Without directions
Posted on | July 22, 2006 |
We sit in the walk-in closet amid the silent heat of boxes and winter garments, and our words fly around us like an angry swarm of bees. Here, everything requires translation but the lexicons are burning.
What do we do here? In this place where both of us feel like we’ve reached the outer boundaries of love—when really the only boundary we’ve reached is the perimeter of our own large egos. The tool box is locked, and the delicate wrenches of kindness are inside.
In our culture it’s easy to interpret “successful relationship” to mean “effortless.” Friction doesn’t fit the definition we’re so often fed: the quick Hollywood snapshots of couples walking hand in hand, laughter always on the lips. Hurt—-that parabola formed at the intersection of anger and loneliness and loss—does not belong to the stereotypical shape of affection. And yet we find it here, close to us, filling the space between us, even though we are in love.
We feel terror seeping in, the moment we go beyond what’s comfortable. What if we can’t recover? What if the words we’re saying are really the basis of regret or unraveling? What if we can’t rebuild, continue, grow? Now in the heat and silence, there are large gaps between us as we look away, staring at the slope of the gabled eaves, the shelves organized with shoes and belts.
Why are we here? Away from everyone, this unventilated room is the only place where we can fight tonight with no one hearing. But really, why are we here, in the middle of this place, exchanging oxygen for anger? Because we are unskilled and unpracticed in this kind of action. Few share this part of the journey; when the rubble strewn mess of for-granted and regret collide.
We ache in this small space, trapped by our egos, and our inability to really reach beyond ourselves and meet the other. Shame drenches us, and makes us stubborn. In the balance of things we keep believing a loss of face is somehow greater than a loss of love.
So suddenly we’re there, at the breaking point. You’re walking away from me, too tightly wound, and I’ve given you nothing for everything you’ve tried to say. You’re starving but somehow I can’t offer you any bread of apology. I’ve taken yours and thrown it to the sparrows.
You stand to walk away, and as you do I finally break open, no longer caring about being heard or being right or being sad. The brittle shell around my heart breaks all apart and with the greatest effort I say it. Like Atlas lifting an entire world, I strain under the burden of my own weakness.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “For not giving you an inch.” Your body turns slightly, and you smile, just a little. Then we try again.
We do not know how to fight this way: one to one, face to face, navigating the battle map of our hearts, and this is our cultural loss. Personal conflict is always locked behind closed doors, a thing of shame. We’re taught never to talk about our family’s heartbreak, about the endless ways we hurt each other, and recover.
Yet all around us conflict is glorified in external ways. The media is saturated with constant acts of aggression. And we hardly stop to think about this lesson we teach our children, generation after generation. I can’t help but wonder if there isn’t a link between our failure to share the unmarked maps of our personal conflicts with our children, and our failure as a culture to live together peacefully in the world. Each generation grows up just as unskilled as the last, in matters of the heart. Each generation encountering it’s own inadequacy in understanding how the mystery of loosing and winning, of giving and receiving, of selfishness and selflessness is contained within the greater mystery of love. Could we do better than this for our children?
Everything is at stake in the moment I reach beyond the brittleness of myself. And when you turn back, that smile quivering at the very edges of your lips, we’ve made it to the other side.
But it takes both of us to move ahead. Waving a white flag of apology does nothing by itself. Too often you say those words trying to end the strife before it’s started, before we feel ourselves raw and exposed, on the operating table of each other’s mercy. Too often, you say “I’m sorry” before either of us know what we’re really talking about, before we reach what matters buried beneath what matters less. It takes great effort and great risk to keep talking beyond apology, beyond blame, beyond embitterment, without walking away.
We stay. And now at the breaking point, we hover like surgeons, over the open wound of our growing love, attempting at once to remove the malignancy and repair the damage. We are untrained and clumsy, yet our effort counts for something, and after hours of this mess, we are sitting together on the bed. Your arms are around my shoulders, my hand traveling the contour of your knee. We are through the worst of it: through the time of where transfusions were needed, where openness needs to replace bitterness, and the chances of survival depended not on how much we were willing to loose, but on how much we were willing to give.
