Some years ago I clipped a favorite cartoon by Koren, and I keep it on my desk. It shows two middle aged couples visiting in the living room of one of their homes, with a huge hairy monster looming behind the smiling hosts who are seated together on a couch. The wife addresses their friends sitting opposite, who are staring at the monster, and says: We deal with it by talking about it.

This is a concept I hold dear, the idea of coping with our demons by talking about them with those we trust, thereby lessening their power to effect our lives. Surely this is the best way to foster understanding and intimacy.

Professionally, I often urge clients to face and perhaps question their fears, or concerns about the future, bring them out in the open, and share different perspectives and opinions with friends or loved ones.

So, it was with some surprise that I recently came across a quite opposite view that I find appealing.

I wish I could, but cannot remember the source of these words I quickly scribbled on the pad I keep by my bed: Curiously, it helped us not to talk things out. Confusion cannot be challenged if there is no finality. In a marriage there is always tomorrow, the apology, the explanation of bad behavior, the kiss.

Weeks later when I gathered up my collection of bedside notes and reread this quote, I realized more fully the wisdom it held. Those whose relationships have survived long term have all probably learned this lesson, to pick and choose which incidents, which thoughts or daydreams, which monsters need to be talked about and which are best left to confusion, to uncertainty, to apology, or just to the kiss.

And here’s another strategy.

Brian Lamb, my favorite C-SPAN host, interviewed Colbert King, Pulitzer Prize winning columnist for the Washington Post.  Asked about his wife, King said: We have a mixed marriage, she’s a registered Republican, and I’m a Democrat.

King and his wife of over 50 years, Gwendolyn King, both held a number of high government positions, he as Deputy Assistant Secretary of the Treasury in the Carter administration, she as a Deputy Assistant to Ronald Reagan and as Director of the Social Security Administration under George H.W. Bush.

Lamb asked how they handle their disagreements. King, who will soon be 73, responded that he just goes with the flow and added: You have to learn how to mumble if you’re going to keep the marriage going . . . that you don’t have arguments . . . because if you‘ve got to say it  . . . five years from now when you’re about to brush your teeth, she’s going to get the last word . . . I don’t disagree with my wife about anything, I just enjoy the moments.

So, perhaps there are times to throw a blanket over the monster, cultivate confusion, and mumble.

If you believe that it’s important for intimate partners to work through conflicts as they arise, it is probably counter-intuitive to be told that there are times when conflict avoidance may be the better course. But such can be the case when faced with words meant to intimidate. I develop this premise here in the context of a divorce but believe it holds true in any personal negotiation.

The story: The timbre of the voice of my caller conveyed the intensity of his emotional state. Not bothering with any pleasantries, in curt tones he said he was only calling to inquire about mediation at his wife’s insistence. For a few moments he allowed me to describe the process, but soon interrupted to express his skepticism and told me that his wife was inflexible about the issue most important to him, concluding: I’ll only consider mediation if she agrees in advance that she’s willing to share time with our children equally. Otherwise I’m filing for sole custody.

I was reasonably sure that this warning was born of his anxiety in anticipating that divorce would seriously diminish the precious connection he had with his children so, while empathizing with his concern, I gently urged him not to throw down the gauntlet and suggested:Threats beget threats. And often lengthy litigation.

Silence at first. But then I learned that he and his wife had been attempting to negotiate terms on their own. Talking had begun in a relaxed way, for their past relationship had been a respectful one. But with their marriage bond now frayed, frustration mounted over the tone in which something was said, or over a proposal made, and anger was triggered. Their discussion escalated into dueling ultimatums.

Can the effort to intimidate just be ignored? It rarely is but actually, that may be the wisest course. Step aside without striking back. Verbal jujitsu.

Most threats are born of fear, and it is the fear that needs to be explored and understood rather than the menacing words. But the “fight or flight” response too often takes over precluding rational discourse.

In the divorce context, verbal threats are legion. As here: I’ll sue for custody before I ever accept one minute less than equal time with the children, or: I’ll go to jail before I pay a dime of alimony, when you’re the one who wants this, or: I’ll disclose the pornography I found on your computer if you fight me on this point.

If the sincere goal is to move a partner towards agreement, which it almost always is, to oppose a threat head on, or to counter in kind, may well destroy the chance of settlement, for responses to such statements made in the heat of the moment only makes the speaker’s later retreat more difficult. Both parties need to buy time.

There are other options:

If sufficient calm prevails, and a mediator or dispassionate mutual friend is involved, an analysis in private with each party to discuss the possible or likely consequences of the threatened action can be an important reality check. Most helpful is the catharsis that occurs when the party having issued the challenge is drawn into a discussion (often a tearful interlude) about why they feel so strongly about the issue.

But if the amount of tension already generated precludes either person being able to really listen to the other with understanding, an equally useful tactic is to move on to a discussion of a completely unrelated topic, allowing passions to cool. Step aside. Verbal jujitsu.

As the mediator, this is the choice I usually make if the parties will accept the diversion. And it is a choice individuals can make on their own, without announcement. The passage of time will likely allow for a return to reason, especially if the fear underlying the threat, usually of some loss or perceived loss, is acknowledged and addressed. And taking a moment to express sincere compassion at such times can cause incredible shifts in position.

It often behooves the threatened party to recognize that it is in their own best interest to allow the other to save face, by continuing to ignore, (and certainly to refrain from repeating the threat to allies on the sidelines), to simply step aside from the menacing words earlier spoken, so that both can refocus on what each hopes to achieve in the long term. Verbal jujitsu.

They entered my office smiling, an amiable couple in their early fifties. After my introductory comments, I was told that even before deciding to mediate their divorce they had pretty much worked things out. Many agreements were already in place, and I was assured they would make quick work of the issues that remained.

Approaching the end of our second session, Dave, a successful businessman, spoke with authority as he presented the financial plan he’d devised for his wife, Kate, for when she would be on her own. Apparently listening, but quiet and no longer smiling, Kate did not react or respond. I invited her comment. She just shrugged her shoulders. So I asked: need more data?

No answer. I continued: Perhaps you’re feeling apprehensive about what the future holds?

No answer.

Dave turned to me, making no effort to hide his irritation: Wait a minute. You’re putting words in her mouth. She’s fine with this plan. We already talked it over.

At that, Kate came to life:  You don’t know how I feel! I’ll never find a job earning what you say I can earn. Now she is sobbing. Dave sits back, displeased and exasperated. He is a man on a mission who thought the end was in sight.

So, why this breakdown now?

All along I’d been aware of Kate’s struggle to fully understand Dave’s explanation of financial matters that had previously been left completely up to him. Earlier he had pointed out that it was Kate who always paid the monthly bills, suggesting she was therefore savvy about finance. But did this follow? Although her husband treated her with respect and she did not appear distrustful, her anxiety was palpable. Not an uncommon response when the reality of going forward alone is no longer inescapable. And Kate as yet had no job in sight.

Dave’s inpatience would not serve him well. That day he came to realize, as Kate fully revealed her fears about the future, that unless she felt more competent to engage and reason with him, and had employment she could count on, she would likely turn to a surrogate power source: a lawyer, a gladiator, to do battle with her stronger opponent. This could be a very long journey.

We took time out from mediation for Kate to meet with counsel wise in the ways of settlement, and a financial planner with special knowledge of divorce, to take whatever time she needed to fully understand the deal she was about to negotiate, and to become assured she could successfully manage her financial future. She would get the help she needed, but not from Dave. And the job search would proceed before finality was achieved. Kate would even research the possibility of additional coursework to enhance her employability. It meant a delay of some months while these steps were taken, but she was excited now, still wary but optimistic.

I’ve never been comfortable with the cynical comment that if both parties walk away equally unhappy, a good bargain has been struck. Rather, I think, if both are given sufficient time to address their concerns, fully empowered, either alone or with a wise advocate at their side, sound agreements can be reached.

I was confident that before long Kate would find her own voice. And Dave, reluctantly, came to realize that sometimes to go slow is to go fast.

It’s wonderful to engage with someone who has worked their way out of despair and become optimistic about the future. The enthusiastic woman I met with was preparing a proposal for her departing husband. After months of obviously useful therapy, she had given up lamenting the past and was facing her impending divorce with new found courage, determined to convince her soon-to-be former spouse to amend his most recent support proposal.

The story: this wife had earned a library science degree a decade ago, but now that her status as the stay-at-home parent was ending, she had a new career goal, one that required a return to school. To implement this plan, her husband needed to contribute to her support for a longer period than he had offered.

Her plea to him some months ago was: before the kids were even born, we agreed that I would leave work and stay home full time, to give them a good start. Now it’s only fair for you to pay for my return to school.

His response at that time was: true, that was the agreement we made, but it was never assumed that you would switch careers. The fair thing is for you to help bring in income now.

When fairness is the goal and each party asks the other “to be fair”, what they are really saying is: if you saw the world as I do, then you would agree with me. Since you don’t, you’re unfair.

Pleas for fairness typically fall on deaf ears. Bargaining for subjective concepts of fairness simply pushes people further apart, less likely to reach agreement. So, when you know where you want to go but keep tripping up along the way, it’s time to take a different tack, to be strategic.

This newly empowered woman was no longer stuck in the fairness trap. Still legitimately negotiating to meet her self-interest, here is what she now said: consider this. I know I could return to work in the library, but with 18 months of retraining, I could likely achieve a better salary and feel a sense of real satisfaction in my work. If this is something you’d be willing to help me accomplish, I’d be willing to commit to paying some portion of the kid’s college tuition, as you’ve been asking.

Maybe we all regress to some extent when life is turned upside down, and as a child might whine, with a stamp of a foot, insist: it’s just not fair.

The strategic approach is: here is what I want and here is what I am willing to do, or better yet: if I offered you ABC, would you be willing to give me XYZ? This latter approach has the added benefit of offering to consult on the solution, and acknowledges that the other person has a position worthy of respect.

Advanced consultation, respect for another’s outlook, and a reciprocal offer trumps a plea for fairness every time.

The woman, in her mid-50s, told a familiar story. After much thought, she decided to end her 30 year marriage. Disappointed, she yearned for a truly intimate relationship, one that offered greater sharing of feelings and experiences. The husband she described was someone she still respected and cared about, and there had been neither infidelity nor a clash of values. But she was so lonely, in what outsiders saw as a happy marriage. As I listened, I wondered about the expectations with which she grew up.

For some of those that I work with, anger is too constant a companion.

Cold weather approaches and reminds me of the recent winter when my car broke down, which proved to be not only a failure of the mechanism, but of my spirit, at least temporarily. For I felt ill equipped to cope with the decisions that then had to be made. This had always been Len’s domain, not mine.  

         I managed well enough with the help of friends, and those who towed and repaired with kind tolerance for my ineptitude, but what a stark reminder of the division of responsibility in our marriage. Although we often consulted with each other, decisions about the purchase or repair of anything with moving parts were left to him, interior design left to me. Insurance, his. Kid’s clothing and wellness care, mine. With career decisions, he made his and I made mine. But major concerns, a possible move to another city, a home purchase, a child’s blue mood, were always talked through to resolution. If memory serves me well, our shared values usually made these conversations easy. But not always.

         When Len, who piloted his own small plane, began to take our young grandchildren aloft, I developed a twitching eyelid and my sleep was seriously disturbed. We tried to talk about it. He was hurt and angry that I would question his judgment, and thought my fears irrational. I thought not, but even if they were, I needed to find a healthy way to cope. We knew this was an issue we had to confront and resolve, but my anxiety and his defensiveness made it a difficult conversation that went nowhere.

         Eventually, we sought professional help, and along the way learned a lot about each other and ourselves. The outcome we reached was a compromise which I gratefully, and he somewhat grudgingly, accepted: he would take another pilot along.

         What the breakdown of my car and these meandering recollections brings to mind is how often, in private, both partners approaching divorce maintain that whenever conflict loomed, too discouraged or unable to talk it through,   they were the one who abdicated the decider role and simply gave in to the other. The moments most clearly remembered are those when dreams were compromised, eroding a sense of self, thwarting authenticity.

         I am aware of this because on the first day I meet with a mediating pair, I speak with each of them alone and ask how they resolved disputes during their marriage. How did they negotiate? Here is the interesting twist. Often each perceives themself as the one who most often capitulated and accommodated to the other’s wishes or demands. As impossible as this would seem, I think the belief is sincerely voiced.

