First, notice the present tense. Here, right now, today, you are choosing to be with this person. You’re not broken up, even if you feel completely miserable in the relationship, so … you are choosing to be with this person. Even if you’re planning to break up tomorrow, why tomorrow and not today? Today, for one or more reasons (probably a lot more than one), you’re sticking around.

Some of the reasons are what you’d expect: you find her sexy. You like how quiet and introverted he is. You love her passion for justice. You can’t get enough of his sense of humor. And so on. Typically, reasons like these change over time. Maybe you thought he was really cute in the beginning, and now you like being with him because he’s so good with the kids. But my question is about something else.

Here’s the theory: you are unconsciously—note, unconsciously—choosing your partner in order to take the next step in your development as a human being. She’s hysterically funny, and you have always been a serious person … you’re with her because you want to learn to lighten up. She’s really quiet and serious … you’re with her because you want to stretch in that direction; you want to get serious.

Here’s an example, and warning, it’s a little on the silly side. Because my job is so intense, I like my entertainment to be really easy. I love sitcoms and sci-fi and crime shows. And for years my spouse and I have been fans of “Psych.” It’s a silly show about a guy who solves crimes by pretending he’s psychic, when really he’s just hyper-observant.

If I haven’t lost you, I’ll continue with this example. In a recent episode, Shawn (the “psychic”) was confronted by his girlfriend, Juliet, a police detective, who figured out that he’s been faking psychic powers all this time, which means he’s been lying to her, hundreds of times, for years. She was understandably very upset. To make it worse, Juliet’s dad is a small-time crook who always let her down when she was a kid, so honesty is a Very Big Deal for her. And Shawn knows she’s furious, but he can’t stop kidding around and anxiously trying to joke his way out of trouble.

Let’s apply my question to this couple.

Shawn is unconsciously choosing to be with Juliet because he wants to grow up, even though he doesn’t want to. He wants to become a little more emotionally mature. He said as much when he asked her out. Because of this, he wouldn’t have a lot of integrity if he complained that she was being unfair in her anger, or if she was not willing to wait around for him to get his act together. At some level he needs to acknowledge that his girlfriend is doing exactly what his unconscious self wants someone to do: she’s caring about him but also holding him accountable for a major mistake. He could dump her and find a new girlfriend, and by doing so avoid taking the next step in his development, or he could recognize that he needs to step up. In short, Juliet is perfect for him.

Meanwhile, Juliet is unconsciously choosing to be with Shawn because she wants to get past her lifelong resentment and distrust of her dad, and how that family-of-origin relationship makes it so hard for her to trust guys today. Honesty is a very big deal for her—in fact it’s much too big. She needs Shawn to be two things: 1) a guy who’s not always honest and reminds her of her irresponsible dad; and 2) a tremendously virtuous and loving guy who truly does right by her. She could dump him and find a straight-laced guy to be her version of “the guy you marry,” or she could recognize that she needs to get past her “dad issues” and begin to trust an imperfect but great guy. In short, Shawn is perfect for her.

I like this couple because the “Why are you choosing your partner” question is easy to answer for both of them. How I wish that were always true in real life…

So, tell me: why are you choosing your partner?

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Unlike a lot of therapists (or so I think), I am an extravert. I am energized by the outer world of people and things and activities. I can be alone and quiet, but it often leaves me feeling…drained. I have an inner life! But it’s not my top priority. As a therapist, this means I am a bit more talkative and active in sessions, which for most of my clients is a good thing. (A common complaint I hear from new clients is that their former therapist “just sat there and didn’t say anything.” I always tell them, “That’s not going to be a problem for you and me.”)

As an extravert, it’s my responsibility to understand introverts, and approach them with respect and grace. They are not shy. (Some of them might be, but did you know that there is also such a thing as a shy extravert? It’s true!) Introversion is not about shyness or meekness. It’s not about being socially awkward. (Again, there are socially awkward extraverts.) It’s about where a person gets her energy. It’s about what re-charges her batteries. I know brave, courageous introverts. They’re out there, they have hundreds of friends, they are saving the world. But to relax and re-charge, they go into a walled garden.

