Forgiveness

I've been talking with a couple of friends recently about infidelity. Across my conversations with both of them, the thing that echoed in the back of my mind was the matter of forgiveness. More specifically, I have been thinking about the fact that forgiveness central to the restoration of trust which is the foundation on which the relationship going forward will be built.

The question, then, is: how do we come to forgiveness?

In the course of writing my dissertation, I came across a chapter written by Tedeschi and Nesler (1993) that talked about how people work through being on the wrong end of someone else's bad behavior. Their model had a couple of additions, but the essence of what they argued was this:

• First, a betrayal is committed (after all, without a betrayal, there is no need for forgiveness)
• Second, a responsible party is identified as having committed the betrayal
• Third, the responsible party accepts ownership for commission of the betrayal
• Fourth, the responsible party makes some reparation for the betrayal
• Finally, the person who was betrayed moves toward forgiveness

So in plain English: someone does something wrong to someone else. The person who did wrong has to own what s/he did wrong and attempt to make up for the wrong-doing in a way that is roughly proportional to the original betrayal.

What I love about this model is that it expects that the person who committed the wrong-doing to take responsibility for him/herself and try to fix it. Now, seeing as we can't get into a DeLorean and go back in time to the moment just before we made a wrong choice, what can we do (or avoid) to take responsibility for a major betrayal we have committed against someone we love?

I've got some thoughts on that: 

1. Apologize. For heaven's sake, apologize. And not one of these perfunctory, I'm-apologizing-because-it's-the-socially-appropriate-thing-to-do-but-I'm-not-really-sorry-and-I'll-likely-do-it-again apologies. No. Like a legit statement of recognition of wrong doing and a sincere display of remorse for what you've done and the hurt the other person is feeling because of it.

2. Don't confess unless you expect the relationship to end. Okay, so now we get into some ethical gray area about whether a betrayal that your partner wouldn't know about unless you confessed it should be confessed at all. I am not prepared to get that dirty right now. What I am prepared to say, though, is that if you know you violated a major relational rule, you should should expect there to be negative consequences. One of these consequences may very well be a loss of the relationship. If your partner doesn't want to be with you as a result of your betrayal, you have to deal with that as a foreseeable outcome of your actions. What you don't get to do is accuse your partner of being crazy, irrational, unreasonable, unfair, blah blah blah if that's what s/he decides is necessary and/or appropriate.

3. Don't give more information than you're asked for. One of my rules for existing as a human being is to never ask a question that you don't want to know the honest answer to. I would amend that rule to say that if a person tells you that they don't want to know, then don't tell them. You have to understand that you just confessed to a major betrayal. That is a lot to deal with unto itself without a barrage of information coming at your partner that they aren't even sure they want to know. What's more, is that chances are that you're being ultra-disclosive for one of two reasons: either you are trying to unburden your conscience or you're trying to get your partner to break up with you. Neither helping you feel less guilty nor giving you a way out of initiating a break up conversation is your partner's responsibility in this situation.

4. Don't berate, belittle, or insult yourself. Yes, you probably feel like a big pile of poo if you genuinely feel remorse for your betrayal and if you really do want to mend your relationship. And you might really, truly honestly feel like you have nothing to say except to call yourself names. I'm telling you, though, find something else to say. If you insult yourself you're trying to beat your partner to the punch - if you call yourself a(n) [insert your favorite ugly insult here], your partner has no reason to also call you a(n) [see previous insult]. This may seem like a harmless self-protective thing to do, but it's a problem because your partner, if s/he loves you, will feel the need to reassure you that you aren't whatever insult you've called yourself. Let me put that differently: you (the betrayer) are asking your partner (whom you have just confessed to betraying) to console and comfort you in response to your well-deserved guilt. That's an awfully manipulative thing for you to be doing if you've just confessed to a major relational violation. 

5.  Don't ask your partner how they want your betrayal made up to him/her. Like alleviating your guilt, or ending the relationship you didn't want, this puts work and responsibility on your partner for repairing something s/he didn't break. You should be thinking to yourself "how can I prove I love him/her?" and then go do it. I'd like to point out that buying flowers or candy or funding shopping sprees or bringing home puppies are not expressions of love. On a good day, they are gestures of affection. If they come following a betrayal, they are small and trite and comically insignificant as compared to a major betrayal. You may have to prove your love by being willing to give something up in order to invest more in your relationship.

