Danger: Withdrawal

I recently asked clients to demonstrate what they do when they fight by having them stand in two separate corners of my office. They had shared with me that typically they don't talk, they simply have a silent stand off. I asked them to each take a corner, and wait a few.

So they stood. And stood, and stood. No peep, no comment, nothing. For 1/3 of the session they stood. Finally after 20 minutes of zero movement and utter silence (I was reading a magazine, btw) she turned around and said "has it been five minutes yet?"

I did a little dance, because in their relationship she is never the one to break silence first, he is. For some reason, today, she felt safe enough to do something differently. I pointed this out, and also reminded them how much money they'd just spent in their silent spaces.

It was a waste of their money, I suggested. For some reason, money talks. The next week, they returned and reported that when they had fought that week, that when she retreated, she remembered the therapy experience and broke the silence much earlier.

I'll talk later about this phenomenon we call "withdrawal." It is, incidentally, the most dangerous seat at the table of marriage.

Sharing is Caring

A week ago, I had a garage sale. Or, should I say, a week ago I was violated. It goes something like this:

"Hey, whatddya want for that stove there in the back of your garage?" (not displayed for sale).

"Oh, gee, I don't know. I haven't even cleaned it yet to sell. I guess, I dont' know, 50 bucks?"

"How about $15"

Sigh. "Whatever. Take it."

All in all, I cleared maybe $70. That's two days worth of listening to "will you take" - I figure the government owes me something for pain and suffering. After all, I put out some good junk. Real good junk! Quality junk. I shoulda made at least $150.

So this weekend, I loaded up the car with all the leftover quality junk and took it to the Salvation Army drop off station. Of course, I have to leave the kids out of the loop because if they're not gonna make money, they wanna keep the junk. And once the junk's in the garage, I wanna get rid of it. So off it goes, kids none the wiser. But even I'm thinking, as I'm loading up the car, this here's some good quality junk.

So I pull up to the drop off, with this strange feeling like I'm gonna make this guy's day. Here I am, going through all this effort, to give him - just hand him - quality junk. I'm not going to charge him, I'm not going to haggle with him, I'm just going to GIVE him all. this. stuff. This is how I imagine it's going to go:

Maam, are you SURE you want to just give this stuff to me? This here is some Quality Junk.

Go ahead, son, take it. It's yours.

But why me? What makes me so special? (choking back emotion)

I look at my Q.J., wondering if I'm making a mistake. Then I'm overcome with the gift of donation and say "take it. Just take it." He runs to write a tax receipt, insisting it's the least he can offer in return. We hug, and I drive away, treating myself to a milkshake from Burger King for a job well done......

-------------------
Reality is often times a rude smack in the jaw. Dude at the drop off post was nearly irritated to be burdened with so much Quality Junk. I almost felt bad, handing him my Q.J. Go figure. It took me a solid 3 minutes to unload, thoughtfully organizing the Q.J. in bins so that Dude wouldn't be too put out....I hated to bother him with my receipt request, but come on, I gotta be able to at the very least write this stuff off - you'd have thought I'd requested a urine sample(Sigh.) With much pomp and circumstance he grants me my receipt and I tiptoe away. Don't want to upset the delicate balance....

At least I have less quality junk at my house. I feel lighter, some how - if not seriously violated.