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Not long after we were married, my husband, Van, and I had our first quarrel. While I don’t recall the particulars, it set the pattern for the way we would handle conflict for about the next fifteen years. Typically, the script went like this:
1. Van, who is even-tempered and rational in his approach to life, would bring up some problem that we needed to address.
2. Assuming that he was criticizing me and the way I did things, I would feel threatened and defensive. I would explode in anger, often with screaming and crying.
3. Going on the offensive, I would drag in past history, resurrecting (and distorting) things that Van had said or done that I didn’t like. I hurled accusations: “You never …” and “You always …” and “Yes, but you….” Of course, this confused and clouded the issue at hand.
4. Seeing that the problem had become impossible to resolve, Van would stop talking, or even walk away; this ended the quarrel but left me very frustrated. Or if I was exceptionally upset—mostly over my own temper and lack of rationality—Van would turn his attention to comforting me so that I wouldn’t brood about what an awful person I thought I was.
The subject of our quarrels varied over the years, but this is the basic script we were locked into. It was unpleasant, and it went nowhere. We loved one another very much and, in every other respect, had a wonderful and generally healthy marriage. Even so, this particular area did not improve.
Turning Point. Despite my habit of accusing Van whenever we quarrelled, I knew deep down that there was something wrong with the way I handled conflict. Even as a child, I had been fearful and insecure, lashing out in tantrums and flailing at everyone who didn’t do things the way I wanted them. My response to problems was emotional, never rational. Not until I was in my mid-thirties did I learn that there was another way.
My moment of enlightenment took place several years after Van and I met some people who took their faith very seriously. We were only nominal Catholics at the time, but through them, we came into a new relationship with Jesus and began to fall in love with the church. We were also gaining insights about our marriage.
One day, Van and I went to one of these Christians—a married man who had become a trusted friend—for advice about our inability to resolve problems. As we talked, Ron made the observation that I was in the habit of “ruling” situations with my emotions. Instantly, I knew what he meant and knew he was right.
What does it mean to “rule” a situation? Basically, it’s the protective tactic I was using in my arguments with Van and others. You don’t want to face up to any of your own faults, so when someone brings up a problem that might reveal them, you fend them off with an emotional response like tears or anger, or an excuse like, “I’m not feeling well,” or “I’m in a bad mood,” or “I’m not up to this.”
As Ron said those words, it was like a light went on inside me. I suddenly understood that I was abusing the gift of emotions by using them to fight off anything I found threatening and to refuse any suggestions for improvement. And just as suddenly, I realized something else: I didn’t have to keep doing that. I could change! It was a revelation that I knew came from God.
A New Way of Living. I had everything to learn about how to relate openly and honestly, but through Ron’s words, God had given me the key that unlocked my understanding. As I turned to the Lord, he helped me see what to do step-by-step. What a wonderful experience this was! I had always loved Van with all my heart and wanted our marriage to be the very best it could be. Now, the way was open.
I began to listen to Van in a new way, focusing on what he actually said rather than what I assumed he was thinking. For the first time in my life, I stopped dragging past events into our discussions: Stay in the moment, I would remind myself. We are dealing with this one current situation, not with something that happened yesterday or ten years ago. When we discussed an area that involved conflict, I saw that Van was generally trying to help and not accuse. Love and correction could go together—I had never understood that before.
And if ever I did feel threatened as we talked, I learned to explain calmly and rationally how I was feeling, instead of flying off the handle. Sometimes I’d tell Van, “I just cannot do that right now. Can we come back to it later?” Or when I disagreed with his ideas, I learned constructive ways to respond: “I may be wrong, but it seems to me…” or “What I hear you saying is….”
I might also add that this new way of relating freed me to take the initiative occasionally and to suggest some change that Van might make in himself or his way of doing things. This was something I had never been able to do before. It took some adjusting on Van’s part, too!
Laughing and Learning. As I grew in my ability to communicate, so did Van. For example, he began using what he calls the “sandwich approach” when initiating a potentially difficult conversation with me. First, he would open with a sincere compliment about something I was doing that was right and good. Then he would gently talk about what he thought we needed to change, following that with some other positive remark.
Even though I saw very well what Van was doing, his little method still worked, because he was careful to be honest about the entire situation. And it was always nice to hear that, overall, he was happy about our marriage and how we were doing.
I should add that humor has played an important role in our marriage over the years. We have learned to laugh at ourselves, individually and as a couple, and to use that humor to defuse potentially awkward situations. Once, I sat down beside Van and—applying his “sandwich” method—said to him, “You know, you are a wonderful husband.” He immediately gave me a sideways glance and said, “Uh-oh.”
With God, There Is Hope. I am so grateful to God for freeing me from defensiveness and anger and for showing me a better way to deal with conflict. What he did for me opened the door to a deeper, closer relationship with my husband and to a much happier family life.
Perhaps most rewarding of all is the happiness that Van and I share as we see how our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren are benefiting from the fruits of the lessons that we began learning some thirty years ago. How good God is!
Janet and Van Vandagrif live in Ypsilanti, Michigan, and have seven children, twenty-eight grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren.