Send me to Coventry 31 May 2008

I’ve been thinking a lot about the state of our relationship over the past few days. Of course her aim, with this silent treatment, may be to make me do just that.

I try to make small talk with her. But she has sent me to Coventry.

This is a funny expression that English people like to use. Coventry is a small city in Warwickshire, England, known for its manufacturing industry and for its two Cathedrals: the modern one was built in 1962 to replace its predecessor, which was destroyed in a German bombing raid in 1940. The phrase though, probably dates back events during the English Civil War (c.1648). [origins of this phrase]

My point here is that this particular type of bad behaviour is a least a couple of hundred years old. Can it really be true that no one, in all this time, has worked out a way of saying “Hey ! This really isn’t going to make anything any better now, is it?”

We are by no means unique in failing to communicate in our relationship. I came across a blog by Miss Scribbler the other day [Sellotaped together relationship]. She deals, in a remarkably frank way, with issues including communication, sex, and caring that have also affected my own relationship.

But the silent treatment, it seems to me, is a peculiar type of dysfunctional behaviour. To elect not to communicate, to retreat into oneself, and cut the connection with your partners thoughts and feelings, is to deny the possibility of understanding, of love, and of caring.

Some years ago I went through some similar stuff with my first wife. Of course, my current partner knows this and points to this as evidence that there is something fundamentally wrong with me, as two otherwise sane women have been reduced to treating me in the same crappy way.

I’m not convinced. I’m really not, in any way that I can see, really desperately flawed. Oh, I’m not perfect, but I’m, you know – okay.

So if I do something that’s annoying sometimes, or if I don’t seem to think just the way they do, even if its an aspect of my character, I’m really expecting other people to show me the same kind of tolerance and kindness that I try to show them.

When I think of it that way, then the silent treatment really seems to be a betrayal.

I don’t think that you can talk your way out of every problem in a relationship. I went through break-ups and counselling and reconciliation and support with my first wife. I haven’t blogged about that (yet), but I recognise some parallels with the experiences described in this blog [A journey through couples therapy].

But for sure, you can’t “not talk” your way out either. And not talking seems like one of the fastest and most effective ways to increase the emotional distance and break down the links between you.

In my experience, it’s during those times of “not talking” that history gets re-written. Good memories get replaced with bad. Love gets forgotten, and loathing increased. Caring gets replaced with contempt, and the values and behaviours that bind a relationship together: loyalty, empathy and forgiveness, are percieved as signs of weakness instead of strength.

But I can’t say this to her. I may think I have the moral high ground, but this won’t help me bridge the gap between us.

I’ll try to wait my time for now. To speak to her gently. To be caring. Avoid addressing the issue head-on.

I’ll give her time, and hope that she tires of the effort it takes to keep up this wall of silence. And that I can say the right things when she is ready to listen.

Trouble at the seaside 26 May 2008

It didn’t start well. Resentment came downstairs for breakfast when she did. It hovered over and around her like a cloud as she prepared fruit and cereal for the baby.

I tried to make small talk, but she wasn’t responding. Maybe I could have prepared breakfast before they came down, insteading of eating a bowl of cereal and drinking a cup of tea myself.

It was a sunny Saturday morning in a long, bank holiday weekend. My wife’s friend had sent a text to say that they were going to the seaside, and inviting us to join them.

My wife was torn. She wanted to go. We had had a good time together when we went for a picnic a few weeks ago. She wanted to go with them. But she didn’t want to go with me.

She hasn’t been talking to me for a while now. Except, it seems, to criticise me, whenever I try to speak. So I keep my peace, and put up with the silence.

So she wants to go, but she strings it out for a while. Finally, when she is in the shower, she calls to me to check how far it is, and how long it would take to get there.

The others are almost there, and it will take us nearly two hours to drive, but we set out. Two hours in near-total silence. Baby is sleeping. I try to make conversation, while I drive. But my wife is sitting in the back of the car with baby, and doesn’t want to talk.

Our destination is a surprise. Some of the seaside towns in this part of the world are gaudy, brash and commercialised. But this is nice. A beautiful little town we never visited before. Its narrow main street meandered downhill, past attractive little shops and cafes.

Finally it revealed a tiny harbour sheltering half a dozen bobbing fishing boats. A deep strand of golden strand curved around a cove, sheltered by low cliffs and overlooked by a old, but well kept hotel, a few tea shops, and an ice cream parlour.

We picked our way through couples and young families enjoying the spring sunshine, sitting in the sand amongst rugs and towels, picnic baskets, wind-breaks and sunshades.

The sea rolled in with lazy waves, lapping the sand in blue, green and grey. A few gulls flapped and called overhead. A few intrepid souls paddled or swam briefly in the cool Atlantic water. But most were content to sit on the beach, enjoying the swish of the waves, and the chatter of children building castles and playing in the soft sand.

We ate our picnic and talked to our friends. We shovelled sand in plastic buckets and tried (and failed) to fly a kite. Baby had a nice time, chasing gulls, and counting shells.

And all too soon it was over. Our friends left first. They had been there longer, and their baby was tired.

We waited a little longer. Drank tea from plastic cups and put the baby’s sweater on as the air cooled and the beach emptied.

Then we headed back to the car. Baby slept on the way home. My wife sat in the back with him. But we talked a little. About how nice the seaside was. And things seemed a little better than they had been. At least for a while.