         My friends whose relationships are working well readily acknowledge those areas in which they most likely have the prominent decision making role and those they are willing to leave to their partner. So, talk usually comes easy.

         But in a relationship where hope for a future together is ending, self-disclosure feels risky and talking is difficult, and the yearning to better understand the other is trumped by anxiety or disappointment. 

         Without some intervention, preferably an experienced counselor, dissatisfaction then just grows and grows.  So, of course, the earlier the better.

A confusing truth: when family issues are litigated, it is not always easy to distinguish a win from a loss.

The story: Unhappy together for some time, once the decision was made to end their marriage, the husband moved out of the family home, but he remained determined to have a significant role in the life of his six year old son. The wife, angered by her husband’s infidelity and rejection, repeatedly thwarted his efforts.

Since the child’s infancy, she had managed all of the day-to-day details of their son’s life. She attended the school conferences and met with the pediatrician. Now she resisted the father’s wish to share the status of legal custodian and to spend significant time with their child.

There was a time, however, when she, a registered nurse, was dependent on prescription drugs she obtained illegally. He responds to her resistance by threatening to raise the issue of her addiction in Court.

Both parties have ample ammunition ready at hand to publicly display their private misery, and some of their friends and family urge them on. Each met with counsel reputed to be tough and relentless in their advocacy. A custody contest looms, when a counselor refers them to me.

In mediation, both parties privately acknowledged that the other is a loving and responsible parent. And since his departure, the husband has proven that his new attentiveness to his son has staying power. The wife has already completed a drug treatment program and, through still regularly monitored, has been reinstated in her hospital position. She is the one now called upon to compromise, but she needs time and additional professional guidance to get beyond her bitterness and sense of having falied as a wife. Not easy. He needs to remain involved but slow down, ease up on the pressure and stay calm. Also not easy.

Anxiety is always high as an intimate relationship ends. Will I be forever financially strapped? Will I ever find love again? Will I lose my precious connection with my child? Will another woman take my place with my son? Preparing to do battle may temporarily quiet these voices. Fear sharpens the focus of both parties on all they stand to lose.

This is the perfect time to take a deep breath and a longer view. So, I invite them both to switch gears and turn away from the pain of losing and imagine winning the fight, either through threats and tough bargaining or by convincing a Judge. Contemplate the aftermath of triumph.

These questions emerged:

Will the loser-parent back away from the parenting role?

Will there be a tightening of the purse-strings, less generous support now, and as college plans are made?

Will parental alienation darken the life of one parent or the other, as they continue to denigrate each other?

Will their child, forever caught in the middle of their conflict, be permanently damaged, his loyalty always questioned?

Will their savings and future income be depleted by repeated litigation battles that resurface again and again?

A sobering exercise. And more work remains to be done.

In the effort to regain control during the chaotic times of our lives, it is easy to become mired in misery, anticipating painful losses. Contemplating the results of winning a battle (or even a relatively minor argument), not just the fallout of losing, can actually restore some balance and lead to compromise, and sometimes significant gains.

She sits on my office couch and speaks as if she is not even a participant in this drama, weeping and angry: this divorce is his idea not mine!

I understand her tears. Her marriage has fallen apart, and facing that reality is bleak. But this is our second mediation session, and I must try hard to swallow my impatience as she resists my efforts to move her past this focus on her misery, when I want to talk about her developing a plan for her future. Although reluctant to indulge her mood, I know she needs more time, so I continue to listen, and I hear:

          If only he would be reasonable . . . . .

Somehow I need to make him see . . . . . . .

I never wanted this, so it is up to him . . . . . .

I want to tell her to stop howling at the moon, but remain silent.

Her words are like those often spoken by people whose lives have been tipped off balance, and are desperately seeking to regain equilibrium. The words are actually a plea for change. But it is the “other” who is expected to alter their ways.

So, is it possible to shift, even reverse, another’s point of view?  Maybe so.

Here is her story which illustrates the point:

This divorcing husband and wife were negotiating financial issues. He was adamant about only paying support in the amount his attorney told him a Court would likely order him to pay, and not a penny more. She insisted, and probably rightly so, that he could well afford to provide a greater sum, which would allow her and the children to remain living in their current home.

On the other hand, awash in her own misery, the wife had made no effort to shield their teenagers from the conflict in which she and her husband were engaged, and had portrayed their father to the children and the villain who was forcing them to move. Not surprisingly, his relationship with them was seriously eroded. He was hurt and incensed and blamed her for their alienation.

They were at an impasse, and at the end of our last session, both left in a storm of irritation.

The nest morning, when I returned a call from the wife, she reverted to her now familiar refrain: if only he would be reasonable and provide enough for us to stay here just for the next four years, the kids wouldn’t resent him so.

This time, seeking to keep her engaged, but moving forward, I asked for and received her permission to offer some advice: Sometimes when parties are deadlocked, if one person acts, unilaterally, takes even a small positive step, it can cause an important shift in the relationship. Can you think of something you might do to break this logjam?

Her silence suggested she was finally ready and had heard me.

The next weekend, without requesting anything in return, she invited her husband to dinner with the children, and in their presence she apologized for having unwisely and thoughtlessly placed them in the middle of their parent’s conflict. She said she and their father were both struggling to create good outcomes. He relaxed his stiff posture and by the time dessert was served, tensions visibly eased.

Will this magically bring about the hoped for solution? Hard to say. But there will be an important change in the nature of the conversation, of that I’m sure. There are many bargaining chips still on the table. Talk will commence. Impasse is averted.

Giving up on trying to persuade another to change, when a dialog has broken down, and taking a relatively small forward step oneself, without requiring anything in return,  often generates a positive shift in another’s perspective, and the dust settles in a new configuration.

A mediation client recently phoned after a session and politely but firmly accused me of favoring a plan put forward by his wife, displaying a bias, not the neutrality I’d promised.

Although I thought his perception wrong, I knew I had likely contributed to this misunderstanding, so I simply apologized. That seemed to clear the air, and we were then able to listen to each other’s view of what had taken place. Defensiveness fell away, for both of us.

But it could have gone quite differently, for I almost mindlessly, and defensively, responded to him by saying: I’m sorry you see it that way.

I didn’t do so because of my heightened awareness of other expressions of regret gone awry: a celebrity, a politician or a radio talk show host places foot squarely in mouth and indicts an ethnic group or gender with evil or foolish intent, and when once again sober or contrite, with great apparent sincerity apologizes by saying: If my words resulted in discomfort or pain, I’m very sorry. Responsibility for the incident is thereby shifted away from the speaker and to the listener, who is presumed to be overly sensitive. Not really an apology at all.

Working with people who have hurt each other in egregious ways and decided to divorce, I don’t often hear an apology spoken. When the decision has been made to part, and anxiety about the future is high, perhaps this is not surprising. Yet, I regret this constraint, for expressions of remorse that take responsibility for acts or omissions, can be so healing and open the door to understanding.

Even under less stressful circumstances, in secure times, some can say they are sorry with ease, perhaps even be too apologetic, when for others, the words of regret remain unspoken.

The different ways each of us convey ideas or express feelings is dependent to some extent on ethnicity, nationality or a special dynamic in our family of origin. These are disparities that too often go unrecognized. The apology also presents an important gender distinction.

Here’s an interesting insight from Debra Tannen, a linguist, author and professor at Georgetown University. She’s written a number of books pointing out the differences between the communication style of most men and women, differences which she observed even in nursery school age children at play. She notes how willing women often are to apologize when things have not worked out well. I’ve noticed that myself, and assumed it simply grew out of women’s greater ability to express feelings, and the reluctance of many men to display emotion. But, according to Tannen, there is more to it than that.

Tannen observes that women tend to focus more on the question: is this conversation bringing us closer or pushing us further apart? Men, on the other hand tend to focus more on the question: is this conversation putting me in a one-up or one-down position?

For women, she concludes, apologies are to be embraced because they reinforce connections, but many men are attuned to the symbolic power of an apology to advertise defeat.

I find this to be a meaningful distinction, although, to be applied fully recognizing that generalizations don’t always fit.

When our youngest child grew up and moved some distance away, I claimed her room and fashioned a space all my own. It was quite small, on the second story of our home with leafy tree branches almost touching the windows, a nest of sorts. There were times my husband came and stood at the threshold to ask me a question, but he didn’t walk in. He never entered uninvited. It was our unspoken understanding, as natural as breathing, that our separateness was respected. This personal background sets the stage for my describing a mediation session in which a privacy issue arose.

     The couple working with me was seeking to preserve, not end their marriage. They had come for help in negotiating some well-defined concerns, because discussions at home had proven difficult and divisive. In the prior week, without consulting his wife, the husband had installed a lock on his home-office door, She was hurt and angry.
     His story: when he was away from home, his wife opened mail addressed only to him. It was nothing of a highly personal nature, but in doing so she learned that his business debt was considerably greater than she had been led to believe. On discovering this, still in his absence, she looked through his desk and files, and eventually explored his computer, where she made discoveries of a more personal nature. When she confronted him upon his return, he was outraged, and no doubt chagrined. That’s when the lock went on.
     Her story: She firmly believed there should be no secrets between marriage partners, and that she was, therefore, perfectly justified in her actions. He was the one who had much to explain.
    The response I addressed to her was spoken without hesitation, or sufficient forethought. With some fervor I said: But everyone is entitled to a zone of privacy.

    This statement and my tone surprised them, and myself as well. With hindsight I regret the unprofessional way I spoke. I should have posed some neutral questions, not been judgmental. Predictably, the issue did not get resolved in my office, and later, when the wife called to cancel their next scheduled appointment, I learned that after further discussion, her husband had removed the lock from his office door.

     I recalled another client who discovered that her husband had read the journal in which she wrote each morning on waking. She was incensed, even though she’d kept it tucked in her nightstand drawer, readily accessible. Her question: how could he not understand that it was for my eyes only?

      Will these unwelcome intrusions continue to rankle over time? My guess is that insistence on full disclosure, and by some even a demand to know their partner’s innermost thoughts, is more likely to erode than to foster harmony. Are these wounded loved ones likely to become more or less secretive?
Why is privacy so important? We speak of someone “invading” our privacy and the very use of that word suggests a violation of significance. It is an assault on our autonomy, a piercing of that protective skin we seek to keep in tact (so many words of aggression!). Privacy keeps us safe, free of judgment until we are ready for exposure, and then, only to those we trust.

I’m sure it’s true for all of us: Our personal past informs our professional present.

The father seated in my office weeps without shame. He and his wife have not yet told their 11-year-old daughter that their marriage is ending. For both of them this looms as a painful task, but he is the parent who feels most at risk of losing or diminishing the precious connection to this child. Although much more involved than fathers in years past, because of his work commitments his wife assumed the primary parenting role. Would he continue to have a secure place in his daughter’s life when living on his own and no longer with her for part of every day? He fears he will not. I empathize and want to reassure him, but how?

Later, I search for childhood memories of my own father and realize that, except for his place at Sunday dinners, I have few, for he was usually absent as I was growing up. To keep bread on the table during the Depression years, my father left home before I woke and returned after dark. Then, as our financial fortunes began to ease, came the horrors of the Holocaust, World War II, my older brother’s entry into the army, and the detonation of atomic bombs.  These are the events that I remember commanded our attention when the family was together during my teen years. I left home for college just after the war ended, to return only for brief visits.

Yet, one personal memory remains vivid. When 11 years old, I cut my own hair, snipping off long locks to create bangs. My mother did not hide her utter dismay. But when my father came home and was brought to view the damage, even in the face of my mother’s frowning disapproval, he said: I like it very much. She’s very pretty.

My spirits soared.

An important moment for me, if remembered so many decades later.

The perhaps idealized memory I hold of my father is of a quiet kind man, always with a newspaper in hand, who seemed pleased whenever he saw me. I grew up believing he loved and approved of me unconditionally, a gift fully appreciated only much later in life as I witnessed the struggle of a close friend whose abiding memory is of her father’s relentless disapproval.

I told my client this story in a private moment when next we met, and suggested that his daughter will never forget the important kindnesses he has shown her in the past and will in the future. Though no longer a constant presence in her life, there will now be moments just the two of them will share. Some will be memorable. He smiles but retreats into silence.

The other father I have known well is the man I married. Len strove to be a father like my own, and mostly he was, until he wasn’t. In the early 1970s, as the Viet Nam war raged, the conversation at our dinner table, and on the campus at which he taught, roiled with dissent. The sexual revolution was in full sway just as our teenagers came of age. As parents we sought to a adjust to the swiftly changing times, but were in turmoil, trying to understand but still hold to the standards we then thought sound.

When Len came home one day and found one of our sons upstairs with a girlfriend, in anger he told him it must never happen again, or he must leave. It was our house, so our rules. I silently acquiesced to his edict, agreeing with his reasons, if less sure about the threat, but alert to the rage with which his quick decision was made, knowing some but not all of the sources.

Unwilling to agree, our son moved to a tiny apartment (guess who paid the rent?) until he left for college some months later. But the child grown to maturity learns to place parents in the context of their times and unique personal history. In the years that followed, both father and son apologized, and the relationship became relaxed and loving once again. I share this story with my client as well. Our missteps can repair.

And what is the message from fathers today: anything goes, just stay safe?

Why is it that being conflict avoidant works quite well for some, and spells disaster for others?

Len and I typically dealt with conflict by retreating into silence. Both of us grew up in homes in which voices were rarely raised. Perhaps intuitively we knew how threatening short-tempered or critical comments would feel. I think that when we withdrew, we were able to mull over and better define what was at stake, and avoid impetuous hurtful remarks which would be difficult to forget.

But before long the yearning to once again be close drew us into intimate talk. Important questions were asked with each of us becoming better known to the other. Compromise, or even yielding completely, became a gift of sorts. And by the time one of us reached out with a tentative touch, the steam of resentment or anger had escaped.

But here’s the twist. With many divorcing couples, their story begins in the very same way.

On the day I first meet with a mediating pair, I talk with each alone and ask how they resolved disputes during their marriage. Frequently both partners say that they hardly ever dealt with differences as they arose. Disputes were pushed aside and either ignored or only brought up in passing, as one or the other was leaving a room. But for them, resentments were stored away for far too long. Important questions were not asked. The steam did not escape.

Another twist. When pressed further about how issues finally did get resolved, very often in private both parties describe themselves as always being the one to give in. The thought each expressed: I just went along to get along.

How can this possibly be the reality? Yet, I think the perception is sincerely voiced. By the time their conflicts are fully acknowledged and take center stage, and they plan a future apart, each believes they accommodated to the other’s wishes or demands, and now look backs and regrets having been submissive, not seen as proof of love, but as a denial of their true identity. And for some, in the days, weeks or months of conflict avoidance, with only polite or mundane exchanges at home, a more sympathetic ear is found, away from home.

What of those whose childhood experiences are completely different, one raised in a home in which disputes were freely aired, the other in a home devoid of confrontation? Do they have an especially difficult time reaching a level of comfort in dealing with discord? Is this something discovered before a commitment is made? Talked over? No doubt it should be.

Oddly, even in relationships that work, both partners often perceive themselves as having been the most accommodating to the other’s wishes. Is it because these are the moments we most remember, when we submerged our own desires, forgetting when the gift of compromise or victory was received? And, when we gave in and just went along, did our loved one always know?

Many divorcing or troubled partners speak of having slowly and silently drifted apart, avoiding difficult conversations. Learning to “fight fair” is sometimes touted as the road to success. Maybe so for some. But conflict avoidance can be a prelude to sweet reconciliations, for those who timely attend to each other’s need to be better known.

Becoming better known to an empathic partner, which ever path is taken, would seem to be the key.

We’ve all heard it, from friends, colleagues, clients, our own inner voice: the expression of unhappiness because of a lack of the intimacy yearned for, that easy exchange of confidences that validate and smooth out all of the inevitable ups and downs of any close relationship. Some suffer in silence while others become vocal, even demanding. Joint counseling with a skilled professional often seems the logical approach and some partners agree to take that path, even if one of them reluctantly, anticipating criticism for being a wrongdoer, or at best inadequate.

I was anything but immune.

Years ago, when I faced my husband with this concern, he suggested I take the responsibility for drawing him out, since I was the one seeking a greater display, not of affection, but of shared feelings about whatever was going on in his life, and mine. I was told I needed to ask the right questions, at the right time. I tried. It didn’t work. And anyway, he was missing the point, or at least so I thought. This sharing had to be freely given, even sought, by him.

We were once presented with some communication exercises, basically told to repeat what the other had said so as to assure that each of us had indeed been heard. That lasted less than a week.

But here is what did actually work. Not revolutionary, but a definite change for the better. When I asked a question to elicit feelings about one thing or another, I chose a moment when there were no obvious distractions and there was enough time to talk for a while. Not during TV commercial breaks, half-time maybe. The best time for us was breakfast out at a restaurant or traveling in a car in light traffic. He couldn’t get up and drift away, start identifying the birds on the bird-feeder or answer the phone (before the ubiquitous cell phones of today).

But most importantly, I learned that once my question was in the air, I needed to stop talking. That was the key. So many women, hungry for intimacy (and it seems to be mostly women), don’t wait long enough for a response. Some men, (and I suspect many), need to formulate their thoughts before they speak, unlike many women for whom the thought and the spoken word are almost simultaneous.

We have to learn to ask the question and then remain calm in the quiet, and for a time, endure the very vacuum we yearn to have filled.

When I’m with someone bemoaning their past mistakes, I look for the nearest exit. But when I witness folks on the brink of what I believe is a poor decision, I try to keep them in the room and urge consideration of other choices. If they are willing to take the time to listen, I’ve found an approach that usually works.

Here’s the story: Parents whose divorce was final several years ago returned to mediation to decide how best to help their thirteen-year-old son. Previously a fine student, his grades were now sliding, and a new self-consciousness was evident. Eating habits were changing. He was sleeping too much one day and awake all hours the next. More secretive.

The mother is sure that their youngster is seriously in need of psychological counseling and specialized tutors. The father thinks they are witnessing normal behavior and wants to avoid turning their son into a “patient” needing to be fixed every time he stumbles.

He says: He’s fine. Let him make some mistakes and learn from them. I worry that your plan will convince him there’s something wrong with him.

She says: We should be doing everything we possibly can to assure he gets a good start in high school. He needs this help.

Although their focus and concern about their son is genuine, in listening carefully to the nuances of their conversation, I’ve become aware that the mother’s new male companion is a source of as yet unacknowledged tension between these parents.

Back and forth the exchange goes, each presenting reasonable arguments, but steadfast in their own position. By the end of the session, their frustration with each other brings them to despair, convinced they are unable to resolve matters in mediation with a former spouse whose values and view of reality is not shared. Both suggest a return to Court is their only option.

Before they leave my office, I urge them to come back for one last visit, and reluctantly they agree. In the meantime, I’ll talk with each of them privately about what I perceive is adding to the difficulty of their discussion. I could be wrong, but if not, another conversation needs to first be held. Then, as a last ditch-effort, I’ll take them through an exercise taught to me by another mediator: exploring the three Cs. It may seem formulaic, but time and again it has worked, even personally, when I’m faced with a difficult decision.

On a large chart we will actually write down the answers to the following questions:

Circumstances: What facts are actually known about their son’s situation? From trustworthy sources? What additional information could be gathered? From teachers. From their pediatrician. (Can they attend meetings together to avoid later sharing biased interpretations of what they hear?) What changes in their personal lives may be having an impact on their son?

Choices: In light of these circumstances, what choices are open to them? The path mother proposes and father rejects is only one possible choice. What other next steps could be taken? Now they need to be free-wheeling, generating ideas without passing judgment prematurely. That comes next.

Consequences: What are the likely outcomes of each identified choice? Here they may not agree, but the calm deliberation in answering the earlier questions often supports a willingness to experiment and see what happens.

For if, instead, they give up their effort to resolve their issues together, will the Courthouse outcome, many months and thousands of dollars down the road, be more satisfying, even for the winner?

Certainly not for their son, who will have become the heart of his parent’s conflict.

My husband was of Norwegian descent. He wrote with eloquence, but except when teaching was a man of few words, and could comfortably go for long periods without speaking at all. In the early years of our marriage, I was often unsure whether his silence conveyed unhappiness. So I would probe, ask a question, and then another, but at these times his sparse responses served to close not open the door to understanding.

I talked of this with a psychologist friend, describing my inability to penetrate his mood. Her response: you need to learn some new dance steps. Stop asking questions. Just tell him something about yourself, only a few sentences, and no accusations and see what happens.

It worked. A brief back and forth began and he shared a few important words. The next day, my new steps were repeated and a bit more disclosure followed, and we both were more at ease.

Recently the occasion arose to offer this wisdom to another.

The newly separated father and mother seated on my office couch came in to address his accusation that their seven-year-old daughter was being turned against him. Despite his efforts to engage her in conversation, she was unwilling to talk with him in any meaningful way. He believed this was all his wife’s doing.

So, I suggested: You need to learn some new dance steps.

At the start of his assigned weekend, the father picked up his daughter at her school. We deconstructed the usual conversation they had as she climbed into his car.

He: Hi sweetie, how was your day?
She: Fine
He: Learn anything new?
She: Not much.
He: Any good friends in your class?
She: Um hum.
He: So, play with them today?
She: Yes.
He: What sort of games?
She: Oh, just stuff.

Now frustrated, he would shut down, angry and hurt, and they rode along in silence until reaching his home where his daughter would shower affection on the dog, turn on the TV and cuddle with her pet. He felt the outsider. This conversation dance would repeat many times during the visit.

Bringing to mind my past experience with a sometimes silent partner, I suggested: Try this: Stop asking questions. Just talk about yourself, nothing too profound and not accusing or in any way critical. Maybe talk about what happened to you earlier in the day. But no questions.

He was smiling upon return for their next visit to my office and reported: Amazing! Picked her up at school. No questions. Told her about the pizza I had for lunch, made with anchovies, which I hate, and what a time I had dislodging them from the layers of cheese. She told me about the yucky salmon patties served in the school cafeteria and how one of the boys started tossing them around and got into trouble and that she knew his older sister who was stuck up. So, I told her about a woman in my office who was stuck up, and she asked why I thought people got that way. We had a great talk.

Hard to know what this youngster’s feelings were when she left school with her father instead of returning to the parent with whom she was perhaps more comfortable. What subliminal message did she carry from her mother? Did his being the one who left their home feel like abandonment? Was she at fault for what had happened? No easy way for a seven-year-old to address these issues even for herself. Was closing the door on his questions a perfect defense against revealing a confusion of emotion?

No monumental disclosures were made, but tensions eased and the possibility for real talk was there again. So, refraining from asking questions of those who are withdrawn, young and old alike, and telling your own story, may be the best step to take.

I did not realize anger was in the room until they were walking out the door. A step ahead of her, looking away and with an edge to his voice, he said: It’s time for you to just get out.

Was I meant to overhear these words? I wasn’t sure, but they surprised me. Only moments before, as their first mediation session ended, they had reached an agreement to postpone the decision about which parent would remain living with the children in the marital residence. In my presence, they concurred that for the time being they would both remain under the same roof.

For fifteen years these marriage partners had struggled to draw closer, but the husband’s bout with depression tipped the balance and appeared to be the catalyst for their mutual decision to end the relationship.

During the first hour we all met together, and they were amiable and calm, nodding and smiling in affirmation as each spoke. This negotiation would go smoothly, or so I thought.

Then I met alone with each of them during our second hour. With chagrin, the husband revealed that over the past year his wife had literally turned her back on him, even cringing at his touch. He knew it was time to move on. I asked about counseling, but although he’d sought treatment for depression, now they both rejected that path. He was sure that with autonomy would come the return of his emotional equilibrium.

The wife’s immediate concern, spoken in confidence, was her husband’s outbursts aimed at their troubled adolescent son. She feared that when she was no longer present to step between them, their belligerent exchanges would escalate.

The comment he made as they left my office, almost as an aside, confused me. On its face it made no sense, a perplexing contradiction of how they had presented earlier. The situation was not as it seemed, both of them on their good behavior in my presence, but in turmoil just below the surface.

I’m no stranger to an apparently casual but cryptic message that actually carries import. My husband’s oft spoken throwaway line was usually addressed to my back as I worked in the kitchen or sat at my desk: I’m going out for a walk.

Was that an announcement or an invitation? Unable to read his mind, I would nod, silent but hurt, feeling excluded. Over time and after some difficult conversations, I learned to ask: On your own or do you want company?

He usually did. But not always. When he returned from a solitary time away, he was often ready, even eager, to talk things over. His earlier statement, as he turned to leave, was more than a casual aside. Obliquely it let me know that either companionship was being sought or that he needed to mull over an as yet unspoken concern. An important though unclear message when, for whatever reason, more direct communication was difficult. For the two of us, ever seeking a balance between connection and autonomy, this somehow worked.

My clients are not seeking a way to come together but a way to part. When they returned, I asked the husband to clear up the meaning of his hostile words. It opened the door to important stories and even provided an opportunity for each to empathize with the depth of the other’s disappointment.

Throwaway lines. Spoken into the air as someone is walking away, offhanded and ambiguous. Attention should be paid.

The woman’s name announced over my office intercom was vaguely familiar. As I lifted the phone, she said: You may not remember me. It’s been seven years since I, my mother and my sister worked with you. Now my sister is dying and refuses to see me. Can you help?

My failed mediations remain a more vivid memory than my successes, and as soon as she offered this bit of background, I remembered her well.

Some years ago, a friend of a friend had called me to ask if I could mediate a problem that was tearing her family apart. Months earlier, having reached the age of eighty-five, she had disclosed to her daughters that she planned to leave her sizable estate to them in equal shares.

The older daughter was incensed. Living on the west coast, divorced and without children, she had achieved considerable success in the film industry and was financially secure. Although fully engaged in a demanding career, she maintained close contact with her mother.

Her sister, a gifted student in high school and college, married young. She and her professionally trained husband raised five children on a small subsistence farm, home schooling their youngsters and neither had pursued paid employment. The mother lived nearby so witnessed the unmet needs of her younger daughter’s family and regularly helped out financially, eventually even paying the college expenses of her grandchildren. A substantial sum, never tallied, had been contributed over many years. The older sister had always accepted her sibling’s life choices without rancor, but believed, from comments her mother had made in the past, that in the end a balance would be struck. She expected to receive a larger share of the estate.

Now her memory of that commitment was questioned. Family discussions became bitter. The mother wavered. Her every effort to soothe or develop compromise solutions only evoked more anger from one daughter or the other. She was distraught.

I agreed to try to help and the three women came to my office. The chill between the sisters, both in their early sixties, was starkly evident. Grim faced, they avoided eye contact and looked past each other even when in the same room.

Two lengthy mediation sessions were held but to no avail. Despite developing a number of options that could to some extent address the unequal gifting, the sisters remained positional, both insisting they were standing on principle. The older demanded a year to year accounting of the contributions to the younger and her family. The younger flatly refused to develop such a record, and was adamant there be no change from the plan for equal shares. Each addressed their mother’s anxiety and sadness with loving gestures, but no deference. My suggestion that they meet with a family therapist was spurned.

I raise a cynical eyebrow when someone says: It’s not about the money, just the principle involved.

But in these circumstances, it really didn’t seem to be about the money. It seemed to be about preferential love, about allowing old childhood jealousies and rivalries for affection and approval to sweep in and supplant mature behavior, even at the expense of the physical and emotional well being of a loved elderly parent.

Barring mental incompetence or significant evidence of undue influence, neither suggested here, aren’t parents entitled to autonomy and respect for whatever decisions they make about how they choose to use assets during their lifetime, and the disposition of their estate?

The story I tell here does not have a happy ending.

I learned that the mother had died some years before my being contacted once again, and that she had not changed her plan to leave her estate in equal shares. Since then neither daughter had spoken to the other.Then came news of the younger sister’s terminal illness. My offer of intervention at the request of the older sister was not accepted.

I try to stand in the shoes of each daughter and wonder why they found it impossible to look beyond the immediate conflict, and make choices less destructive of the family. Is this simply not possible when overwhelmed by the belief that “mother always loved you best”?

The older daughter called again before leaving town. The reconciliation she sought had been refused. I did not ask whether she looked back at their bitter contest with regret, but I know the answer.

The eyes of the woman seated on my office couch brimmed with tears. At my request her husband left the room for a few minutes.This was their third mediation session and they’d been making steady progress, inch by inch, working out the terms for ending what had become a joyless marriage.

The decision to part had not been made lightly. For a time they see-sawed back and forth, and tried with a skilled counselor to reverse the downward slide. But now both seemed sure they were making the right decision. And once that direction was clear, a measure of calm had returned to their home.

So, I had no reason to believe that their negotiation would not continue to evolve in a positive way, although their property settlement was complicated by the need to assess the worth of the husband’s business. They had chosen a valuation expert but he had not yet submitted his report.

On this day, it became apparent at the outset that the husband’s patience was spent. Just moments into the session, he abruptly presented a global settlement proposal and then forcefully said: This is it, take it or leave it!

His wife was surprised, remained silent, and looked to me for rescue.

When we were alone, I asked: do you know what brought on this change, the ultimatum?

She shrugged, but understood my question. She reported that after breakfast that morning, he had opened the invitation to their college reunion which had arrived the day before. Her husband had been a star athlete, the proverbial big man on campus. That was twenty years and thirty pounds ago.

While he steadily climbed in the corporate world, nothing had matched those glory days. The reunion invitations sometimes triggered a few days of gloom. Now it appeared to have enhanced his “is this all there is” mood, which was, in part, the rationale for ending the marriage. Perhaps, she thought, this was what had sparked his change in  demeanor.

We explored her choices in light of his having thrown down the gauntlet:

1) Reject his proposal outright, which might mean terminating their negotiation.

2) Present the argument that his position was unreasonable and try to convince him to await the valuation report.

3) Let his demand pass without comment and help him find a way back to the table.

After my brief chat alone with the husband, in which he disclosed little, I invited him to return to the room where his wife awaited. He sank heavily into the other end of the couch, his large frame somewhat more relaxed. She turned to face him and said: I’m not sure, but I think I understand how you’re feeling.

The slightest nod of the head from him.

I shifted to talking about documents that still needed to be collected, and we made a plan for appraising the house. No mention of his edict was made by either of them, or by me.

The temptation is so great when we are verbally threatened with a “take it or leave it” demand, to respond in kind, sparking further escalation. The emotion that triggers such a thrust may be provoked by a barbed remark or perceived slight during the negotiation. But, sometimes, as was the case here, outside events cause an emotional state that can be ignited by a seemingly innocent comment. Here it had happened so early in our meeting, an outside source seemed likely.

Meeting an ultimatum by probing to understand the underlying cause, rather than confronting it head on, can preserve the path to eventually reaching agreement. Then taking a short time out and simply evading or side stepping the challenge, allows the belligerent one to calm and save face. Forward motion can then resume.

As they rose to leave, the wife addressed her husband: Thanks for thinking things through to the point of designing a proposal. Talk it over next time?

His response: Works for me.

No smile, but I knew we were back on track.

He said: If only I could make you see, convince you of the harm you . . . . .

In frustration he stopped talking, his jaw clenched. Seated on one end of my office couch, he turned to face his ex-wife, eyes pleading for her understanding. Staring straight ahead, her body rigid and poised to respond, her words were clipped: you just don’t get it!

This father of two pre-teenage children complained that his ex-wife was so overly protective that their youngsters were growing up fearful about taking even the slightest physical risk. He had arranged for them to go on a canoe camping trip, which he assured her would be well supervised. She remained anxious and refused to give them her permission to go.

In an effort to convey to me the irresponsibility of his past decisions, she reported that he repeatedly ignored the children’s serious health issues, citing a recent example: when their daughter had a temperature of 101, he had allowed her to go swimming.

Our standards for child rearing usually mimic those of our own early experience. No doubt, if motivated, we can open ourselves up to learning new ways, but being willing to change is not likely when defending against verbal attack, or even a gentle disparagement of our behavior.These parents really needed to sit back and listen to each other’s concerns and give up on the thankless task of reversing another’s decision by forceful argument.

Both parents were on the brink of returning to Court, but for now were willing to try talking about their differences. Several years earlier they had spent a few months mediating to resolve their divorce issues, and had built up some reserve of trust. So, maybe they could find a way to get the other to shift their thinking. And once calm was restored, they did.

Reminded that their own self-interest lay in meeting the interests of the other, after some venting they were able to relax a bit, listen and look for ways to stop the alienating debate. They came to an understanding, if not acceptance, of each other’s point of view.

Ultimately here was the compromise:

Father agreed to provide detailed information about the supervision the children would have during the adventure he’d planned. He would collect the names of all the parents whose children had taken the trip the year before and help mother contact as many of them as she wished. She was also to have the opportunity to speak directly with, or actually meet, the adults who would be in charge.

Mother agreed to provide a list of illness symptoms that would trigger father’s obligation to check with her before allowing the children to take part in special activities he had organized. Then, if unable to reach an accord, they would follow the advice of their pediatrician.

Were these parents changing their views in any essential way? Hardly. But they were accommodating to each other’s interests in a way that ultimately met their own. Not perfectly, but close enough. Until the next time.

And they presented an example for me to recall the next time I think I can change another’s mind by simple force of what I believe is a sound argument.

They were smiling when they walked into the room. As mediation began, each echoed the other’s commitment to be fair and amiable throughout the process.

Fantasy.

After months of anguished talk, tears, recrimination, and efforts to be forgiving, they made the decision to end their marriage. Together the night before, they told  their children. The kids said little but both parents thought it had gone pretty well.

Maybe.

Alternately, with similar phrases, they described a new found sense of well-being. The scariest of demons had now been confronted. Facades maintained at great personal cost could be dropped. There was nothing more to lose.

Surrender.

I was reluctant to be the one to bring them down, but I knew the crazy-making days were not over. Difficult issues were bound to arise. The standards of fairness to which each of them aspired would diverge, even clash.

Reality.

As the weeks passed and their negotiations continued, they were able to agree in almost every respect about how they would share time with and take responsibility for their children, proving my predictions flawed. But then the issue of support arose. How would he provide for her from his considerable income, and for how long? Lips tightened and faces grew grim. We shifted the discussion to the  preparation of budgets, looking to the future. He, who had rarely shopped for groceries and never for children’s clothing, scrutinized her figures and saw ways that she could cut back. Her response: you’ve got to be kidding! His response: get a job!

Anger.

I knew they would work through this difficult phase and told them so, but it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. They were moving into their separate lives. He needed to give up his past ability to influence her spending and be realistic about her earning potential. She needed to give up her determination to maintain her financial status quo without reentering the market place.

Autonomy.

Now they faced the reality of their contrasting values and plans. Multiple options were proposed and discussed, signifying greater understanding, although sometimes still tinged with anger. Slowly they moved towards compromise.

Bargaining.

Then this insignificant but seemingly insoluble issue raised their ire, and blocked completion of their task: pending sale, who would maintain the monthly fee for the time share neither now wanted.

Impasse.

Experts describe this shift as an attempt by one or both to actually put off ending the relationship. The devil you know may be better than the devil you don’t know.

Hesitation

Anxiety about the future was real. Would she find a meaningful job? Would either ever find love again? When their children were absent, would loneliness pervade their lives? Their dream divorce really was a dream. But when they woke up, they moved on.

Acceptance.

And in their waking world, she found a part-time job and returned to school. He postponed golf and is leaning to cook. They will visit their children’s teachers together.

Courage.

A caller sought advice that in the moment I could not give. He told the following story: Four years earlier, when separated from his wife, he sought solace in the arms of a sympathetic co-worker. But within days they abandoned their brief affair, she not wanting to put her marriage at risk.

Later the caller and his wife reconciled and during an intimate moment, he disclosed this misstep. Now once again they were living apart and their divorce action was pending. His soon to be ex-wife was demanding an excessive financial settlement and threatened, if thwarted, to tell all to the husband of his former co-worker friend. The caller was in turmoil, imagining painful, perhaps irrevocable consequences.

This left me in a quandary. The issue of extortion, which I deemed this to be, had never arisen before.

Then, oddly, within days of this call, a professional colleague also sought advice about a similar event. During a mediation session, an ex-husband seeking to end his long-term support obligation, issued a challenge to his former wife: He knew that some years ago she’d had prior knowledge that a former co-worker, who was also her close friend, had breached the trade secret policy of their employer. His ex-wife had never disclosed to anyone else what he now threatened to reveal. Although no known harm had come of his former wife’s silence, she feared that her earlier disloyalty would damage her own reputation and likely imperil her job.

