Talking In My Sleep

I had a chance to go and meet one of my favorite authors. Not at a reading or lecture. She was going to be at a friend’s house, having tea. I was invited. To sit and drink tea with Said Author and my friend. Just the three of us. I was dressed to go. I was in the car. I was on my way.

And I never got there. Because I ended up having a huge, all-consuming “discussion” with Said Husband—on the cell phone, as I was driving, trying to navigate my way to meet Said Author. In the end, I was too distracted to find the place and too much a mess to have enjoyed it anyway. (And lucky I hadn’t wrecked the car in all that drama.) That’s what I told myself anyway, to mask my disappointment at my own self-undermining.

I’ve always believed that, when two reasonable people have an issue, talking it out ought to work. Never mind that, in seven years of marriage, it has rarely yielded much. In fact, I’m beginning to find that talk—at least the way Said Husband and I are doing it—has become a form of self-sabotage. There have been nights when discussions about the State of Our Union have kept us up until 3 in the morning. And, while these hashings seem important at the time, often, in the next-day light I realize that we haven’t covered much new ground or come to any major revelations or resolutions. And, adding insult to injury, I end up exhausted. Not only have I wasted a good night’s sleep, I’ve tanked my ability to function the next day as well.

But I keep doing it. Keep think talking is going to help. According to Susan Page, that’s my first problem. She’s the author of, Why Talking Doesn’t Work: Eight Loving Actions That Will Transform Your Marriage.

The title doesn’t do the book justice. You’ll find it on the “self-help” shelf, but its focus is spiritual. It encourages you to think of marriage (and all relationships) as spiritual practice—a way for you to grow as a person. More connected, more authentic, more aware, more at peace, more in Love. (Big L Love.)

The book asks you to eschew discussion, debate and verbal self-defense in favor of acting with a sense of good will, allowing the other person to just be himself, accepting what is and accepting yourself with the same compassion. Give up problem solving, Page writes. Talking and negotiating isn’t going to solve them—and you’re not going to change your partner any more than he’s going to change you.

So far, the only “loving action” that has come fairly easily for me is Act On Your Own. Stop asking or expecting the partner to do the thing, say the thing, have a revelation you want him to have. Just do what you need to do. I’ve been calling this the “Work Around”—and find that it’s empowering to see that I can find a way to do or have what I need, without being hindered by another person’s actions or inactions.

I’ve had a very hard time with the other “loving actions,” because they require you to consider some practices and concepts that, if you have any ego at all, really stretch you beyond your comfort zone. But I’m inching my way into the book, going back and literally re-viewing the concepts again and again. Remembering that this is supposed to be a spiritual practice—trying again and again until I get it. And reminding myself that this is about me getting it. Because until I get it, I’m going to keep spinning in the same circle of self-sabotage. And I’m never going to get any sleep.