As is always the case, this list isn't by any means exhaustive. It is, however, a compilation of some of the major missteps I've witnessed people making in the course of confessing betrayals to their loved ones.

In the end, you can avoid all of this by really truly trying, every day of your life, not to suck. 
 

References

Tedeschi, J. T., & Nesler, M. S. (1993). Grievances: Development and reactions. Aggression and Violence: Social Interactionist Perspectives. Washington, D.C.: American Psychological Association.

Something Personal: Why I'm Single

My last post was titled "In Defense of a Single Woman Giving Relationship Advice". The point of that post was to reinforce the point that despite my being without a romantic partner, the delightful relationships I have with friends and family are evidence that my advice is sound and useful and that I have the experienced-based credibility to give it.

In the course of that post, I called attention to the fact that I am single. I didn't get into the reasons I am single (they would have been off-topic and made for an unnecessarily lengthy post). I ventured to guess, though, that people might be curious about why a person who makes a habit of giving relationship advice doesn't have a romantic partner. So, here's the list:

1. My parents have set a crazy high bar for what relationships ought to look like.

This coming August, my folks will have been married to each other for 38 years. Having been born one month before their first wedding anniversary, I can truthfully say that I can't speak to the quality of their relationship as I was growing up. As an adult, though, I look at my parents' relationship with one another as an ideal form of love. They honor and respect each other. They collaborate on every decision they make. They are similar enough to have a strong foundation on which to build love and closeness while also being different enough to off-set one another's imperfections. They laugh together, they play together, they seek out one another's company. They are as comfortable sitting silently in one another's presence as they are talking about things ranging from the mundane to the critical. They are the definition of love. The reason they are so important in my singlehood is that I refuse - and I do mean patently and unequivocally refuse - to settle for anything less than what they have. This necessitates my being patient enough to indulge my spectacular selectivity.

2.  I'm not what most people would consider conventionally attractive.

Not that I've ever taken a survey, but I'd venture to guess that if 100 people were randomly asked to rate my attractiveness on a 1-10 scale, I'd end up being a solid 4.5. I'm short, overweight, my hair is coarse and wild (thanks in no small part to my grandmother's Puerto Rican roots), and my nose is too big for my face while my eyes are too small. No, I'm not nitpicking my imperfections. I'm simply making a candid statement about those features that consistently work to undermine people finding me aesthetically pleasing.

The reason my looks matter are that a) physical attraction is an almost inevitably necessary component of romantic interest, and b) because I don't meet most men's standard of attractiveness, it shrinks the pool of available partners. In my experience, men who are attracted to me are approximately as (un)attractive as I am. As it happens, being not-particularly-attractive doesn't exempt a person from wanting to be with a person whom we find attractive. So, speaking purely statistically, if we take into consideration the available, heterosexual men in an appropriate age range in the geographic area in which I live, the number of men who find me attractive whom I also find attractive is extremely small. Trying to catch that fish in the great big sea poses a logistical challenge I'm not too terribly interested in expending a lot of time and energy on. I would rather spend time doing things I already do that make my life awesome.

3. My life is stupidly awesome.

I have a job I love. I write this blog. I casually give people advice about how to navigate a hitch or a problem in their close relationships. In about four weeks I'm going to be legally certified to do family mediation. I have friends and family whom I love and who love me back. I live in the beautiful Appalachian hills. I have enough money to pay my bills, buy a few small indulgences, and have drinks with friends. My life is awesome.

The reasons the awesomeness of my life contributes to my singlehood are two. First, I don't want to divert energy away from the things that already make my life great to go on an effortful fishing expedition to find my future husband. Second, I'm looking for someone who can make what is already awesome even more awesome. I don't need a partner to make my life great or whole or complete. If I felt like my life had a hole in it that only a romantic partner could fill, I would be a bit less selective in my screening process and likely be able to find someone who could give me a sense of wholeness that I was missing. Instead, a fella has to be positively amazing in order to make my already fabulous existence better (heck, I don't even know what is more fabulous than fabulous). In my experience, dating to screen for people who have that potential has been more frustrating and anxiety-producing than fruitful.

