Modern Love: Couples Therapist, Heal Yourself

I decided to buy a puppy.

To prepare, I made a spreadsheet with the traits I wanted:

that he did not let go of hair, that he was friendly, that he walked happily and that he drooled as little as possible.

I talked to dog-loving friends, researched trainers, and read “Dog Training Revolution:

The Complete Guide to Raising the Perfect Pet with Love”, by Zak George.

What I did not do was consult with my husband.

My husband likes dogs, but in our twenty plus years together he has been very adamant that there was no way a dog would fit into our apartment, our family, or our lives.

We already had two children and a cat (all my ideas too), and in his opinion, we were exceeding our

He knew that the conversation was inevitable;

I couldn't show up one day with a dog.

But I kept putting it off.

I am allergic to conflicts with my husband and try to convince myself that I don't want what I want so that I don't have to discuss my wishes with him.

When that stops working, I am filled with resentment and silently complain about the unfairness of being in a relationship where someone has veto power over major decisions in my life.

In the end, I fall into silent despair:

My husband and I are incompatible, I tell myself,

, so what can I do?

get divorced?

The way I avoid conflict in my marriage would surprise many people in my life, especially my clients.

After all,

.

Session after session, I encourage my clients to say whatever they want.

You can be direct and concise without ceasing to be empathetic, I explain.

Saying what one wants or feels is not attacking or being petty.

Sometimes the other person will not like what you say and nothing happens;

is part of a relationship.

"There is healthy conflict," I tell them.

“Putting pressure on relationships is how they deepen and grow.

If you don't share what's going on inside you, your partner won't fully know you and you won't have the emotional intimacy you crave."

Clients specifically look for me because of my direct contact.

My friends, and sometimes my friends' friends, ask me for advice on how to say difficult things and how to start painful conversations.

They write down what I suggest and use those words verbatim.

They tell me: “You are very good at this”.

And, to other people, I am.

I have encouraged many people—the emotion avoiders, the people-likers, the conflict-averse (in other words, people like me)—to mistalk.

Women, especially, say they would like to talk and be known, but they don't want anyone to think they are

.

"Why not?"

I mean.

"What's wrong with being difficult?"

However, in my own marriage, I was not being difficult in the way that I advocate for my clients.

He was being difficult in a much more corrosive way.

Reserved and resentful, I stopped talking to my husband about what was happening to me beyond what was strictly necessary.

There were so many other things to talk about—our teenage kids, her job, the news—but I had

about myself.

He didn't seem to notice.

The

we shared before disappeared from our relationship.

And as I did, I felt more and more isolated.

I had set up my defense against him in my head (something I advise against with my clients), telling myself that he was incapable of approaching, that he was emotionally tight-fisted, and that he had no interest in me beyond the helper role I played in his life.

Our life together was harmonious and warm on the outside, but inside I felt

Why could he help other people in the same way that I needed help?

If anyone—let alone my clients or my friends—knew how little worth I had in my marriage, I'd be ashamed.

Truth be told, if I kept track of who had the most influence on our important decisions, we might even come out even.

We still live in Brooklyn because he wants to, but we have a second child because I wanted to.

In any case, I see it as a piece of granite, immovable and inflexible, while I see myself as water, needing to surround it to get what I want, slipping through cracks and fissures to avoid trouble.

Inevitably, however, we will have to have a difficult conversation.

A conversation about having a dog, for example.

Finally, one night when we went out to dinner without the kids, I took a deep breath and said:

"I want to talk to you about something, and I know you're not going to like it."

He braced himself for the bad news.

“I think we should get a dog,” I told him.

"It's a joke, right?".

I shook my head.

"A dog?

Now?

It's crazy.

Dogs are very expensive.

They give a lot of work and you always say that we are already too busy”.

He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair the way he does when he's agitated.

“I don't even know what to say.

It's a terrible idea.

No".

Tears filled my eyes and I was silent, as usual.

When I forced myself to say something, my voice came out shrill and breathy:

"I want a dog.

And the children will be ecstatic.

I don't know why you think that you always [not a word I would recommend as a couples therapist] have to make all the decisions.

You are like a dictator [another phrase not recommended]”.

“Really?” he said to me.

"That is what you think?

You do what you want, you don't say anything to me and I play along because I hate when you get mad at me.

You don't think about what things cost or the burden they entail.

You always make me the villain."

(That is not true).

“I'm not telling you because you automatically say no.

If it were up to you, we wouldn't have kids or pets, and we'd do nothing but work.

We would still live in a studio.

You would still eat ramen and smoke Marlboro Reds."

(Not true either.)

Then he said something neither of us had ever said before and I was surprised to hear:

“I think we should take

.”

Obviously I am someone who believes in therapy.

The relationship with my individual therapist has changed my life.

I especially believe in couples therapy.

It is a job for which I feel called.

There is nothing more important than the strength of our relationships.

I am honored to have been involved in the process of helping couples come back from the brink.

I have seen the transformative power of asking for more of yourself and your partner.

But I myself was afraid to go to couples therapy.

I tell my clients that individual therapy is like a hot bath compared to the ice immersion of couples therapy.

I was afraid that if my husband and I put all our problems on the table, we would have to separate.

And no matter how bad things were, I wanted us to stay together.

I love my husband.

She is smart, sexy and kind.

She is devoted to me and our children.

He would do anything for his loved ones and he has more integrity than anyone I know.

We went to therapy.

The therapist told us all the things I tell my clients and called out to both of us how we were affecting our relationship (as I do when I am the therapist).

“Tonya, he's not silencing you,” our therapist explained.

“You are silencing yourself.

You are creating the distance between you.

You have to take emotional risks, open up and tolerate conflict.

You are not saving the relationship by staying quiet;

you're destroying it."

And then to my husband:

"She is right.

You are defensive and you judge.

If you want your wife to feel close to you, you have to listen to her and show her that you take her into account”.

After many months of exhausting sessions, we talk, sometimes argue, often come to an agreement and, despite everything, we are increasingly united.

We also have a new addition to the family: six kilos of canine energy and affection that we have named

.

On walks, Trouble picks up a stick and seconds later loses it because he tries to carry and chew on it at the same time.

I know how it feels.

I also cannot be in my marriage and see it clearly.

When people ask me for the name, I say that we came up with it when we saw the mischievous look on his face.

But really, we chose it because of the healthy problems having it had created in our marriage.

And it turns out that trouble is just what we needed.

c.2023 The New York Times Company

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