After considerable thought, my suggestion to both persons threatened in this way, was to consult with legal counsel. Perhaps a letter sent to each of those seeking financial gain by intimidation, questioning whether they were aware of the possible criminal nature of their proposed actions, would be a sufficient deterrent.

Yet, even if these threats were initially withdrawn, could not this pressure be renewed at any time, perhaps in a more subtle fashion?

And if not deterred, then what? Call their bluff? Are bullies closet cowards?

Or, capitulate to the demand being made? Would other demands follow?

Or, try to understand the motivation for the desperate measures being taken? Could the threatened party step back and with genuine interest question why such scare tactics were being used? Explore compromise? Or is this sheer folly?

In an ideal world, would it not make sense to become a truth teller and take back personal power? Is this perhaps the only secure ending? Alert the friend who had ended the brief affair to preserve her marriage, and offer the option of her maintaining the secret, or not. And in the second situation, own up and take the risk that the employer, when belatedly told of the failed espionage, would understand, even respect the conflicted loyalty of a valued employee?

Each possible course of action carries risks difficult to weigh, but taking responsibility for past actions wrests control from the unprincipled aggressor. Even if a high price is paid, would less troubled sleep be the reward when the balance of power is restored?

How many of us deal with conflict by avoiding it? To foster and preserve a valued relationship, we forgo the challenge and hope that by morning all will be well. Many times this worked for me and harmony became the new reality. Pretending could make it so, especially if there was other glue to hold things together. A caress. Or the distraction of a child’s laughter, or tears.

To a certain extent, we all play this game, until the rules of the rules of the game change.

Divorcing partners, when alone, often sing the very same tune about how they managed disputes: I just went along to get along.

With complete sincerity each sees themself as the one who always gave in. But now, when the ties that bound them to seek accommodation are broken, the greater need is for authenticity and autonomy, and respect for their new role as a former partner.

Picture this scene: a mother and father of a young girl are in conflict over how they will share her time when living in separate homes. In the interest of what the mother deems “stability”, she wants the child in her home most of the time. Father is equally determined to have his daughter with him at least half the time. This is today’s classic impasse.

As their mediator, I will shift the discussion away from the immediate issue at hand and ask: are there other concerns we can identify?

There are many. Some examples:

Mother: He never helps out with her homework, and never brings her home on time.

Father: I’m never told about teacher conferences until they are over.

Mother: When I phone to talk to my daughter, I’m told she is not available.

Father: When I have to travel on business, I miss out on the time I’m entitled to.

Mother: He signed her up for soccer without ever telling me.

Actually, the longer the list of grievances, the better. Grist for the negotiation mill.

I send them off to each develop answers to these two questions:

What options can I offer to her/him to get my proposal accepted?

What conditions do I require before agreeing to what is proposed?

With luck, they will return with many answers. Perhaps in anger they will be stated as demands, but as small agreements fall into place and they begin to trust that compromise is possible, demands may be presented as requests.

Perhaps, if willing, even those still nurturing a harmonious relationship can learn to risk conflict, can lift the rug under which differences have been hidden and bring them out into the open, to play the game of: let’s make a deal.

Often a husband and wife who are scheduled to meet at my office to share their sad story and negotiate a plan for their future, arrive together. I greet them as they step off the elevator and note the tone of their voices, or the silence. It is telling.

Some are already living apart, others soon will be. Most are quiet and choose to not even meet the other’s gaze as they settle on either end of my long couch. Misery and anxiety hangs in the air. But a few chat in a friendly way, ignoring the lack of privacy. They speak of their children, the soccer schedule, report cards. These safe topics may even elicit smiles, or perhaps the sharing of photos.

As our formal talk begins and we become acquainted, occasionally partners tell me that they’ve been unable to engage in a meaningful conversation for years, but that after the agonizing decision was made to separate and divorce, tensions lessened and slowly they began to have the very disclosing and important talks that had eluded them for so long.

Each situation is unique, but it is easy to conjecture that now that they are parting, even though there is considerable fear about what the future holds, neither feels quite as emotionally vulnerable, less exposed or threatened by the other’s judgment and disapproval, so they can relax and be more authentic. Perhaps they even once again display the very qualities the other found attractive years before. A romantic might suggest that these folks have found the answer and can now live together happily.

How often is that the case? Although ease of intimate communication surely contributes to a successful bond, can it be counted upon to rejuvenate a relationship that has seriously faltered? No doubt the answer to this question is both “yes” and “no”. Those who have answered “yes” do not walk through my door, so I cannot speak to their lasting success.

But, I recently worked with parties in mediation who were cordial, seemed to have an easygoing friendship, and an ability to problem solve together about their children which was so effective and affirming that, when alone with the wife, who had initiated the ending, I decided to ask whether she had sufficiently examined the possibility of reconciliation.

With a weary smile she assured me that she had fully considered that option in the work she had done in therapy over the past year. Quoting her therapist, she likened her marriage to a plant that had died for lack of water over an extended period of time. To now pour water over the dead plant could not bring it back to life. Both she and her husband were now ready to move on, apart.

Ironically, the decision to end their marriage had allowed them to risk finding new ways of telling each other truths. This did not rekindle the interest or passion they both now hoped to find with another, but their lucky kids would always have two parents who could talk in a meaningful way, and who would support each other over bumps in the road ahead.

Impossible to know what the outcome might have been if the truth telling had come sooner.

My professional failures stay with me. Wakeful at 4:00am I conduct the postmortem.

The case began when a mother petitioned the Court to terminate the plan she and her former husband had been following to share responsibility for raising their 8-year-old daughter. For several years these parents had been working well together and their daughter was flourishing.

A disturbing event tipped the balance.

The father had remarried. His daughter and his new wife gradually became acquainted and formed a comfortable bond. Then, one evening, when the daughter was at his home, the father phoned the mother and asked her to come promptly and get their child, as there had been a troubling exchange between his wife and daughter. In haste, the mother drove to his home and picked up the frightened youngster. On the drive home, she heard a tearful story: the stepmother had been drinking, and when an argument arose after dinner, she had verbally lashed out at the child.

The next morning, the mother shared this story with members of her family. She was strongly urged by her sister and her own mother to immediately call her lawyer and do whatever was necessary to prevent such an event from ever happening again. Days later, she did just that, and soon after, her motion seeking sole custody was filed with the Court. Both parents were then referred to mediation and arrived at my office the next week.

Now more calm, and in a problem-solving mode, the mother realized that even if she were awarded sole custody, her daughter’s regular visits with her father, although lessened, would continue. Her exposure to his new wife would not end.The father, in turn, assured her that both he and his wife took the lapse very seriously. She had reentered a counseling program, had apologized to the child and expressed sincere regret. In the weeks that followed, there had been no further incidents.

When the mother and I talked privately, another reality also became clear. Her greatest assurance that her daughter would be protected in the future was her ex-husband’s earlier behavior, reacting so quickly to call and seek her help.Should there be another troubling event, would he likely call upon her again if she went forward with Court action seeking to deprive him of his status as a joint custodian?

The discussion continued with both parents, and they explored additional ways to enhance their daughter’s future well-being should other issues arise. The father had already scheduled a family therapy session. He talked of how hurtful it would be to feel disenfranchised as a parent. The mother seemed understanding and to recognize the damage likely to be done to their future parenting relationship if she stepped into a public arena with allegations of fault and poor character. There was even some tentative talk about the mother and step-mother becoming better acquainted.

So, was the custody litigation dismissed? It was not. Mother’s family maintained their pressure on her to proceed with Court action, calling into question her devotion to her daughter if she did not. The mother’s need to meet the expectations and approval of her family won out.

No one makes decisions in a vacuum. We seek the support and acceptance of our “constituency”, friends and family. Agreements need to be developed with this in mind. I had not given that enough consideration. Although aware of her family’s initial involvement in her decision to file, I had not focused on helping the mother develop strategies for sensitizing her family to the likely consequences of bitter and prolonged litigation.

It is so easy for extended family and friends to hold onto a winner/loser mentality without fully understanding the ramifications of parents undermining each other publicly, and in the eyes of their child.

Mediation sessions ended and I do not know the final outcome, as such cases take many months to resolve. It still feels like my failure.

She said: How can I negotiate with someone I no longer trust?

When an intimate relationship ends, trust flies out the window. Anxiety sweeps in. Someone who was so well known becomes a stranger. The resulting pain dominates the emotional landscape. Often, for one person the focus is the other’s misdeeds, a betrayal, a failed promise, while their partner centers on the unfairness of the blame. Both become defensive. Then all that is needed is a spark, a canceled credit card, the closing of a joint account, or a barbed letter from an attorney, and if there was any residual trust, it vanishes.

How can these two people, now on their guard, have any hope that if even the least concession is made by one, the other will reciprocate? Positions harden.

Consider my response to this concern in mediation: In marriage we expect to be told the truth and supported emotionally. It may be a dream, not always the reality, but not an unreasonable expectation. When divorcing, it is a premise we have to give up. A trusting relationship may later be reestablished, incrementally, but until it is, a “show me” attitude is completely appropriate. So, without giving voice to the accusation, just assume your spouse is untrustworthy. You may be wrong but you may be right. So, why not simply design a settlement that doesn’t depend on trust. Require documentation for facts alleged and test conclusions with the involvement of counsel and other experts. Make no decisions until they are fully informed decisions.

But does this reasoning apply when the issues are not financial, and children are caught in the middle between parents with conflicting views and unforgiven grievances? It does not. Just the opposite is true.

Not long ago I worked with parents of an 8-year-old, both highly educated professionals. They continued to litigate parenting issues year after year. Four years post-divorce, the Court required they enter mediation before filing the additional motions both now threatened. At every turn they frustrated each other’s efforts to develop a sense of ease and predictability in their relationship with their young son. Everyone paid a high price. But now their son had begun to exhibit physical symptoms believed to have a psychological component, so they could no longer deny that their continued mistrust and blaming ways threatened the health of the child they both loved dearly.

I consulted with a psychologist friend, unable to fathom these parent’s behaviors. The professional conjecture: some parents are unable to individuate. They see every slight they have suffered as also experienced by their child. If rejected by a spouse, they transfer the sense of betrayal to their child. If denied love or respect, in their view, so is their child. They are simply unable to step back and view their child as a person with needs different from their own.

And social psychologists argue that normal people can do terrible things when put in a terrible situation, but that amazing things can happen when the focus is not on altering another’s character, or punishing another for a breach of trust, but on creating settings in which people’s better selves can flourish. Could I create such a setting?

I told them I assumed that each of their stories had some validity, part of the truth. They visibly relaxed. Then I mandated that our sole focus be on measures each could take to enhance their son’s well-being. Trust issues not only had to be set aside, but they had to offer each other the benefit of the doubt, a measure of trust, and not assume the worst of the other when things went wrong. No easy task.

Each was asked to make new requests for changed behaviors, small steps, readily achieved and committed to writing: Be on time. Call well in advance of a need for a change of plans. When things go awry, don’t accuse: how could you be so  . . . Instead, ask: what happened? And listen.

Reciprocity became the byword. Eventually settlement options were developed and accepted, if somewhat grudgingly. Both were satisfied, not perfectly, but well enough.

I’ve not heard from this pair for almost a year. Fingers crossed.

I often share a meal with a close friend. The talk is our sustenance, the food incidental. And the conversation flows, unguarded. We are skilled players of the verbal ping-pong that carries us forward, inquiring and learning about the other, disclosing what is important about our lives at that moment, Ours is a dance with the steps so practiced, there is no need to be mindful about the questions we pose. We risk little, even with a misstep.

But consider different settings where this is not so:

The cardinal rule taught in law school is to never interrogate a witness in a courtroom without knowing the answer in advance. The temptation can be so great. One last probe to emphasize the essential winning point: “And why is that Mrs. Jones?” Then a response issues that surprises and wipes out earlier testimony.

But that is the courtroom where the choreography of words spoken in critical. Need this be so in our personal lives? In our professional lives? Is the art of asking questions so important? In mediation sessions, as I observe the impact of the questions the parties ask each other, and responses to those I pose, I’ve come to think so.

When negotiating, or just conversing with a loved one, a question can either bring someone to a desired destination or evoke a defensive response that creates a barrier, sets the players apart, and prevents or at least postpones a positive outcome. Mindfulness is especially called for when there is tension in the air. The inquiry, the tone of voice, even the quality of eye contact, needs to be free of criticism or judgment. If simply reacting without much thought, without consideration of the goal sought, opportunities for agreement, or an intimate connection, are often lost.

