(This article is reprinted with permission from Canticle Magazine.)
To top it all off, our newborn baby girl was colicky and hated riding in the car. To say I needed to talk is an understatement.
“I wish we could sell that house,” I sighed. “Two mortgages are really stressing me out.”
“Umm…” Dennis acknowledged. “It’ll sell. Don’t worry.”
I was hoping for some empathy but my hopes were dashed. A minute or two of silence passed. I thought I’d try a different tactic.
“Wish we could find out something about your promotion,” I commented, trying to draw him out. “Then we could make some plans.”
Tension hung in the air like a humid day in the tropics. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine,” he said a bit irritably.
Dennis fell quiet. I glanced at him, then I sighed again. Couldn’t he tell I needed a shoulder to cry on? I was so overwhelmed. I needed him to listen and show compassion. He just scowled.
“I wish the weather would get nicer so the children could get outside to play,” I remarked wearily.
“It’s Texas. It’ll be nice out tomorrow,” he reasoned, with finality.
I was trying to be patient, but it seemed he was condescending to my concerns. His silence was maddening.
“When do you think the baby will get over her colic?” I continued. That did it.
“Why is everything such a crisis with you?” he blurted out. Exasperated, he slammed his hand into the steering wheel. “You over-react to everything, then come to me and expect me to solve all your problems. Well, I just can’t do it,” he ranted. “I’ve got a lot going on now, too, you know.”
Patience, Colleen, I told myself. Congratulating myself on my virtue, I collected myself and said calmly: “I’m not asking you to solve anything.”
“Yes you are,” he retorted. “Why else would you come to me with all this?” I could tell this quarrel was going to reach cataclysmic proportions.
“Dennis, I just wanted to share my thoughts,” I snapped. “There’s a lot going on in our life right now. We need to talk about it.”
“Quit trying to blame me for everything,” he accused. “It’s not all my fault, ya know.”
Huh? That didn’t even make sense. Where had he gotten the ludicrous idea that I was blaming him? Mercifully, the children woke up. Our altercation ceased.
As with most marital spats, it was a couple of days before we had an opportunity to have a tête-à-tête. In the interim, I chatted with my friends to see how their husbands dealt with stress. Their stories were pretty much the same. When men have a big problem, many go into seclusion to forget about it until they can fix it. “Seclusion” could mean a sporting event, reading something, watching TV, climbing a mountain, or driving a car in silence.
God certainly has a sense of humor. When women are upset or stressed, we need to talk in great detail about every little thing that’s going wrong. We don’t prioritize. When we’re stressed, we’re upset about everything. We need to verbalize and commiserate. By discussing it, we find out what’s really bothering us and then we’re no longer overwhelmed.
When Dennis and I finally had a chance to discuss our squabble, I clarified my need to vent. He countered with the fact that men only talk about problems for two reasons: they are blaming someone or they are seeking advice.
“So I assumed you were telling me those things ‘cuz you were blaming me, or because you wanted my help,” he commented.
I thought back to our discourse in the car. It was true. Every time I verbalized a problem, he had offered a solution, expecting me to feel better.
“And when you kept right on talking, it was like your were rejecting my advice,” he said in wounded tone of voice. “So I thought you were blaming me.”
I can see how he must have felt unappreciated. But what about me? Why wouldn’t he listen and validate my feelings? Why am I always the one who has to give, give, give? I was startled out of my selfish thoughts when I realized that Dennis was still talking.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t listening to you,” he continued. “I didn’t realize it was so important for you to get it off your chest. I promise to respect your need to talk,” he proposed, “and I promise I won’t offer solutions, OK?”
Now I felt like a slug. I was thinking only of me, and here he was, giving of himself. I was presented an opportunity for spiritual growth. I could either be selfish and continue the fight, or…
“And I promise to respect your need to be alone to cope with stress,” I pledged humbly.
Isn’t marriage a marvelous path toward sanctification?
(Colleen is learning Dennis’ favorite prayer, The Prayer of Saint Francis, and they pray it together every morning. The Hammonds live in North Texas.)
Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi
Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in loving that we are loved; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