4. I hate dating.

My relationship history is full of men who absolutely fell short of making my awesome life better. More than that, though, the men in my history have all (with the single exception of my last serious relationship) been . . . how do I say this without cussing . . . you know what, never mind - shitbags. They've all been absolute shitbags. They were really, honestly dreadful people. Liars, cheaters, emotionally abusive, unable to disclose their feelings, unable to decide where I fit into their lives, blah blah blah.

My point is not to bash my exes (after all, I did pick them, at least for a short time). My point is that dating for me has been painful. I made the decision shortly after I broke up with my last serious partner that I didn't want to date anymore. It occurred to me that I was unhappy while I was dating. I was always anxious and stressed out. Dating isn't something that I enjoy. Now, there are things we must do that we do not enjoy - like eating veggies, going out into the snow to go grocery shopping, or flossing - dating is not something that I must  do. It's totally optional. Which means I could opt out. So I have.

Let me be clear: this post isn't designed to advocate for being single. Singlehood isn't for everybody. Lots of people are much happier in a relationship than they are alone. As it happens, I'm not one of them - at least not right now. I haven't totally ruled out the possibility of being willing to reenter the dating pool at some point. I also haven't ruled out the off chance that some serendipitous meeting with a stranger may turn into a lifetime of pair-bonded happiness. I've just decided that, for right now, at this stage in my life, given the people in my dating pool and given the high expectations I have for a partner and a relationship, I'm happily and voluntarily single.

In the meantime, my life is full of love and joy and I'm content to let that sustain me.

Something Personal: In Defenese of a Single Woman Giving Relationship Advice

As I start this post, there are about 55 minutes remaining in Valentine's Day 2014. Being single, and being friends with mostly pair-bonded folks, I spent the majority of my day alone - delightfully so. I listened to the sound of the week's snow melting on an unusually warm day, ate left over pizza, and trolled about on social media. In checking both my Facebook and Twitter feeds, I noticed an abundance of the inevitable Valentine's Day-hating posts. As a person who believes in love, I find these types of posts irritating. Valentine's Day is about celebrating love, no matter who that love is with. As I often do when something annoys me, I went on a short little Facebook rant asking the offenders to quit posting such cynical junk (If you care to read it - it's all of 125 words - you can find it here).

In the course of writing that post, I found myself arguing something that I have argued countless times before in my own defense as a single woman who gives relationship advice. So, in the spirit of openness, honesty, candor, and love, I'd like to call attention to my own singlehood, and in the course of doing so defend my credibility as a giver of relationship advice.

So, I am single. Not just unmarried, but entirely single. My last serious relationship ended about 2 years ago (at least I think it was about 2 years ago; I'm terrible with dates). Since then, I have had one date with one guy, after which I enthusiastically decided to take an indefinite hiatus from dating. (If you're nosy about why I'm single, I wrote a separate post to address that point which you can read here.)

The reason I thought it was important to mention my singlehood, finally, was because I get asked a lot (mostly by men) what business I have giving relationship advice if I'm not in a relationship. Like the begrudgingly-single Facebook posters I mentioned above, I find people who ask me that question to be short-sighted and narrow-minded.

The fact is that on every single day of my life I actively and mindfully live every piece of advice I have ever given in this blog in all of my non-romantic relationships. I have had the same best friend since I was 14 years old (that comes out to about 61% of the total time I've spent on this planet), I have close relationships with my parents and my sister (who is a very, very different kind of human being than am I), my cousins who live about five hours away in North Carolina, and the handful of close friends I've made over the last six and a half years living and working in Johnson City, Tennessee. I have been able to form, grow, and maintain these relationships because I know what I'm doing - not just in a theoretical way, but in an actual, practical way. The old adage about those who can't do teach does not apply to me.

So you see, dear readers, love and intimacy aren't just the stuff of romantic bonds. They are the force that brings life to any close relationship. The advice I give here shouldn't be applied just to your romantic relationships. Rather, you should use it in every relationship you ever have. Do that, and I can about assure you that your life, like mine, will be characterized by an overflowing abundance of love, warmth, and affection. To that I say, more of that. 

Happy Valentine's Day.