What makes a relationship healthy?
What is the measure of a good relationship? The amount-of-time-spent-together? Number-of-years-married? Finishing-each-other’s-sentences? All of the above?
To this overthinking cub, I would have to say that the real measure of a good relationship is how you feel about yourself as a result of the other person. That is to say, when you think about a fairly typical day with your significant other, and you think about how you yourself feel/act/believe, do you find yourself a better person for being in the relationship? Or are you an uptight mess?
In one of my tangential pop-culture references, I would have to turn to the classic gender-bender flick, Mrs. Doubtfire. Specifically, I turn to the character of the frazzled wife/mother played by Sally Field. She chose to divorce her crazy-fun hubby, played by Robin Williams. Why? She explained it in a very poignant scene where she spoke to Mrs. Doubtfire. Basically, when her husband was left with the kids, he had fun with them. But fun meant throwing responsibility out the window. And that left her with the double-burden of having to come home from work and worry about things – worry about cooking and cleaning and deadlines and responsibilities. It took her from an already frazzled state and made her even more frazzled. And that damaged her relationship with her kids, who began to just look at her as being the mean parent. And it led to nothing but fighting between husband and wife. Does this mean that either of them were “Bad” people? No. But something about that chemistry was just toxic. It was a bad combination in that it brought out the worst in each other. And she didn’t like herself when she was with him.
I don’t really talk much about my first marriage. I’m sure that a lot of people out there naturally assume that the fact that I’m now with a man just might have something to do with why we divorced. I’m sure in some ways that had a bit to do with it. But in reality, that was a very minor part. The fact is, my first marriage simply turned toxic. I don’t think that means that she was bad or that I was bad. Rather, the two of us just seemed to bring out the worst in the other. Looking back, I pretty much led a dreadful life. I absolutely abhorred my work and career. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything of any sort of importance, and most of the people I worked with put me on-edge. But I would have to say that, after a while, going home was even worse. The hour-long commute, even in the fiercest of rainstorms, was somehow my only relief during the day. I had quiet time where I could just be alone with my thoughts in a relative state of calm. I would leave the place that gave me an ever-present sense of insecurity, but then return home to what might be chaos. The fact is, I never knew what was going to happen when I got in the door. What disaster might be awaiting today? What drama may have unfolded? Would I have extra burdens to take on? Unexpected turmoil? Some new drama? Life felt just so out of control.
My ex was a very chaotic individual. In many ways, I think that is what attracted me to her in the first place. But once married, the chaos never seemed to settle down. It seemed like chaos followed her. And if she got swept away in that particular bit of chaos, then it naturally fell upon me to make up the difference or fix the things left unaddressed. Sure, in a marriage, there is give and take and mutual-support. And that is what I thought I was doing. But as it happened day… after day… after day… after day… it took its toll. And I felt myself becoming more and more frazzled and fried. Looking back, I don’t think it was ever a case of me not liking her. Sure, there were times when I felt frustrated by her ever-present chaos and drama. But it wasn’t that I didn’t like her. It was that I didn’t like myself. I didn’t like how I felt. I didn’t like the feeling of my heart racing so often. When some new drama came into play, I felt sick to my stomach. Constantly, I felt anxious or out-of-control, waiting for the rug to get pulled out from under me. And eventually, it just became too much.
So how do I know that my relationship with Paul is working? Simple. When I go home, there is a calm stillness completely unlike anything that I experienced earlier in my life. I walk in the house, and typically the loudest thing is the overly-dramatic meow of the starving cat. Usually, I find Paul quietly reading in his papa-bear chair or in his office. And when I see him, he always gives me a great big smile and says, “Hello, honey.” If there is any drama, it is because I bring some in the door. I can’t think of the last time we had chaos. And if we are going to get into a big tiff over anything, it’ll probably involve something as dorky as consommé’ cups.
So in a purely selfish fashion, I would have to say that I know my relationship is working because of how I feel about myself. I feel calm. I feel relaxed. I feel happy. I feel like I can take a nap on the couch and be left in peace (unless starving kitty jumps up on me). Annoyances really never go beyond just a temporary exasperation.