Now I write, because writing does something alchemical to experience; transforming it from a blur of things merely felt, to something better understood. I write so that I can remember—so that we can remember; my words bearing witness to the things we hardly ever say (that hardly anyone ever says), that are, in the end, the words that matter most.
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25 Responses to “Without directions”
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July 22nd, 2006 @ 6:07 pm
This post is full of so much wisdom, Christina. I understand what you mean, in so many ways, in that so many times we equate successful relationship with something that’s easy, and I think that’s just almost never true. All you’ve said here really requires an email, so I’ll do that later. Your writing can become lectio divinia to me in a flash, it is that full of truth and beauty.
July 22nd, 2006 @ 6:08 pm
I don’t know how else to respond to this post except to say that you have put into words what I have been experiencing and feeling, lately more than ever. And, in a tiny way I am relieved to hear it from you, who for some reason I always imagined never had these sort of experinces.
July 22nd, 2006 @ 10:17 pm
Thank You! There are few people in my life that would share this experience so loudly.
Your post has reminded me of something I recently I heard. That the commitment of marriage is an opportunity to be a Witness for another on their journey through life.
July 23rd, 2006 @ 8:00 am
You always seem to articulate what is happening in a way that is so easy to relate to Christina. Your words resonate particularly this week, it’s been rough around here but after 11 years together, I know (but still hope) that this too shall pass.
July 23rd, 2006 @ 8:47 am
I remember the first flash of shock I felt when I learned (for the first time after many relationships) that fighting didn’t have to signal the end of a relationship. That, in fact, in some ways it had absolutely nothing to do with whether or not I loved the person. I was dumbstruck by that notion, since I’d spent decades believing that when I reached the point you described so eloquently here, that my only choice was to walk away…for good. I didn’t understand then how fighting and listening within a fight can actually strengthen a relationship. Beautiful, thoughtful post. You’ve exquisitely painted a universal feeling with deeply personal thoughts…and made it even more relatable in the process.
July 23rd, 2006 @ 9:13 am
This is a great, great post. It’s good to hear these things said out in the open. Thank you.
July 23rd, 2006 @ 9:43 am
Again, and as always, you put words to the feelings inside me. I am stuck with a computer that freezes constantly on the internet and have not been able to post lately, but I have to try now.
It has been difficult here, also - a second move and house sale in one year, unhappiness at our ventures not working out, etc. After huge fights like this one that you have described, my husband always says - how could we be so hurtful to one that we love so much? I never have an answer - but after reading your posts and these comments I realize that it is NORMAL. There is so much more that I want to say, but can’t. Thank you again.
July 23rd, 2006 @ 10:51 am
That photo is absolutely stunning.
July 23rd, 2006 @ 11:53 am
What a well written post, I have felt this way so many times. We have just began to realise that fighting can be productive and cutting it off with a simple “sorry” too early may leave either one of us with unresolved anger that lasts too long. Thanks for writing this post. (And that is a truly lovely photo, by the way!)
July 23rd, 2006 @ 12:45 pm
I swear, sometimes I think you live inside my head. You’ve pegged it to a fine point, the feelings, and the emotions. Ow.
July 23rd, 2006 @ 3:25 pm
ouchie ow ow ow
God– it hurts so much to fight. I am sorry after all you both have gone through in the last months to bring yoru beautiful home into being, that the negative energy has caught you up. But you are so so wise, my wise friend. It doesn’t matter if you are right, who is right, countries have destroyed each other over that concept.
The only good thing that comes out of the fight is if you get really honest and show the scared, weak, vulnerabilities that are under it all– and then the deeper levels of intimacy that wrap you up give you both new levels of strength and love.
Sending you love love love and dollops of peace to soothe your souls.
July 23rd, 2006 @ 3:41 pm
I haven’t read the other comments, and perhaps I will be repeating something already said, but I want to say two things: I stand in awe of your ability to articulate the process at play in your argument. And… you mention kindness. It is my conviction that when things get really tough between a couple, if you can retain the ability to offer a small kindness, you can keep open a path back to where you came from. Sometimes, I count kindness as more important than the things we consider to be Love. You two have a depth there that will endure. Well done on weathering the storm and coming through.
