Jane & Bob: It’s Not About the Messy Living Room

By Dr. David McMillan

I sent a Zoom invite to Jane and Bob. When their faces appeared, I asked them what they wanted to talk about. Bob began.

            “I walked in the living room and Jane jumped down my throat,” Bob said. “She started yelling, almost screaming, ‘You left the living room in shambles after I just cleaned it up. The couch is out of place. You are such a mess. And you don’t care that I have to clean it up. Karen’s coming over. We’ve got this family reunion to plan and there are four loads of laundry today and I have to pack us and the children for the trip and Todd’s girlfriend’s car is parked outside. Do you have any idea what they’re doing downstairs? Why aren’t you paying attention to your son?!’ I remember word for word what she said because I had no idea how to respond.”

            “He’s right,” she said. “That’s how it happened. I was overwhelmed and frustrated. He appeared in the door and I unloaded on him. Everything was going wrong with my day and it was all his fault. That was so unfair of me.”

            “What I do when this happens is I try to fix it. I try to do something to please her, but nothing does. I moved the couch back. I went to the basement and brought Todd and his girlfriend out of his bedroom and upstairs. None of that worked. You were still fuming.”

            “Yes, I was,” she acknowledged.

            “What could I have done?” he asked.

            “First,” I said, “Jane is responsible to contain her emotions and she is making this mess.”

            “Yes, I was,” Jane said. “And everything he did made me angrier. He always tries to fix me, to do something to shut me up. I was yelling at the world, at God more than I was at him.”

            “I wish I had known that,” he said.

            “I hate it when you try to fix things to fix me. I will never let you fix me. If I let you give me the answer, then you’re smart, I’m stupid. You’re the hero and I’m helpless without you. No, I won’t ever give you that.”

            “So what do I do?” he asked again.

            “Don’t help her,” I said. “So begin with asking her if this is about you. Is she really blaming her mood on you?”

            “And what would you have said, Jane, if I asked you this?”

            “I hope I would say, No, it’s not about you. Most of the time it’s not. I’m just overwhelmed. And I could use that question to remind me that I don’t have permission to blow up on you. Just don’t help me.”

“But I want to,” he said. “I love you and you’re upset. I want to help.”

            “So that’s the next thing you can do,” I said. “You can ask her how you can help. But remember only Jane can manage her emotions. You can’t.”

            “Can I help?”

            “Sometimes,” Jane said. “And sometimes, I just need to have someone listen to me. I just need to vent. And if you ask me what you can do, it makes me feel like I have choices and options, that my words may matter to someone and when you are the mother of four, often you feel like you don’t matter. No one listens to you. And after I have made a suggestion and you do help me by doing what I asked, I feel important, at least to you and that helps. But the truth is these emotions that are flooding me are mine to deal with. Sometimes, when its not about you, you would be smart to avoid me, keep your distance because I’m dangerous. That’s just the truth and I’m sorry. I’m going to work on my self-control, but this is a work in progress.”

            “I have work to do, too,” Bob said. “When she attacks like that, I raise my hands in the air and I play the innocent victim role.”

            “And this infuriates me,” Jane said. “It’s like he’s calling me a bully. And then, when it wasn’t about him, I make it about him. I find something he did, then I link it to what he did a year ago and the year before that and there’s no stopping me. I’ve flipped my lid. Emotions pour out of me onto him. I am drunk with anger. And I treat him so badly that he is the innocent victim.”

            “Thank you for acknowledging that,” I said.

            “Yeah,” Bob agreed. “I never thought you would admit to this. And my poor me case against Jane begins in my head.”

            “And my version of how I am mistreated, abused and disregarded begins in my head,” she said.

            “And,” I said, “your natural tendency to ignore anything that doesn’t fit the cases you are building and notice only the things that confirm your story, that tendency kicks in and you’re both off to the races trying to prove that you are the hero/victim and the other is the cruel thoughtless villain. And this fight becomes the theme of your marriage.”

            “It has been exactly that,” Bob said. “Especially when things aren’t going well with my job.”

            “Or with our kids,” Jane said.

            “Yes,” I agreed. “Fate plays and you take it out on each other.”

            “I’m going to get better at using my emotions constructively,” Jane said. “I can express my feelings without attacking you, Bob.”

            “And I can do a better job of responding to your emotional floods when they happen.”