The distinctions can be subtle:

Ask: Can you tell me more about that? (open, accepting)
Not: Do you really believe that? (veiled belligerence)

Ask: Would it be helpful for me to explain my reasoning (respect, consultation)
Not: Do you understand my point? (intelligence called into question)

Or in a more personal vein:

Ask: Feel like talking about what happened last night? (an invitation)
Not: Don’t you think it’s high time we talked about what happened last night?
(command performance)

If a professional or intimate relationship is troubled, and discussion of an important issue avoided, — either fearing a negative reaction which will only make things worse, or because embarrassment impedes honesty — consider first saying: we need to have a difficult conversation.

The respect shown by not taking another unaware, offering even just a moment to prepare, may set the stage for willing consideration of the issue at hand, There are times when both conversation partners will be off balance. Just acknowledging this at the outset can avoid a defensive response, or a closed door.

And here is another rule it might be sound to consider: Some questions are best left unasked.

Do you think these pants are too tight?
How many calories in this banana cream pie?
Do you still love me?

As our mediation session ended and he rose to leave, Mark turned to me and asked: So, can we now tell our daughter what we’ve decided?

I mirrored his smile, recognizing the relief he felt following a tense hour of talk, and his wish to cement the agreement he and his wife, Ginny, had just made about how they would share time with their daughter once they separated.

I said: Sure, but remember you’re telling her, not asking.

Unlike in years past when most mothers were full-time parents, and fathers relatively uninvolved, these two were fully engaged in their careers, and both played an active role in the life of their ten-year-old daughter. They were of one mind about the wisdom of ending what had been an unhappy marriage, but both feared a loosening of the bond that sharing time with their child might bring.

Mark had suggested that they simply ask their daughter to choose a plan. Ginny, wisely in my view, argued against this. Although to many parents this seems a sound approach, a few present the question to their child purposely seeking to undermine the other parent, anger winning out over reason. Then the child’s response in their favor is proudly presented, even quoting the specific language used, and conflict is fueled as the other parent cringes at the hurtful phrases attributed to their son or daughter. For example:

“She says she’d be scared to stay with you and won’t be able to get to sleep.”                   “He told me that he would much rather just stay at my house all the time.”

When I hear such taunts, I quickly interject: Best take those comments with a grain of salt.

But most parents ask with good intention. Then they are comforted by an apparent special alliance sought by the child. A neutral listener would readily recognize the child’s need to please each parent, if indeed the quoted remark is even accurate. Very likely it is not.

During mediation with Mark and Ginny, I told them about research findings reported some years ago in The Journal of Experimental Psychology. The conclusion: that adults are likely to remember incorrectly whether information was offered spontaneously by a child, or elicited through questions. And perhaps even more telling, adults are likely to confuse specific statements they made themselves, with statements made by the child.

Dr. Maggie Bruck, a psychologist and McGill University professor, had 24 mothers with preschool children take part in a study in which the children spent 20 minutes playing in a room without their mothers present. Then the mothers were taped interviewing their children about their play.

Half the mothers had been told the research was focused on mother-child conversations. The other half was told they were participating in a memory experiment and should try to remember the conversation with their child as accurately as possible. Three days later all the mothers were tested.

Even the mothers who were warned ahead of time, often incorrectly attributed statements they had made themselves, to their children. And all were unaware of how many questions they had asked to elicit information. Repeated questions, even to an older child, suggest, and often evoke, a sought after response.

I don’t assume malevolent motives. To some extent we all hear or elicit from children what we want to hear. But healthy skepticism is particularly warranted about the reported words of children caught in the middle of parental conflict. Pass the salt.

It was clear to her the marriage should end. He disagreed, but reluctantly he acquiesced, and they entered mediation.

Oddly, when describing the nature of their day-to-day lives, he and she did not differ. I puzzled over how they could portray even the details of their circumstances in the very same way, yet reach such different conclusions.

They have two youngsters. That was reason enough for me to probe, to question whether another direction might still be taken. Perhaps they’d be open to working with a counselor.

I first met alone with the husband. He acknowledged there had been some rough times and told me, without any obvious emotion, that there had been no physical intimacy for well over a year. He reported that they talked little, but that they seldom fought and rarely were at odds about the children. In a somber tone, he said: so, it isn’t all that bad.

I shared this view with his wife when next we met privately. Her response was immediate and animated. She told me that his parents remained married, although the entire family knew they were miserable with each other and had been for years, sleep in separate bedrooms, and hardly speak. She said: that’s their life, but not the life I intend to live.

I asked about her own parent’s marriage. She smiled and sat back, her taut body relaxing, and described it as comfortable and loving, telling of tender moments between them she often witnessed as a child.

These partners who had reached such opposite conclusions about the viability of their relationship, brought the marriage in which they had grown up into their own.  Now it was not hard to understand why their present situation was assessed so differently.

Marriages fail for varied and complex reasons. Here, neither was willing, or able, to perceive and come to appreciate the other’s view of what a marriage should be. We see the world through our own lens and only with deliberate effort look through the lens of another. Would things have been otherwise if they had sought help early on and come to recognize the importance of their unique family histories, and with that understanding then made the effort to recapture and build upon what had initially drawn them together? Impossible to know. Perhaps theirs is an extreme example of what everyone making a commitment to another faces, whether aware of it or not: the model of marriage that seeped into their partner’s consciousness when young.

Here’s something to consider when a loved one communicates disapproval or unhappiness. Before disappointment ripens into disdain, with genuine interest (free of sarcasm), ask: tell me what you expected.

And really listen to the answer. Let it be the basis for self-disclosing conversations, talk of what was hoped for, and what accommodations might be made once the other’s outlook is understood. Or perhaps make a well-considered decision not to accommodate, but to simply learn how to live with differences.

It is said the road to hell is paved with good intentions. More likely it is paved with unrealistic expectations, never explored until it is too late.

I met my new mediation clients as they stepped off the elevator, and guided them to my office door. Their smiles were broad, no sign of the apprehension usually seen on the faces of those who arrive to unravel the fabric of their marriage.

As they became comfortable seated on opposite ends of my couch, she said: It’s hard to believe we’re here. It was supposed to be happily ever after.

I smiled, for I too grew up loving fairy tales.

He said: We just want to be fair to each other. I want her to be financially secure and she wants me to be able to start a new career.

They glanced at each other with approval, conveying gratitude for their mutual understanding. Then they sat forward eager to begin.

I asked her: what does financial security mean for you?

She: Well, staying in the house with the kids. We both want that.

He nodded, and I asked him: Will that be possible if you leave your current job?

He: Sure. When she cashes in her share of my retirement account and adds to that what she can earn, they’ll be able to stay put for at least a year.

She, appearing confused: Wait, that’s not my plan. That’s not fair.

He: Why not? What about being fair to me?

I’d not yet heard their full story, but I knew that another myth would soon be proved false, another fairy tale forsaken: That they would agree on what was fair.

Their plans no longer meshed. Although they shared many values, there were some they did not share. It was already clear that what one thought would be a fair outcome, was not close to being fair from the perspective of the other,

I offered my view that seeking a mutual sense of fairness when a marriage is ending is an ever-elusive goal, one best abandoned. Puzzled, they sat back, disheartened.

I wanted to reassure them but not create false expectations, so told them that I urge mediation clients to adopt a flea-market mentality. Finding an item you wish to purchase, you ask the dealer: How much?

And if told the price is twenty dollars, you don’t say: But that’s not fair.

You might offer to pay ten dollars and then settle for fifteen. The deal is not struck by arguing the fairness of the price, but by reaching an acceptable one.

Trying to convince someone to agree with your sense of fairness when their values (or perceptions) differ from your own, is futile. The key to success is to probe the positions your negotiating partner has taken and try to fully understand each other’s underlying interest in achieving a stated goal. Why is it important to her to remain in a home now too large and expensive? Why is the immediacy of his leaving his present job important? That conversation will unlock the imagination.

I know they will soon develop many options to consider. She may start to provide some additional income. He may postpone leaving the job, while looking for another.They may decide to sell the house after all.

When I tell this story to a friend, she chides me for being cynical.

I respond: Not cynical, but pragmatic.

She persists: Fair is when you’d call it fair if you were in the other person’s shoes. That’s achievable and worth striving for.

I’m unconvinced.

To  yearn for fairness, that may be a good thing, if it promotes compromise. But to expect agreement on what a fair outcome would be is folly. Realistically, there is no such thing as objective fairness, except perhaps in tales from the Brothers Grimm.

When I decide to write about violence between intimate partners, my heartbeat quickens and I am tempted to stop. I’ve never been subjected to physical intimidation, so don’t fully understand why I so readily insert myself into the picture painted by others.

As a mediator I have to provide a safe setting, one in which both parties feel empowered and able to speak freely. To assure this design, I always talk with each person alone on the day of our first meeting. One question I ask is a veiled one: How did you resolve disputes during your marriage? The most common response: I just went along to get along.

Not often, but on occasion, grievous assaults are disclosed.

My initial thought, which I never speak, is: if this was happening to you, why didn’t you leave? Many others must actually have posed this question, for without prompting, excuses often follow:

I knew I could handle it.

The children needed their father.

He would have lost his job.

I didn’t want anyone to know.

He was going through a bad time and promised it would never happen again.

Oddly enough, the speaker of the unspeakable remains calm. Practiced? I too appear composed, and am actually relieved and ready to accept these reassurances, end this discussion and move on. In fact, over the years I have successfully concluded a number of cases in which threats and rough treatment were reported. I took at face value that the past could be set aside, perhaps not forgiven, but forgotten. Now, I know better, and I ask myself how many of those prior agreements were motivated by fear?

For today, I am better schooled and wiser about the lasting impact of being the target of purposely inflicted pain, of living in fear of an intimate partner. Now I know I must look behind the superficial responses, and when I do, the anxiety, theirs and mine, appears anew.

I no longer listen passively to the rote explanations, but press for details and this is what I hear:

We were on a Sunday drive on a winding road and I asked him to slow down. His arm swept across the space between us and he broke my nose.

We were in the cellar examining the furnace which had gone cold. I checked the sticker and noted the inspection was overdue. He broke my arm.

After crushing my cell phone underfoot, he stood in the doorway and wouldn’t let me leave the room.

He hasn’t struck me in years, but the day after I told him about my promotion, he attempted suicide.

Now I probe: are you still afraid? Do your friends know? Are you in counseling?

In almost every instance, residual fright is admitted and tears flow. And except in rare cases where significant therapy and the passage of time have provided new strengths, my skill as a mediator cannot overcome the power imbalance generated by enduring fear. Mediation must end.

I’m told those who grow up in a home where there is raging and coercion, often seek to connect with a controlling partner. Perhaps this is so. But when they are finally ready to leave, there must be an advocate present to assure a safe escape and a well reasoned settlement, forged in a secure setting, free of fear.

My professional failures stay with me. Wakeful at 4 a.m., I conduct the postmortem.

The case began when a mother petitioned the Court to terminate the plan she and her former husband had been following as they shared the task of raising their 8-year-old daughter. For years these parents had been working well together and their daughter was flourishing.

Then a disturbing event tipped the balance.

After the father remarried, his daughter and new wife gradually became acquainted and formed a comfortable bond. But, one evening the father phoned the mother and asked her to come promptly and get their child, as there had been a troubling exchange between his wife and daughter. In haste, the mother drove over and picked up the frightened youngster. On the trip home, she heard a tearful story: the step-mother had been drinking and when a glass of milk was spilled at dinner, she’d lashed out at the child, verbally, but excessively.

The next morning the mother shared this story with members of her family. She was strongly urged by her sister and her own mother to immediately call her lawyer and do whatever was necessary to prevent such an event from ever happening again. Days later, she did just that. Soon after her motion seeking sole custody was filed with the Court, both parents were referred to mediation, and a week later arrived in my office.

Now more calm, and in a problem solving mode, the mother knew well that even if she were awarded sole custody, her daughter’s regular visits with her father, although lessened, would continue. The child’s exposure to his new wife would not end. Father, in turn, offered evidence that both he and his wife took this lapse very seriously. She had reentered a counseling program, had apologized to the child and expressed sincere regret. In the weeks that followed, there had been no further incidents, and the youngster seemed relaxed, as eager as ever to spend time in her father’s home.