That’s my image for introverts: they enjoy a walled garden. Imagine a quiet, verdant garden with walls going up all four sides. Little birds flutter in, chirp (not too loudly), and move on. The space is filled with silence and oxygen and life…and peace. Being an introvert is being energized by this solemn and serene environment. Extraverts have broad interests; introverts go deep. When I want to relax, I talk and text and update my Facebook page and talk some more. When introverts want to relax, they stroll into the walled garden.

And it’s important to understand this: the walled garden is a sacred space. You can go in by invitation only. If you’re married to an introvert (which I am), it’s essential that you accept this. You need to build trust, practice empathy, and recognize that your beloved introvert is different from you in this way, and that difference is a good thing. Sometimes you will be invited to come in. Other times, not. Don’t take it personally. I’ve found that when I respect the walled garden—when I recognize its value and meaning to my spouse—I am more likely to be invited in.

I have my own walled garden, my own inner life. I spend more time with myself than anyone else on the planet. I get in touch with my own walled garden when I walk our puppy dogs, or work out, or take a hot bath. But I’m married to someone who goes to his walled garden a lot more often, and with more intention, and reverence. I can respect that. It’s not my preference, but it really is a lovely way to live on this earth.

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“I deserve to be treated with respect.”

“I deserve an honest answer.”

These all sound like terrific, therapist-approved statements. Too bad they make me squirm. I’ve been mulling over my discomfort with “I deserve _____” and finally have a few thoughts that might shed some light on it.

Before I say anything, I want to say that I believe in fundamental human rights, and I believe that all human beings should be treated with respect, should be free to pursue happiness, should be in honest relationships with people of high integrity.

But I don’t like the way we sometimes demand this as our due. “I deserve to be treated with respect.” Well, okay, sure. But wait: why? Think about that for a second. If you deserve it, the way a laborer deserves her wages, then you can go ahead and assert for it. You behave respectfully; go ahead and demand that you be treated as such. But I worry that this makes the transaction conflictual, and over time can make anxiety build up inside you. You’re going around asserting what you deserve…at some point I’m guessing you’ll feel exhausted and drained. And more prone to doing things that aren’t respectable, honest, or gratifying.

“I deserve _____” is a good way to start a sentence when you and your co-workers aren’t getting health insurance or a living wage. (Though even in a situation like that, what I’m about to propose might be more powerful.) But “I deserve _____” can quickly become a barrier to getting what you truly want. I’m much more likely to respect you and be honest with you if you’re clearly stating what you want, rather than what you deserve. Go back and look at the statements at the top of the post, and then consider the ones below. Which ones might be more powerful?

“I want us to find the happiness we had a few years ago. I loved being with you. You made me so happy. I can see us feeling that way again.”

“I appreciate your honesty. I’ve felt betrayed by you, and have hurt you as well. I want to rebuild a strong relationship with you.”

These statements have these as starting points:

“I want _____.”

“I desire _____.”

“My hopes and dreams are _____.”

Do I deserve what I want? Do I deserve to have my dreams come true? Maybe. But starting from that stance can lead me to an anxious place where I have to fight to get what I want, rather than building it with someone (or within myself). Instead of cultivating a garden, I’m pointing at the soil and saying, “I deserve a beautiful garden!”

Try a new starting point. Begin with your hopes and dreams, and let go of the feeling that you “deserve” anything. Now… what do you really want?

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One popular line of satire talks about therapy as an absurd exploration of one’s childhood, typically along Freudian lines. You explore your long-repressed, unconscious mix of rage and desire for your parent. All that. Of course, psychodynamic psychotherapy—the contemporary body of work and thought that traces its ancestry most directly back to Freud—is much more nuanced and insightful than that. But I wasn’t trained in that tradition. I studied couple and family systems therapy, a radically different way of looking at a problem, a client, and really everything I do for a living.

