CAN THIS MARRIAGE BE SAVED?
Aaron Beck tells couples in counseling never to think these fixed-mindset
thoughts: My partner is incapable of change. Nothing can improve our
relationship. These ideas, he says, are almost always wrong.
Sometimes it’s hard not to think those thoughts—as in the case of Bill and
Hillary Clinton. When he was president, Clinton lied to the nation and to his
wife about his relationship with Monica Lewinsky. Hillary defended him: “My
husband may have his faults, but he has never lied to me.”
The truth came out, as it has a way of doing, especially when helped by a
special prosecutor. Hillary, betrayed and furious, now had to decide whether Bill
was a permanently bad and untrustworthy husband or a man who needed a lot of
help.
This is a good time to bring up an important point: The belief that partners
have the potential for change should not be confused with the belief that the
partner will change. The partner has to want to change, commit to change, and
take concrete actions toward change.
The Clintons went into counseling, spending one full day a week for a year in
the process. Through counseling, Bill came to understand how, as the child of
alcoholic parents, he had learned to lead a dual life. On the one hand, he’d
learned to shoulder excessive responsibility at an early age—for example, as a
boy sternly forbidding his stepfather to strike his mother. On the other hand, he
had another part of his life where he took little responsibility, where he made
believe everything was okay no matter what was going on. That’s how he could
appear on TV and earnestly vow that he was not involved with Lewinsky. He
was in that no-responsibility and high-denial space.
People were urging Hillary to forgive him. One evening, Stevie Wonder
called the White House to ask if he could come over. He had written a song for
her on the power of forgiveness, and he played it to her that night.
Yet Hillary could not have forgiven a person she saw as a liar and a cheat. She
could only forgive a man she thought was earnestly struggling with his problems
and trying to grow.
THE PARTNER AS ENEMY
With the fixed mindset, one moment your partner is the light of your life, the
next they’re your adversary. Why would people want to transform the loved one
into an enemy?
When you fail at other tasks, it’s hard to keep blaming someone else. But
when something goes wrong in a relationship, it’s easy to blame someone else.
In fact, in the fixed mindset you have a limited set of choices. One is to blame
your own permanent qualities. And one is to blame your partner’s. You can see
how tempting it is to foist the blame onto the other guy.
As a legacy of my fixed mindset, I still have an irresistible urge to defend
myself and assign blame when something in a relationship goes wrong. “It’s not
my fault!” To deal with this bad habit, my husband and I invented a third party,
an imaginary man named Maurice. Whenever I start in on who’s to blame, we
invoke poor Maurice and pin it on him.
Remember how hard it is for people with the fixed mindset to forgive? Part of
it is that they feel branded by a rejection or breakup. But another part is that if
they forgive the partner, if they see him or her as a decent person, then they have
to shoulder more of the blame themselves: If my partner’s a good guy, then I
must be a bad guy. I must be the person who was at fault.
The same thing can happen with parents. If you have a troubled relationship
with a parent, whose fault is it? If your parents didn’t love you enough, were
they bad parents or were you unlovable? These are the ugly questions that haunt
us within a fixed mindset. Is there a way out?
I had this very dilemma. My mother didn’t love me. Most of my life I’d coped
with this by blaming her and feeling bitter. But I was no longer satisfied just
protecting myself. I longed for a loving relationship with my mother. Yet the last
thing I wanted to be was one of those kids who begged for approval from a
withholding parent. Then I realized something. I controlled half of the
relationship, my half. I could have my half of the relationship. At least I could be
the loving daughter I wanted to be. In a sense, it didn’t matter what she did. I
would still be ahead of where I was.
How did it turn out? I experienced a tremendous sense of growth letting go of
my bitterness and stepping forward to have the relationship. The rest is not really
relevant since I wasn’t seeking validation, but I’ll tell you anyway. Something
unexpected happened. Three years later, my mother said to me: “If anyone had
told me I didn’t love my children, I would have been insulted. But now I realize
it was true. Whether it was because my parents didn’t love us or because I was
too involved in myself or because I didn’t know what love was, I don’t know.