When the mother and I talked privately, another reality also became clear. Her greatest assurance that her daughter would be protected in the future, was her former husband’s earlier decision, reacting so quickly to call and seek her help. Should there be another troubling event, would he likely turn first to her again if she went forward with Court action seeking to deprive him of his status as a joint custodian?

Our discussion in mediation continued and both parents explored additional ways to enhance their daughter’s future well-being. The father had already scheduled a family therapy session. He talked of how hurtful it would be to feel disenfranchised as a parent. The mother was understanding and seemed to recognize the damage likely to be done to their parenting relationship if she entered a public arena with allegations of fault and poor character. There was even tentative talk about the mother and step-mother taking steps to become better acquainted.

So, was the custody litigation dismissed? It was not.

Mother’s family maintained their pressure on her to proceed with Court action, calling into question her devotion to her daughter if she did not. The mother’s need to meet the expectations and approval of her own family won out.

No one makes decisions in a vacuum. We seek the support and acceptance of our “constituency”, friends and family. Agreements need to be developed with this in mind, and in this instance I had not given that enough consideration. Although aware of her family’s initial involvement in her decision to seek legal redress, I had not focused on helping the mother develop strategies for sensitizing her family to the likely consequences of bitter and prolonged litigation.

It is so easy for extended family and friends to hold onto a winner/loser mentality without fully understanding the ramifications of parents undermining each other publicly, and in the eyes of their  child.

I chalk up this experience for future use. But it still feels like my failure.

It was some time ago that Evelyn phoned. Unhappy for several years, she was contemplating divorce, but remained unsure. Her speech was halting and her tone subdued. The children were grown and on their own, and she spoke of being seized with anxiety imagining a future alone.

Her husband, Hank, was described sympathetically, a good man who was downhearted as well, although unwilling to consider marriage counseling. I encouraged her not to leave the counseling decision to him alone, and to consider working with a therapist on her own.

Months later, Hank called to schedule mediation, reminding me of the earlier call from Evelyn. He said he was actually the one who had finally made the decision to end the marriage.

A week later when they walked into my office, to my surprise Evelyn presented as very self-assured. She soon proudly announced that she had completed therapy, and that her self-respect had been restored. An apparent success story, but it was not.

Evelyn’s posture, and the words she now chose, spoke of a determination to be assertive on her own behalf. This hardly seemed the same woman I’d talked with before, so my smile, although congratulatory, was not quite wholehearted. Something was off.

As we explored the data they had gathered and identified the issues to be resolved, Evelyn laced her comments with sarcasm, and a few sharp personal insults were directed at her husband. Hank’s jaw tightened, his face grim. Therapy, and perhaps other events of which I had no knowledge, had certainly fostered change, but for the better?

I often meet with divorcing parties who have worked with a counselor, gained confidence, and come to honor their new sense of self by speaking in a new way. Sometimes their statements are tinged with anger long repressed. Their determination to no longer simply endure unhappy circumstances suggests a significant catharsis. Many are then better able to serve their interests well. But for some, their new found assurance edges into belligerence, and their effort to negotiate a good outcome fails.

I’m tempted to offer Evelyn unsolicited advice, but I know this would neither be welcome nor wise. We all see the world through the lens of past experience, that known to us and that hidden from view, but influential nonetheless. It would be presumptuous of me, looking through my lens, to advise. But next time we meet, I will pose some questions for Evelyn and in private share my experience. As she expresses her new found strength, I ask myself, must Hank be diminished, denigrated?

Therapy often helps us to recognize and dissect actions of our parents that we may have translated into grievances. With maturity we come to accept, even forgive, their human frailties, along with our own. But being able to forgive when love fails with an intimate partner, especially if feeling rejected, is more of a challenge, the wounds so exposed and in the here and now.

The most valuable resource for achieving a positive negotiated outcome, which costs nothing in a monetary sense, is respect for the other. Yet, so often it is the most difficult thing to offer when a marriage is ending.

I will ask Evelyn: would she be willing to return for additional counseling, to seek an understanding of the roots of her anger, to go beyond personal validation.

Respect is the key, but not just self-respect.

They were seated on opposite ends of the long couch in my office. He spoke forcefully, complaining, critical of some recent choices she’d made for their children. Divorced for a number of years now, she listened with an air of detachment. Occasionally she met his angry gaze with a gentle smile, as if drawing a protective cloak about her, immune to his verbal assault. Her calm presence denied, or at least refused to attend to his emotional state.
In the face of his fervor, she appeared to have the upper hand, but neither was winning.

Since their marriage ended, these parents worked reasonably well together, but from time to time tensions built, and they sought help in the neutral space of my office.

On this day, they identified multiple issues for discussion, and in doing so made obvious their mutual need for cooperation and accommodation. But what energized this father’s current lament was not even put on the list. He bemoaned losing the close connection he’d had with their youngest daughter. She was entering adolescence and lately was making excuses to avoid spending time with him. As he spoke, his words gained momentum and he became accusatory, blaming. His language escalated: alienation, conspiracy.

These are two intelligent and caring parents, and if viewed with another’s eyes, they are doing a fine job raising their children who are well loved. Their parenting styles, and some of the values they seek to instill, differ, as is often true in intact families. Until recently they’ve adjusted to each other’s requests in an easy manner.

I tried to bring him back to their agenda, and asked them to design some new options, suggesting a need for the give and take and understanding they’d offered each other in the past. He ignored me, too upset to pay heed. The session drew to a close and he left, angry and in haste.

I could not put him out of mind. At some level I was sure he knew that his badgering and accusing would accomplish nothing. What was going on in his life, professionally, or personally, that caused this train wreck of a conversation? Did his anger serve to suppress his tears?

If I had a magic wand, on return he would give voice to his worries, without criticizing and blaming his parenting partner, which simply aroused her opposition and resistance. Under my spell he would request her help, and give sincere consideration to what she was seeking.

And she would look for the longing behind his complaints.

Then, in an ideal world, they would express appreciation for the many good things both are doing for their children.

We will meet again. Lacking magical powers, I will offer them this advice, but with humility, for I know that I have seen only the tip of the iceberg which is their relationship, and much remains unknown to me.

Yet, no matter how complex the dynamics of any alliance: to voice complaints without criticizing the other, and to look for the longing behind a complaint, is bound to further good outcomes.

He phoned after his first mediation session, and said he was considering withdrawing, having come to believe that I was biased against him. Although I apologized for creating that impression, I did not offer a denial. For I knew he was right.

Yet, silently, I excused my professional lapse. He had worn his arrogance like a badge. Self-righteous and proud, he had blamed the failure of his 22-year marriage entirely on his ungrateful departing wife.

Covertly, I had cheered her on.

Arrogance has always aroused in me a confusion of emotions. Scorn, heightened anxiety, perhaps even tinged with fear.

But his perception could not be ignored and as a mediator, I had failed. Could I reestablish my impartiality and bring him back to the table to negotiate the terms of their agreement, and avoid his simply throwing down the gauntlet? Or would my reaction to his show of conceit and disdain send them off to combat?

I consulted a colleague. Her advice: Try to genuinely empathize with how he’s feeling, and if you can, let him know that you do. Unless you connect with him in this way, simply educating him about reasonable settlement options won’t work.

Wondering if I could do so with sincerity, I determined to try.

I met with each party alone at the beginning of our next session. In his early fifties, a vital, attractive and financially successful man, he exuded both great assurance and despair. I deliberately put aside my previous mission of bringing him to recognize and accept the legal realities he faced. I focused on how he was feeling at that very moment and simply asked: Tell me how things are going.

He returned to the same story of disappointment, innocence and blame that I had heard before, but having deliberately removed my attorney/mediator mantle, I listened as might a friend, and found I could genuinely empathize with what he was feeling: wronged, betrayed, misunderstood and overwhelmingly sad. I did not, as I had before, try to get him to put aside these feelings. I actually felt a fondness for him. Sympathy required only understanding, not affirmation.

I apologized for my previous failure to fully appreciate his experience. And then asked: how can I be helpful to you?

We talked at length.

He posed all the right questions, and now, working with someone who recognized and accepted his genuine angst, he could hear what I had to say. He was ready to be pragmatic.

I’ve learned something important.

We develop ways of successfully performing our many roles, as parent, spouse, friend, and in our work life. Over time, what seems effective and comfortable becomes part of our standard script. Sometimes we respond having made an accurate assessment of the behaviors we witness. But how often, without conscious thought, or the wisdom of restraint, do we react in response to our own past experience, to emotional triggers that have little to do with the person before us in the present? Then, if our communication fails, we blame the other.

If a reflexive response to the actions of another derails the conversation, questioning the source of our own emotional reaction, and putting it aside, to listen with understanding and empathy, may cause a meaningful and positive shift in how we communicate and relate.

Which is how I hope to be received, when it is my crisis on center stage.

She called to apologize and left me this message: Forgive my miserable behavior. It was my evil twin, Skippy, talking.

I smiled, remembering a bit of wisdom often spoken by my husband: No one ever sees themselves as evil.

Earlier that day, Jenny, a mediation client, had unleashed angry accusations at her partner. Now, on reflection, she assigned them to her imaginary evil twin, Skippy.

Jenny and Bruce had lived together for ten years and then, sad but amiable, decided to go their separate ways. Both were previously divorced and were raising teenagers when they first came together and blended their families. They’d come to mediation to design an agreement for an equitable parting.

Legal ramifications of their decision were few, for despite large numbers of couples living together today, unmarried, few laws govern their separations. They spoke of honoring their past contributions to the years spent together, and hoped to maintain the close parental relationships each had formed with the other’s children, now grown.

Not surprisingly, as their negotiation began they soon discovered they had begun mediation with different expectations. Although they shared the goal of seeking a fair outcome, each defined “fair” in accord with standards they did not share.

When they first got together, both had been salaried employees. Bruce, with a far greater income, paid the mortgage and most of the day-to-day household expenses. Jenny, subsidized by Bruce’s steady support, decided to start her own business, which over time became a consuming passion.

The early years were lean, but Bruce’s generous loan of $50,000 for her start-up capital, had since been fully repaid. Now her earnings were significantly greater than his. Six employees had been hired, and overtures were being made for purchase of the company.

The matter under discussion when the evil twin, Skippy, intervened, was Bruce’s belief that he should share in the value or ownership of Jenny’s business. He maintained that his emotional support, financial investment and advice had been crucial to her success. Shocked by this request, Jenny disparaged the worth of his contribution. Their discussion became heated, Jenny accusatory. In essence:

Jenny:This is sheer greed on your part!

Bruce: But for me, you would never have made it.

And on and on. They left my office angry and upset.

I returned Jenny’s earlier phone call. Calmer now, she again expressed regret. I asked if she could consider that Bruce did not speak as a greedy evildoer, but from good intention, even if from her perspective, mistaken?  Could she quell her anxiety about the perceived assault on her venture, her very independence?

She told me she was aware that if they had married, Bruce’s entitlement to share in the value of her business would have been his legal right. So, I posed: was that a public policy worth taking into account, even if she was not legally bound to do so? And most important, what actions would best meet their shared long-term goal of continued family friendships?

Accepting that no one perceives themselves as evil, calls for an important shift in perspective, the offer of a measure of respect for the other’s point of view. While this won’t present immediate solutions, the development of settlement options becomes possible.

If Skippy can be kept at bay.