And yet… sometimes I ask you about your childhood.

Let me assure you: we don’t go off the deep end. We don’t dwell on every psychological bump and bruise you suffered as a child. Even if you were seriously traumatized in childhood—something that’s much more common than most people think—we don’t necessarily treat that trauma as a life-damaging, permanent psychological disability. Many people who were traumatized as children grow up to be highly functional, healthy, happy adults. (And others do not. It’s case-by-case.)

My exploration of childhood is not typically so problem-focused, or trauma-focused. And I don’t dwell for hours on the topic. But I might ask you questions like this: “What kind of kid do you think your family of origin wanted you to be? What did they value, and how did they reward you for doing what they value?” For example, I’ve come to discover in my own life that I have a preference for extraversion: I am an extravert. (I have friends who would say, “No shit.”) But I didn’t appreciate this right away, maybe because in my childhood years, I don’t think I was rewarded for being outgoing and extraverted. I wasn’t punished for it either, but I remember learning early on that my family of origin included lots of introverts, and rewarded kids for doing introverted things. I was encouraged to read, to study. I was affirmed for being…quiet? That’s not exactly right. Maybe I was affirmed for being easy, or easy-going, or self-effacing. That doesn’t mean I actually was easy-going! (Cough.) I just knew, or thought I knew, that that was valued in my family.

As a result—and this is why I ask you about it—I might unconsciously assume that my spouse or friends or employer value the same things. I might be quieter than I “should” be… I might hold back when it would be better to behave differently. Or I might not bring up a troubling issue with someone because I learned long ago that it’s best not to do that.

This works in lots of other ways. Natural introverts might have been rewarded by their extraverted family for being outgoing, and not understand why they come home from work these days feeling so exhausted. They might not realize that they’ve been acting out of preference all day because they (unconsciously) thought that’s what everyone wanted from them, when in reality they would have been fine behaving as their natural, introverted selves… or their workplace actually values a more introverted style.

We grow up assuming that what we’re experiencing is what is, or what is appropriate, correct, or valuable. And in its own context (with the exception of cruelty and abuse), it is all of those things. But there are other ways of living, relating, and working. Your friends, spouse, or colleagues may be operating from radically different assumptions. That’s why it’s helpful to explore your childhood a little bit. What have you been assuming all along, going back to your earliest days? Are those assumptions worth questioning? What might be a different way of relating to others, and might it actually be a better fit for you?

The author, long long ago.

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Here’s last year’s post:

I’m in the process of updating my site pages that address your questions about insurance coverage, but until that’s all done I want to say a word about couples counseling and insurance. Here’s the word: if you’re a couple working with me, I accept only out-of-pocket payments for my full fee. Insurance isn’t part of our relationship.

Here’s why. If you have medical insurance, it’s possible that your insurer has listed me on their website as a provider, whether I’m “preferred” with them or not, and it’s also possible that they have told you they cover couples counseling. But this is technically incorrect. And to do it, I’d have to breach my own ethical code. Here’s the explanation:

The insurance industry is built to serve individuals, not couples, which means if we bill your insurance, I have to diagnose one of you with a mental disorder and bill the session as an individual session (with the individual’s spouse/partner present), implying that the session is intended to treat that one individual’s mental disorder. This is why insurance companies don’t really cover couples counseling: they cover individual counseling with the (presumably non-disordered) spouse/partner in the therapy room. And in my book, that’s not couples counseling.

If I were to bill the session properly and ethically, I would diagnose neither of you with a full-blown disorder, but would code it V61.10, which is “partner relational problem.” And there are two reasons why that won’t work. First, I’m still billing your insurance for one of you, not both of you, and that’s inconsistent with my view of you as my client. You areboth my client—my singular client. Your dyad is my client unit. And I believe that these little details do matter. They have an effect on how we see ourselves and each other, try as we might to avoid it. And the second problem is that no insurance company I know of pays claims with V61.10 as the diagnosis. It’s a V-code, and my guess is that the V stands for Very Unlikely We’re Going To Take Your Problem Seriously.

