The most powerful phrase we've discovered in our relationship: being on the same team.
This relationship is the most joyous and rewarding aspect of my existence, but it can also be supremely challenging. Unlike sports, it's not always clear what it means "to pass the ball" or "score a goal" together. We may want different things in different moments, or have slightly different assumptions.
Friction centers on one of us feeling the other has not acted in good faith. For her, it's often that I'm not showing enough care or consideration—that I'm not listening—and the implication is that it's willful. For me, it's often that my input channels don't feel respected, such as by a slightly biting or sardonic phrase that expresses some less-than-processed emotion.
When we come from a place of abundance, or at least one of us does, things are smoothed over easily. The small part of us feeling hurt or undervalued receives direct nurturing reassurance. The team is reinforced.
But when both of us are activated, vanishing team spirit can lead to disastrous consequences. Mutually painful moments ensue. For me, rapid mental escalation occurs to the point of "Well, what are we doing here? Why am I wasting my time with someone who is demonstrably not on my team?"
Thankfully, I rarely say this out loud. I give the rhetorical questions due consideration. This existential leap is an avoidant tendency I've curbed. So far, these have been infrequent momentary lapses; patience and good judgment have won out.
Shared experience over time makes things easier. More abundant parts within both of us can draw on memory banks of team spirit. We begin to operate on the same team by default.
For someone as neurotic as me, this is nontrivial. I demand meticulously high performance from my teammates.
The secret to making it work?
Rachel does too.
This relationship is the most joyous and rewarding aspect of my existence, but it can also be supremely challenging. Unlike sports, it's not always clear what it means "to pass the ball" or "score a goal" together. We may want different things in different moments, or have slightly different assumptions.
Friction centers on one of us feeling the other has not acted in good faith. For her, it's often that I'm not showing enough care or consideration—that I'm not listening—and the implication is that it's willful. For me, it's often that my input channels don't feel respected, such as by a slightly biting or sardonic phrase that expresses some less-than-processed emotion.
When we come from a place of abundance, or at least one of us does, things are smoothed over easily. The small part of us feeling hurt or undervalued receives direct nurturing reassurance. The team is reinforced.
But when both of us are activated, vanishing team spirit can lead to disastrous consequences. Mutually painful moments ensue. For me, rapid mental escalation occurs to the point of "Well, what are we doing here? Why am I wasting my time with someone who is demonstrably not on my team?"
Thankfully, I rarely say this out loud. I give the rhetorical questions due consideration. This existential leap is an avoidant tendency I've curbed. So far, these have been infrequent momentary lapses; patience and good judgment have won out.
Shared experience over time makes things easier. More abundant parts within both of us can draw on memory banks of team spirit. We begin to operate on the same team by default.
For someone as neurotic as me, this is nontrivial. I demand meticulously high performance from my teammates.
The secret to making it work?
Rachel does too.