The Precipice
February 2022
Some words are more destructive than sticks and stones.
“I'm not happy with our marriage,” Maya speaks softly, sitting curled up on a chair in the far corner of our kitchen.
She is framed by a steep mountain of dirty dishes to her left and rolling hills of food scraps on the countertop to her right. The tiny sound waves that slip from her lips are a tsunami by the time they reach the shores of my eardrums. She hugs her knees in front of her, as if they are a brick wall she has erected between me and her heart. Her tear filled eyes avoid contact with mine, and we both stare distantly into our white linoleum floor that is encrusted with food stains that span the entire spectrum of light. Whoever chose white floors for this kitchen made a horrible decision, I think to myself as my mind attempts in vain to flee from the situation. My gut contracts into a knot of dread, reeling from the linguistic samurai sword that just pierced my abdomen.
All I can muster in response is, “It really sucks to hear that.”
My mind, no longer able to find distractions on the floor, goes to the darkest possible outcomes. Are we getting divorced? Is she kicking me out of the house? I dare not ask.
I knew that our marriage sucked. The sight of Maya walking into the room used to take my breath away, as in “Wow, she is stunningly beautiful.”
Now, when she enters the room she takes my breath away, as in, “Please God don’t let her ask me to do one more thing for her or Taishan!”
For months, our only communication has been in commands.
“Get me a fresh diaper.”
“Make me breakfast.”
“Take taishan so I can brush my teeth.”
I wasn’t happy in our marriage either, but I was convinced that we were just stuck in some temporary, Twilight Zone, alternate reality hell. One day we would magically reemerge into the intimate, harmonious connection we enjoyed before becoming parents. We would look knowingly at one another, laugh hysterically, exhale, say “phew, that was crazy!” and go on loving each other deeply. I assumed we would just drift through the dread of deep space until we stumbled upon the black hole that would transport us back to joy.
Maya has a different strategy, which involves laying the cards upon the table and confronting the rabid elephant in the room, which threatens to destroy our home. She is Jewish and grew up speaking Hebrew with her family. She may as well be speaking Hebrew when she extends an invitation to explore emotions in real time- this is not my native tongue. I’m an eager student, yet I don’t have the vocabulary or comprehension skills to translate my inner world externally without copious amounts of time to process and reflect. I’ve never been immersed in this language, and what is instinctual for her is laborious and methodical for me. The limited expression that I am capable of is largely due to the training she has provided in the time we have been together.
I have 2 options at this juncture.
Continue weaving the pattern that seemed to serve me well for most of my life- exercise my mastery of nonchalance, aka ‘I dont give a fuck.’ What you do, say, and feel has no impact on me. I’m untouchable. If you don’t like this relationship, that’s your problem. I will build further armor around my heart, and convince myself that I don’t depend on you. I will be totally fine on my own.
Lean into the tremendous fear and vulnerability of loving someone deeply and having them not feel the same way about me. I can attempt to identify how I’m feeling and communicate my findings verbally. This option goes against a lifetime of repressing my emotions, and is similar to my grasp of Mandarin. I have managed to memorize how to say a few basic sentences, but whenever I speak them I am not understood, and am met with puzzled and patronizing facial expressions. I have invested a great deal of time and energy in the last decade towards cultivating this capacity, through a wide array of pursuits ranging from journaling, meditation, and sitting in circles with other men who are also trying to learn the language of emotion. Still, it’s a growing edge that feels unbelievably risky.
Option 2 is terrifying, and I know it’s the right choice. I will not sabotage this relationship to protect my fragile ego. So, I spend the fragmentary moments of alone time that are sprinkled sparsely throughout my days attempting to identify my feelings and put them into words.
After another week of speaking in commands and surviving the storm of keeping our son alive, we find a fleeting window of time to slow down and speak to each other. I feel like I am standing upon a diving board 100 meters above a frigid swimming pool. I inch towards the edge and curl my toes over the precipice. I take a deep breath and step forward.
As I plummet into the abyss, words fall out of my mouth.
“I love you. When you say you’re not happy, it scares me. I am afraid of losing you. I want to work with you to find a way through this. I know our relationship sucks, and it's not what it used to be. Being a father has brought out my shadow side and you are rightfully questioning if I am the man you thought you married.”
The icy plunge never happens. It’s not necessarily a soothing, warm bath either. She calmly thanks me for sharing my feelings. She voices her doubts about how we can move forward when our connection is so severed, and her view of me has been so tainted by my surprisingly potent anger, which I’ve managed to hide during the first 5 years of our relationship. I have voiced my emotions, and the world didn’t come crashing down upon me. I’ve exposed my heart and it hasn’t been maliciously battered and bruised. And, we have serious work to do.
I stand in my commitment to Option 2 and say “I hear you. I want to make this right, and I am here to do the work.”
~
For a musical interpretation of overcoming limitations, listen to ‘Climbing Out’ by clicking the image below .
“I don’t mind dying but I’d like to stay here
Long enough to enjoy time with my Wife and baby
There is no price to pay me to throw my life away
Doing anything I don’t find to be quite amazing”