“But,” you say, “I do have a mental disorder! I’m depressed, and my relationship problem contributes to my depression. So I’m fine with you diagnosing me and billing it as an individual with his partner in the room.” I understand that, I really do. I even share your belief that working on couple issues can alleviate depression and other disorders like anxiety, PTSD, and many more. Maybe it seems like an absurd distinction, but to serve you ethically I still have to hold the line on my belief that what we do in couples counseling treats both of you as a unit, and to do that effectively, I can’t have the paperwork telling me, you, and your partner that your depression is the central problem. It truly might not be. Let’s say your partner also has a disorder in the category that includes depression—bipolar, say, or alcohol dependence. Why should I put your name on the chart and not his? Maybe his alcoholism is a bigger issue than your depression…but your depression is also a really big deal. It becomes an ethically shady game of drawing false distinctions. I know many therapists (my past self included) who have blurred this line and said, “Oh, it’s not a big deal, I know the truth,” but I’ve been doing this work long enough to know that blurring a line like that is dangerous.

Two more points and I’m done, I promise! I want to add that my holding the line on this can be a source of comfort for anyone who is afraid to begin couples counseling because they (understandably) fear that the therapist is going to side with their partner. I am doing everything I can in and out of my sessions with you to prevent that from happening. In the sessions themselves, when I am naturally drawn to your partner over you, I go on alert and wonder how I’m being “drawn in,” and what you’re all about, and how I can be as well connected with you as I am with your partner. And outside of sessions, I pay attention to things like this insurance issue to be sure the structure of our therapy—even the tedious paperwork—is not getting in our way.

And finally, I have learned through long experience that out-of-pocket therapy is generally more effective and powerful, both for couples and individuals—and perhaps more so for couples. You’re investing time and hard-earned money on your relationship. That motivates you, and it makes it a true investment on your part. It can be expensive (though perhaps not as much as you fear…many couples require surprisingly few sessions). But you really do get what you pay for.

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I’m taking two full weeks off this month to rest and recover from the many stressors of 2012, and to prepare my new office for clients. Because my new office shares an address with my new home, I won’t be publishing it on this Web site. I’ll contact every client (current and new) with address and driving directions.

Note: even though I’ll be taking time off this month, I’ll continue to respond to voicemails and emails from new and current clients.

This move is a good financial decision, of course. Rather than paying rent for someone else’s space, I will drive that income into our mortgage and write off the square footage I use for my business. But it’s a great decision on a deeper level: my therapist has told me that nothing can compare to the feeling of running your own enterprise from your own place. It’s hard to describe, mostly because I haven’t yet experienced this myself, but I think I know what she means. Being in private practice allows a therapist to express a unique vision for the work s/he does with her clients. When I operate my private practice from my own location, that vision will be clearer, more powerful.

(And nothing can compare with the commute!)

Queen Stella surveys her dominion from the second floor of her new palace.

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My friend was also referring to the approval by Washington voters of Referendum 74, which was a surprisingly solid win: about 7 points. We had feared it would be a squeaker, and might not be called for days or weeks following the election. It’s heartening to know that a healthy majority of the citizens of this state approve the freedom to marry for all loving, committed couples. THANK YOU!

And…I don’t know if therapists are supposed to reveal information like this, but you’ve probably guessed already that I’m deeply pleased about the results of the presidential election, and a few senate races around the country. Progressives had a good night on November 6th, and it appears our nation is entering an era when a majority of voters still believe in the public square and want us all to work together to solve our problems and move forward as one nation. THANK YOU!