July 24th, 2006 @ 1:02 am
This is an amazing piece of writing.
First your style here is flawlless.
Second I was shaking my head YES to EVERYTHING you wrote.
I don’t come to your blog everyday…and I seldom comment, But this piece of writing REALLY touched me.
July 24th, 2006 @ 9:16 am
i so understand what you are saying.
my husband and i have been
together 12 years this month,
married for 8 of those years this
september.
we don’t fight often.
and i think that somehow
thats what makes it harder
when we do…
it is that moment of giving
that you speak of,
the “why should i be saying sorry?”
“if i say sorry, is he going to
expect me to always be the one
to apologize first?” (this one might
just be mine as a gift from a
previous relationship)
we also have certain “boundaries”
or lines that cannot be crossed
that i had assumed other families had
as well and am always surprised
when i find they don’t …
lines like there is no name calling. ever.
and it is never done in front of the kids.
it works well for us.
and from the sounds of your post,
your way will work for you too…
July 24th, 2006 @ 5:28 pm
beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…thank you for putting it into words and then choosing to share them with us…
July 24th, 2006 @ 8:45 pm
there’s something inspiring about you — the way you write so eloquently, the way you love, the way you raise your son, the way you build, and the way you create. even in this post, where one can easily sense the hurt that you and he are going through, one can also easily see how hard you are working to fight fairly and reach an understanding. you are a woman of many talents, my girl, one of the strongest is your ability to love and see meaning in every aspect of your life. keep giving.
July 25th, 2006 @ 10:06 am
Thanks for being so intimate with us. It really comforts me to know that I’m not the only one in the world who feels the way I sometimes do.
July 25th, 2006 @ 10:14 am
You wrote it down, articulating your feelings. That’s admirable on a night when emotions ran so high. You’re a writer in every sense of the word. We other people would be expressing ourselves over a beer or a canvas or a treadmill. Maybe, even our husbands
because to reach forgiveness after a knock-down fight is extremely cathartic.
July 25th, 2006 @ 10:18 am
Also - this sentence slays me:
“The tool box is locked, and the delicate wrenches of kindness are inside.”
I so relate to everything you’ve said here - especially the parts about our personal conflict (and inability to deal with it) being a template for the world’s conflict and the need for education of the heart, and also about saying sorry before you’ve uncovered the real wound. I do this often; translation: I’m sorry we’re having conflict…it hurts so let’s end the conversation. But it’s really a false resolution that way.
Thanks again for going so deep on this on, and sharing yourself so fully. xo
July 25th, 2006 @ 4:14 pm
I love this post and your beautiful writing and I love your new banner. Your writing voice always resonates with what I feel inside but can’t as eloquently put into words. Thanks.
July 25th, 2006 @ 6:27 pm
You know what? I’ve been thinking on this post for days. And it occurred to me that if you didn’t care, the fighting wouldn’t bother you, it wouldn’t hurt. Does that make any sense? After 11 years of marriage, I think we tend to shove stuff under the carpet rather than work thru it the way you are describing. It is far worse to shove it under the carpet. Over time, that just hardens the heart, whereas what you are describing, tho hurtful, is making your relationship stronger. Hang in there!
July 25th, 2006 @ 7:27 pm
for so many reasons, you are amazing. this post is exactly what i wanted and needed to read at this very moment. thank you - from the bottom of my heart.
July 26th, 2006 @ 12:13 am
This is such an amazing piece of writing - you delve into so complicated an aspect of relationships with such grace and wisdom, such openness. Your writing here is like poertry - who knew that fighting could be described so beautifully?
July 26th, 2006 @ 7:52 pm
wow, so poetic the way you articulate the tension… and my dear you are so wise beyond your years!!
August 6th, 2006 @ 8:58 pm
This made me cry. Reading this reminds me how important it is for me to write about my own struggles, which are thick right now. Thank you for writing this. It is so eloquent and honest.