasn’t mad. We ended up laughing about it and kind of playing a dare game about who was going to crack first and go down where the guests were helping themselves to hospitality.