But all this thanking leads me to some puzzling questions. Why am I giving thanks? Was I given a gift? Is thanksgiving (and next week’s holiday of Thanksgiving) about giving thanks for things we’ve been given? Is it that…transactional? Did God help Ref 74 pass in Washington? (Careful now!) Did God help us sell our house? (Uh-oh!) Did the universe want Barack Obama to be re-elected? (Wait a second!) I don’t have a lot of room here  for theological or philosophical reflections, so I’ll just say this: when we thank God or the universe for events that turn out the way we want them to, we’re skating on thin theological ice. We’re running the risk of projecting ourselves onto God or the universe. Just ask someone who was disappointed by the election, or someone who can’t hope to afford a house. For what can they be thankful?

When you have me over for dinner, I will send you a thank-you note. When you open the door for me, I’ll say “Thanks!” Thanksgiving is often the gracious punctuation of a transaction: A gave something to B, B said thank you. So far, so good.

But Thanksgiving—Thanksgiving with a capital T, both the holiday next week and the deeper concept I’m talking about—is not transactional. It’s not about looking at the pile of gifts you’ve received recently—or even the modest one or two things that are going your way right now—and saying, “Thanks.” It’s a stance, a way of being, even a way of breathing. Taking a breath in, and a breath out, you lean into a stance of gratitude, you open your mind and your heart to the grace and goodness you see around and within you.

Here’s a better way to put it. I learned this today from a student therapist I’m supervising this fall at the grad school I attended back in the late nineties. She said that each Thanksgiving, her family plays “Rose/Bud/Thorn.” Have you heard of it? I hadn’t. It goes like this: Rose: these are the things going well for me today, this month, this past year; the things/relationships/events I love and for which I feel deep gratitude. Bud: these are the things that are emerging, or stealing over the distant horizon; the things/relationships/events that are new, developing, in progress, and for which I feel deep gratitude. And finally, Thorn: these are the challenges, setbacks, losses, and disappointments I’ve suffered recently; the things/relationships/events that have led me into the wilderness, or challenged me, and for which I feel deep gratitude.

I really love that last one. Thorn. I give thanks for the Thorn. I give thanks that the selling of our house was, well, such a tremendous pain in the ass. Why? Because it was a brand-new adventure for my spouse and me, and it taught us a lot about the resilience of our relationship. And because it forced me to get serious about my priorities, responsibilities, and finances. And because it made us much stronger, and gave us compassion for those who have struggled with far worse.

And so, God, universe, Source of All Being, I turn my heart and mind toward you in gratitude for all the roses, buds, and thorns in my life.

And I’m going to unpack some boxes now.

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And now we’re coming to the end of a long campaign. The race is really tight, and every vote counts. If you haven’t yet voted, please do so, and mark “Approved” on your ballot for Referendum 74!

I’m not ready to reflect deeply or completely on my experience. Some of my reflections—such as how hard this time has been on me, both physically and emotionally—are not really interesting to anyone outside of my household. (Bottom line: don’t take on two new projects and move, all at the same time!) But I can say this:

These men and women—the staff and volunteers working for Washington United for Marriage—are people of tremendous courage, skill, and virtue. Their cause is right, and their passion is justice. Many hundreds of us marched yesterday from Central Lutheran on Capitol Hill down to the King County Administration Building, where volunteers dropped their ballots into the box. It was moving and profoundly inspiring to be a part of this, with all the cheers, chants, songs, and roars of laughter and excitement, while our fellow citizens cast their ballots for freedom and equality.

I’ve spoken before in this blog about my faith, and how I often feel the urge to keep it somewhat introverted, lest I freak out some of my agnostic or atheist clients, particularly those who have been harmed by religion. But yesterday, there was no introversion; it was not possible. We were marching the streets of Seattle, shouting and singing for equality, and I decided, why not, to go all out and wear my vestments, the alb and dalmatic and stole of a deacon, for that is what I am.

Sometimes people call the Episcopal Church “Catholic lite.” (Robin Williams has made great—and friendly—fun of us.) But I’ve never liked that term. We aren’t Catholic lite. We are, in its best sense, catholic. We embrace all people, and we welcome their disagreements, points of view, questions, and challenges. To support the freedom to marry for all couples: that is a catholic idea. Everyone takes their place at the table. We are not exclusive.