And that is because my hubby makes it so.
To this overthinking cub, I would have to say that the real measure of a good relationship is how you feel about yourself as a result of the other person. That is to say, when you think about a fairly typical day with your significant other, and you think about how you yourself feel/act/believe, do you find yourself a better person for being in the relationship? Or are you an uptight mess?
In one of my tangential pop-culture references, I would have to turn to the classic gender-bender flick, Mrs. Doubtfire. Specifically, I turn to the character of the frazzled wife/mother played by Sally Field. She chose to divorce her crazy-fun hubby, played by Robin Williams. Why? She explained it in a very poignant scene where she spoke to Mrs. Doubtfire. Basically, when her husband was left with the kids, he had fun with them. But fun meant throwing responsibility out the window. And that left her with the double-burden of having to come home from work and worry about things – worry about cooking and cleaning and deadlines and responsibilities. It took her from an already frazzled state and made her even more frazzled. And that damaged her relationship with her kids, who began to just look at her as being the mean parent. And it led to nothing but fighting between husband and wife. Does this mean that either of them were “Bad” people? No. But something about that chemistry was just toxic. It was a bad combination in that it brought out the worst in each other. And she didn’t like herself when she was with him.
I don’t really talk much about my first marriage. I’m sure that a lot of people out there naturally assume that the fact that I’m now with a man just might have something to do with why we divorced. I’m sure in some ways that had a bit to do with it. But in reality, that was a very minor part. The fact is, my first marriage simply turned toxic. I don’t think that means that she was bad or that I was bad. Rather, the two of us just seemed to bring out the worst in the other. Looking back, I pretty much led a dreadful life. I absolutely abhorred my work and career. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything of any sort of importance, and most of the people I worked with put me on-edge. But I would have to say that, after a while, going home was even worse. The hour-long commute, even in the fiercest of rainstorms, was somehow my only relief during the day. I had quiet time where I could just be alone with my thoughts in a relative state of calm. I would leave the place that gave me an ever-present sense of insecurity, but then return home to what might be chaos. The fact is, I never knew what was going to happen when I got in the door. What disaster might be awaiting today? What drama may have unfolded? Would I have extra burdens to take on? Unexpected turmoil? Some new drama? Life felt just so out of control.
My ex was a very chaotic individual. In many ways, I think that is what attracted me to her in the first place. But once married, the chaos never seemed to settle down. It seemed like chaos followed her. And if she got swept away in that particular bit of chaos, then it naturally fell upon me to make up the difference or fix the things left unaddressed. Sure, in a marriage, there is give and take and mutual-support. And that is what I thought I was doing. But as it happened day… after day… after day… after day… it took its toll. And I felt myself becoming more and more frazzled and fried. Looking back, I don’t think it was ever a case of me not liking her. Sure, there were times when I felt frustrated by her ever-present chaos and drama. But it wasn’t that I didn’t like her. It was that I didn’t like myself. I didn’t like how I felt. I didn’t like the feeling of my heart racing so often. When some new drama came into play, I felt sick to my stomach. Constantly, I felt anxious or out-of-control, waiting for the rug to get pulled out from under me. And eventually, it just became too much.
So how do I know that my relationship with Paul is working? Simple. When I go home, there is a calm stillness completely unlike anything that I experienced earlier in my life. I walk in the house, and typically the loudest thing is the overly-dramatic meow of the starving cat. Usually, I find Paul quietly reading in his papa-bear chair or in his office. And when I see him, he always gives me a great big smile and says, “Hello, honey.” If there is any drama, it is because I bring some in the door. I can’t think of the last time we had chaos. And if we are going to get into a big tiff over anything, it’ll probably involve something as dorky as consommé’ cups.
So in a purely selfish fashion, I would have to say that I know my relationship is working because of how I feel about myself. I feel calm. I feel relaxed. I feel happy. I feel like I can take a nap on the couch and be left in peace (unless starving kitty jumps up on me). Annoyances really never go beyond just a temporary exasperation.
And that is because my hubby makes it so.