the power of the pause

Thursday night, man...  I was frustrated.  Tired.  Worn out. Upset.

It had been an incredibly long day, chock-full of being literally shat upon by the child with diarrhea, being bitten on the calf (!??) by the other hungry munchkin for whom cheerios were apparently not cutting it, obscenely short naps, and all-in-all, grouchy, needy, sad children who [are wonderful, sweet, and delighted in, but today...] needed tons of attention and obligatory donuts to enable them to make it through the remainder of the afternoon somewhat still in one piece.  And on top of that, I had felt missed by my husband.  Not affirmed in the ways I wanted to be affirmed - hurt by that - and frustrated that he got to be outside the house (working long hours, but still...) and not covered in poop.

And there was a very clear moment of decision for me,  about 5:15pm - a pause, if you will - after a very clear text message to Mi Esposo that tonight was not the night to work late - a moment where I had to decide how I was going to respond to him when he did get home.  And in a rare moment of clarity, even in the midst of my frustration,  I knew that I actually did have a choice in how I interacted:

Was it going to be with an explosion of all the emotions and frustrations that I was feeling?  Or worse, the bitter cold shoulder, jam-packed full of said emotions, left unspoken, but still full of demands?  Would it be convincing myself that everything was alright, swallowing and minimizing my own emotions and tiredness, letting the seeds of bitterness take root? Or would it be with undemanding vulnerability with my own needs, emotions, exhaustion, and places I had felt missed, understanding of his own long day, and partnership in moving forward?

We settled somewhere on the healthier side, with non-angry vulnerability with my needs, exhaustion and frustration, a little bit of mutual non-blaming ranting, and a very determined request demand statement that under no circumstances would I be cooking that night, please pass the takeout menu, thank you very much.  And all in all, had a night of good and hard conversation, real rest, and deeper partnership, rather than the anticipated fight.

So here we are, nearly four years into marriage - by no means expert - but moving out of the baby phase.  We've been together for almost six years now - we have two adorable children, and we've uprooted and rerooted and made our home together in this crazy little apartment-house that still shakes when anyone anywhere in the building gets frisky.   We know each other pretty well, but even yet, we are still learning new things about each other.  We're not newlyweds, but neither are we old-hat-ly-weds yet either.

We're not, and yet we are, the same people we were when we got married on that warm June day.

I wrote a year and a half ago, about love after marriage, and man, there's some real wisdom there.  So I'm not going to repeat it - you can just read it yourself if you want.  I think most, if not all, of it is still relevant.

But here's what I would add, now a year and a half older, and only a tiny bit wiser:

There is a beauty in the pause.

I don't mean a Lily and Marshall pause (for non-HIMYM people) - which simply puts off the issues at hand - nor is it the devastation of a Ross and Rachel "break" - giving up and walking away because of issue fatigue - but rather it's a few minutes of intentionally stepping back and looking for the other person.  Trying to see through their eyes, yes.  But even if you can't do that, to simply see them, as someone who, as messy as they are, and as messily as they do, actually does want to love us well.  Actually does want to be the best spouse to us that they can be, even if they don't always know how to do that.

Not for the sake of ignoring the problem - not for the sake of minimizing your own feelings, emotions, or frustrations.  Honest communication is - and has always been - paramount to a healthy relationship and for us has been a bedrock.  And talking about those things and being heard - feelings and frustrations especially - actually is important for healthy partnership.

But in a pause - holding our own "stuff" for just a brief moment - we give space to hold the other as well.  To take a step back and to acknowledge that there is more than one party involved.  More than one side.  And more than one way forward.  And whether that happens before a fight, after a fight, in the middle of the fight, or just as you're making dinner or planning the day - that breath - that pause - that moment of silence - gives us just enough room above the chaos that blinds us to the other, to actually see our partner before we plow ahead full-steam with our own stuff.

And then, if we are able, to return to the situation at hand holding on to that grain of truth and trust:

Whether or not I agree with him,

Whether or not he's wrong or I'm wrong, or neither one of us is wrong,

Whether or not I am, he is, hurt, justifiably or without cause,

Whether or not we reach resolution quickly, or it takes time,

I see you, as my partner and friend, a real person with your own needs, distractions, desires.

I choose to be for you, as well as for me.

I trust you.

Regardless of the situation at hand (assuming we are in a committed and non-abusive relationship - a vital foundation for trust), I choose to trust that you are/want to be for me, and to gently, with humility, show you ways that you can live into that.   And when necessary, as a part of being for you, to remind you of who you actually are and want to be, when you have deviated from that.

I choose to see you.  Not to excuse you.  Not to bury the issues at hand.  Not to ignore my own needs, wants, desires.  But to see you in the midst of those, as human, as having your own needs, wants and desires which are worthy also of attention.  But to relate to you - and to allow you to engage with me - rather than to accuse or berate you or block you out, all of which keep their distance.

I choose to move towards you, rather than away, even in conflict or need or disagreement.

And I choose to fight cleanly, directly, completely, without manipulation, and without holding on to the privilege of bitterness, because I'm fighting for me, yes, but also for you, and for us.

And so I pause - ask a friend to pray if you're a praying person, or if not, tell someone or even just say out-loud to yourself, that you need to have those eyes to see the other - and take those few minutes to breathe.  To open your eyes.  To take advantage of the space and look for your partner, as a partner.

... and then proceed at will, perhaps with a little bit more wisdom, temperance, and perspective.