Episcopalians have also been called the “country club church,” or the “frozen chosen.” And I thought wryly of that a couple of times when I was screaming and singing into the bullhorn yesterday and lapsed into exhausted silence, only to hear one of our leaders bracingly yell to me, “Stephen, don’t stop!! Keep singing!!” Really? I sighed. But I kept singing. One of the songs was an old Sunday school song, “This little light of mine.” I wouldn’t be surprised if you know it. One of the verses goes like this: “Hide it under a bushel? NO! I’m gonna let it shine.” Well. Call me a frozen chosen Catholic lite if you want, we were all warm, despite the chilly November air, and we sang freedom and justice and love until it echoed from the downtown skyscrapers. There was not a cynic among us.

We saw the future.

And that future begins tomorrow. Please don’t forget to vote. And please vote to APPROVE the freedom to marry for all loving, committed couples who simply want to hold each other in love and faith, as long as life endures.

Here I am saying (er, shouting) the closing prayer at the end of our Ballot Walk, while standing on a fragrant trash can… (Photo: Aubrey Thonvold, my valiant colleague.)

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That’s why I don’t wait long to ask them about their love story. What was it like in the beginning? What drew you to each other? It may be painful to tell this story, too: you may burst into tears at the realization that your love story, at the very least, is on hold, if not completely over.

But something can happen in the telling of the story: it can slowly come back to life. An expression of nostalgic happiness appears on your partner’s face, and you suddenly feel less defensive and resentful. You begin to restore your love story to its rightful place—the center of your relationship.

When I ask you to tell your story, I don’t just ask for the “Once upon a time” story line. I ask questions like, “When you were together back then, what did you do with each other every day? How did you reconnect at the end of the day? How did you stay in touch during the day? When something fun (or funny) happened, was your partner the “best friend” person you texted to laugh about it? What were your rituals?” I ask these questions because it’s easy for couples to abandon the simple, everyday things they used to do that strengthened their friendship and deepened their love.

Example: my spouse and I follow an informal rule, a guideline: when one of us feels like it’s great to be together, he says so, out loud. “It’s great to be with you,” he might say as we’re driving to a friend’s house for dinner. “You too,” I’ll say, pausing from playing Words With Friends long enough to acknowledge that my spouse is connecting. This may seem tiny and irrelevant, but it is a vital part of our love story. It’s one of the many ways we remain good friends, and loving spouses.

What’s your love story?

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If you walk through a graveyard, you’ll likely see lots of one- or two-word epitaphs: “Mother.” “Devoted husband.” “Beloved daughter.” I like these. I like their focus on what above all is most important: our closest relationships. (After all, I’m a relationship therapist!) But after I’ve seen a few dozen of them, I hunger for a little bit more.

Writing your own epitaph decades before your actual death (let’s hope) is not a practical exercise, though I suppose it could be. (If you come up with something really good, why not use it?) But the main idea is to get you thinking about what’s most important to you, what it is—above all else—that gets you up in the morning.

Here’s mine (at least at this particular point in my life): “He Proclaimed Good News.” I like to instill hope in my clients, and by hope I mean authentic hope. I’m not a Polyanna. I take seriously my job to communicate to clients the genuine truth that they can make significant progress, that they can take control of their lives, that they can mend their relationships even when they seem torn beyond repair. Or…if they can’t mend a particular relationship, they can find another way to cultivate life and health in their present dilemma, and be at peace.

(I’m also involved in a spiritual community that reads another meaning into the phrase “Good News,” but I digress.)

Writing your epitaph is a fun (?) way to return your attention to the essence of your life, the Who and What and Why of your own best self. If you died tomorrow, how would you want to be remembered? What, more than anything else, is the most important thing you can say about your lovely, complicated life?

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