But now I know what it is.”
From that time until her death twenty-five years later, we became closer and
closer. As lively as each of us was, we came even more to life in each other’s
presence. Once, a few years ago, after she’d had a stroke, the doctors warned me
she couldn’t speak and might never speak again. I walked into her room, she
looked at me and said, “Carol, I love your outfit.”
What allowed me to take that first step, to choose growth and risk rejection?
In the fixed mindset, I had needed my blame and bitterness. It made me feel
more righteous, powerful, and whole than thinking I was at fault. The growth
mindset allowed me to give up the blame and move on. The growth mindset
gave me a mother.
I remember when we were kids and did something dumb, like drop our ice-
cream cone on our foot, we’d turn to our friend and say, “Look what you made
me do.” Blame may make you feel less foolish, but you still have a shoe full of
ice cream—and a friend who’s on the defensive. In a relationship, the growth
mindset lets you rise above blame, understand the problem, and try to fix it—
together.
COMPETITION: WHO’S THE GREATEST?
In the fixed mindset, where you’ve got to keep proving your competence, it’s
easy to get into a competition with your partner. Who’s the smarter, more
talented, more likable one?
Susan had a boyfriend who worried that she would be the center of attention
and he would be the tagalong. If she were someone, he would be no one. But
Martin was far from no one. He was very successful, even revered, in his field.
He was handsome and well liked, too. So at first Susan pooh-poohed the whole
thing. Then they attended a conference together. They’d arrived separately and,
in checking in, Susan had chatted with the friendly hotel staff in the lobby. That
evening when the couple walked through the lobby, the whole staff greeted her
warmly. Martin grunted. Next, they took a taxi to dinner. Toward the end of the
ride, the driver started singing her praises: “You better hold on to her. Yes, sir,
she’s a good one.” Martin winced. The whole weekend continued in this vein,
and by the time they got home from the conference their relationship was very
strained.
Martin wasn’t actively competitive. He didn’t try to outdo Susan, he just
lamented her seemingly greater popularity. But some partners throw their hats
right into the ring.
Cynthia, a scientist, was amazing at almost everything she did—so much so
that she left her partners in the dust. That might have been all right if she didn’t
always venture into their territory. She married an actor, and then started writing
plays and acting in them—superbly. She said she was just trying to share his life
and his interests, but her part-time hobby outshone his career. He felt he had to
escape from the relationship to find himself again. Next, she married a musician
who was a great cook, and in no time flat she was tickling the ivories and
inventing unbelievable recipes. Once again, the depressed husband eventually
fled. Cynthia left her partners no room for their own identity; she needed to
equal or surpass them in every skill they arrived with.
There are many good ways to support our partners or show interest in their
lives. This is not one of them.
DEVELOPING IN RELATIONSHIPS
When people embark on a relationship, they encounter a partner who is different
from them, and they haven’t learned how to deal with the differences. In a good
relationship, people develop these skills and, as they do, both partners grow and
the relationship deepens. But for this to happen, people need to feel they’re on
the same side.
Laura was lucky. She could be self-centered and defensive. She could yell and
pout. But James never took it personally and always felt that she was there for
him when he needed her. So when she lashed out, he calmed her down and made
her talk things through with him. Over time, she learned to skip the yelling and
pouting.
As an atmosphere of trust developed, they became vitally interested in each
other’s development. James was forming a corporation, and Laura spent hours
with him discussing his plans and some of the problems he was encountering.
Laura had always dreamed of writing children’s books. James got her to spell
out her ideas and write a first draft. He urged her to contact someone they knew
who was an illustrator. In the context of this relationship, each partner was
helping the other to do the things they wanted to do and become the person they
wanted to be.
Not long ago, I was talking to a friend about the view some people hold of
childrearing—that parents make little difference. In explaining that view, she
likened it to a marriage relationship: “It’s like partners in a marriage. Each
comes to the relationship fully formed, and you don’t expect to influence who
the partner is.”
“Oh no,” I replied. “To me the whole point of marriage is to encourage your
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