A fable: On a lovely fall day, they drove away from the city, admiring the leaves turned crimson and gold. But the thoughts of our players were on a soon to be enjoyed romantic interlude at the Cozy Country Inn. Jan and Joe had been seeing each other for a few weeks, and the time seemed right for greater intimacy.
Their instincts were true. Their liaison was passionate and satisfying.
The next morning, they entered the dining room feeling optimistic about their future, born of their new closeness. Over blueberry waffles they talked:
Jan: So, tell me more about your job.
Joe: You mean what do I do, day to day?
Jan: Well, what do you earn?
Joe was silent and raised his hands to his chest, palms outward in the universal gesture of: back off.
They traveled home in silence.
An exaggeration? Perhaps, but perhaps not.
Why is it so difficult, even with an intimate, to talk about money?
Except for close family, I have few friends with whom I talk freely about our finances, what we each earn and what we have accumulated. I’ve inquired of others and learned that most have even fewer confidants for such talk, some not any. Even family members are often kept essentially in the dark, and know better than to ask. And if someone does pose a question, doubts arise.
What is the questioner’s motive?
Will I be judged inadequate, unworthy?
Will I build a false expectation of largess?
If she earns more than I do, will I be diminished in her eyes?
We comfortably talk about the money of others, often scoffing at those who’ve accumulated millions and continue to relentlessly strive for more. We ask: when is enough enough? Money doesn’t buy happiness, or so we reassure each other. But we do not turn to our conversation partner and ask about their finances, unwilling to risk undermining an ego, theirs or our own. Personal talk about money is the ultimate taboo.
Does what we earn or own define our intrinsic worth in the eyes of others? Is that the essential fear?
It is easier to share in the exquisite privacy of the sexual realm, and reassure both ourselves and our partner of the potential for mutuality, and of our value to the other, than to expose our ability to compete for dollars, judged by the external standards of society. Then our ego strength is in the hands of others, the fickle marketplace. So we hide?
The moral of the fable: The one gleefully stripped bare in the bedroom, in the counting room must be afforded ample cover.

Although Dave and Jayne mutually decided they needed the intervention of a mediator, once seated in my office they ignored my presence. Their conversation quickly became an argument, their voices raised and strident. After a time I interrupted and asked: has this worked for you in the past? Do you manage to change each other’s minds?

They responded in unison: never!

As their marriage crumbled over recent months, their lives had spiraled out of control, their teenage son a reluctant bystander. Now his grades were in free fall.

A friend had referred Jayne to a doctor who diagnosed their son as having attention deficit disorder and prescribed medication. But Dave had grown up with an aversion to the use of any drugs, particularly those he saw as “fooling with the brain”. He believed the problem was psychological, and he urged that all three of them enter family therapy, or at least have their son work with a psychologist.

Jayne had no faith in Dave’s approach, and was derisive about talk therapy and’”shrinks”. She trusted the doctor who made the ADD diagnosis, and had spoken with other parents who described their child’s miraculous turnaround.

When I asked, both acknowledged that they were echoing beliefs held by the family in which they had grown up, although on this day they were armed with internet research supporting their divergent views. Neither gave the other’s data even cursory attention.

The question: would they be able to give up their determination to change the mind of the other and agree on a plan to rescue their son? If not, would they have to let a judge decide? This was a path dreaded equally by both.

Although we may reject some of our parent’s convictions, how often do we discard the viewpoints we adopted when young, in light of later life experience? Do we discount as exceptional the evidence that doesn’t fit with our basic assumptions? Often, I think we do.

We took a break for coffee, and when calm they agreed to try a more pragmatic approach:

First we reviewed their present circumstances. Even if restating the obvious, this placed them firmly in the here and now. I said:

-You’re both still hurt and angry, just beginning to heal.

-Your son is struggling to keep his head above water in school.

- So far, you can’t agree on a plan, but you’ve each developed some possible strategies.

- And you’ve decided not to turn the decision over to the Court.

Next we considered their choices and the possible consequences. The discussion that followed was less blaming and with fewer references to the past. Eventually they developed these options:

- Dave agreed to meet with the doctor Jayne had chosen, if she would join him to talk with a psychologist he selected. She consented.

- Jayne suggested a joint meeting with their pediatrician, always trusted in the past. Dave agreed.

- Jayne had already met with their son’s teachers but offered to go again, with Dave.

We talked about where these steps could lead if both were committed to listen with an open mind. Either might change their view and proceed with the choice of the other, or not. But in any case, they would have more data, have heard it together, and been able to ask questions of the “experts”.

So, a plan was in place.

The actual solution: Jayne decided to avoid the delay needed to schedule and keep all these appointments, and agreed to start family counseling right away, and Dave agreed that if after three months their son was still struggling with school, medication would be given a try. After family counseling began, they met with the doctor Jayne had seen, and with their pediatrician.

Conclusion: Once recrimination about the past is set aside and the futility of argument is recognized, this process can work for many:

- clearly state the current circumstances which must be faced

- develop possible choices for moving forward

- analyze the likely consequences of each choice

Sometimes, as with Dave and Jayne, just going through these steps can cause a shift from impasse to movement.

As a child, I was intrigued by Aesop’s Fables, simple stories with a moral at the end. I didn’t look for hidden meanings, seek to understand why the tortoise plodded on at such a steady pace to win the race. I just recognized that he had a tactic that worked. Here, I present a fable, the tangled web of motivation unexamined. Yet the message, the tactic that worked, is clear.

Paula and Jim were once intimate partners, revealed who they were to each other, perhaps one moment brave, another vulnerable and frightened. No pretense, no hiding.

But no more. Seated on opposite ends of my long office couch, both face forward and avoid eye contact. Throughout the mediation session, their discussion seems almost dispassionate, their emotions well controlled. Except for their veiled anger that occasionally flares. Their protective walls are invisible but real.

Paula hopes to return to school and work just part time. To make this possible she needs to move to a nearby state and rely on her extended family to help care for the children. Jim intends to remain in their former residence, to provide a familiar home when the children are with him. But to pay the amount of support Paula requires to implement her plan, could thwart his.

They’re on a collision course. Paula says she’s unwilling to accept any less than she believes the Court would order. Her husband’s defensive response to the very mention of Court, delivered in clipped tones, is that her wish to move to another state (even though less than two hours away) would not be allowed by the Judge. They recognize the power of the other’s threat, but continue to wield their own.

Our session ends with nothing resolved.

From my earlier private meeting with each of them, I know what they left unsaid when together. Paula, determined not to cry and appear weak in Jim’s presence, did not disclose what she’d told me, that to go from relying on someone she’d loved to someone who now loved another, filled her with terror.

What Jim declined to reveal, was that he’d made moves which now called into question his value as a father, even as a man, surely as a provider. He was consumed with fear over the losses he faced.

The Court rulings that each might well achieve, would frustrate them both.

Did what they left unsaid stand in the way of a successful negotiation? I couldn’t be sure, but I knew that as matters now stood, reason would not prevail.

About a week before our next session, Jim called with a question about some requested documents. I asked him if he knew how his wife was feeling. His response was immediate: Scared.

He added: And frankly, I am too.

I suggested he consider giving voice to those feelings, letting Paula know.

Soon after our next meeting began, Jim turned and faced his wife. Although her eyes remained averted, he spoke in a gentle tone and her shoulders relaxed: I have some inkling of how scared you’re feeling. I’m really worried too. I want us both to get a good new start, and I know having your family close will be reassuring and helpful. I’ve decided not to stand in the way of your move.

He acknowledged her insecurity and expressed his own. A more relaxed, and tearful, conversation followed. Sadness and anxiety about the future did not dissipate, but both parties were able to take tentative steps forward, and compromise now seemed possible.

Moral: Anger is often driven by fear. Fears openly faced and shared soften resistance to reason.

She rages and I just listen. When spent, I tell her she is howling at the moon, but say so with a lilt in my voice, with understanding. There are those times when frustration rules, and venting in a safe venue makes sense. I even suggest that it could serve her well, ward off depression and allow her to move on.

Married for over twenty-five years, she and her husband traveled the long road to mediated agreements and now the end is in sight. It has been a difficult trek.Their motivations so very different, he relieved, eager for a new start, and generous financially as he departs. She bereft, alternately silenced by anxiety, and vocal, resentment fueling demands.

Now the design of the last puzzle piece, the contribution each would make for their youngest child’s college education, was about to fall into place. Just the day before, he’d sent a proposal that she read as being so equivocal in its language as to be meaningless, at best unenforceable. So in her phone conversation with me she fumes. I wait out the storm.

She reports that the goodwill they’d begun to rebuild as parents living apart, had waned, and that they are less able now to share joyful moments witnessing their children’s endeavors. Although the evidence is scant, she fears he will reverse course on agreements already made, and is sure she knows why he’s being so guarded, perhaps retreating. His friends are cast as amoral and mean spirited players, come belatedly to stand by his side.

It was not difficult for me to understand her fear. His early favorable offers, made in the privacy of my office, were thankfully received. But when later disclosed and reviewed by outsiders, he was chided, his decisions called into question. Those coaching from the sidelines had little understanding of how thoughtfully this pair had worked to achieve their shared vision, for themselves and their children’s futures. Nor did these allies share any responsibility for, or knowledge of, the ramifications of the new path they urged him to take. In his latest communication his wife only saw his capitulation to the boorish view of his posse, a primitive need to assert his manhood in the face of this heedless crew, a sentiment she spat out, each word clipped for emphasis.

It was then that I compared her to a wounded animal proclaiming its misery, howling at the moon. I said: Fine. It’s smart to taste your anger. But now that you have, can you recognize that, however inartfully, he is still coming toward you in an effort to reach agreement. It’s time to look at your choices and consider the consequences of each:

You can give in to the temptation to throw down the litigation gauntlet, but then likely put at risk the benefits already worked out.

Or you could respectfully confirm past agreements and acknowledge this effort on his part regarding college expenses, and state your concern about the vague language used. Then propose another option, which you might develop together, until you both find it acceptable, even if not perfect.

The significance of this choice needed no further analysis with this now seasoned negotiator. Once again calm, she recognized that a verbal assault with accusatory words of anger might do damage difficult to repair.

But the moon has no inner light source, only reflects what is sent, without memory or comment, so one can howl without risk, if only heard by the wind.

Many moons ago, I read a clever observation by a psychologist, that there are always six people in every marriage bed: husband, wife and both sets of parents. A recent experience reminded me that we never travel down the path to any decision truly alone.

The story: A young couple was slowly working their way through all of the trauma and difficult choices for planning their lives as parents when no longer married. Their very young child seemed to be adapting to the sea change in their lives with greater ease than either of them, they so much more aware and worried about life without love, and with financial hardship.

Although divided about many things, from the outset of mediationthey were completely in sync about their goals for their child, and even for promoting each other’s chances for future well-being. Splitting up their accumulated assets was easy, coping with their high mortgage payments less so. Yet, some decisions for the short term were possible, because for a few years the husband, a medical researcher, was willing to contribute the lion share of his income to retain the marital residence, for the sake of stability, and to avoid a fire sale in a weak housing market. And as their child was so young, he readily agreed that his wife should not seek a job until their daughter was school age. He would rent a small apartment nearby and live frugally. Grandparents stood ready to help out a bit financially. The chips were all falling into place.

And then they weren’t.

His lawyer strongly objected to the level of support he proposed to contribute for the next two years, saying: No court would ever make you pay so much. She’s bleeding you dry. She needs to get a job and help with the mortgage, or sell the house. I can’t let you do this.

On their return to mediation he announced he had changed his mind, and his wife was soon in tears. He asked to speak with me alone.

His words: It isn’t just my lawyer, although she says I’m being a fool, but it’s everyone else too. Since I’m the one who’s leaving, I’m made out to be the bad guy. But trust me, we’ve both been miserable for a long time. My friends say I’m crazy, letting my guilt get ahead of my reason. I want her to keep the house, and be a full-time mom, but maybe it’s just not possible.

I took note of his use of the word “maybe,” recognizing the pull between where his heart led him, and the dictates of his lawyer, and his need to seem forceful in the eyes of his friends. These bystanders, who likely saw themselves as fulfilling their role as advocate and as loyal supporters, fueled an anger and resentment he’d not previously expressed.

Ironically, selling the house now, likely at a loss, might well leave them less financially secure. Could his wife, a graphic artist, find a job earning enough to even meet the cost of their child’s day care?  And most important, what would happen to the ease that had evolved as he and his wife now related as parents? He nodded his understanding when these questions were raised, but said only that he needed more time to think it over.
Would he be strong enough to withstand the judgment of his lawyer, and his friends, who portrayed him as impotent and her as domineering?

His compatriots, invisible contributors to the decisions he faced when negotiating in my office, were sabotaging his better judgment. A group decision was being made. Could he pull himself away and stand alone?

His wife was out of the marriage bed, but many others had climbed in.

The room was crowded. We’d never met before, but when she learned about my work with divorcing couples, she made her way to where I stood, and after a brief introduction, in a derisive tone she said: I think divorce is far too easy these days. People are so self-centered they don’t even give a second thought to destroying a family.

Her words suggested a bitter personal history. I opted not to respond to the challenge and moved off, ending a conversation that had hardly begun. Perhaps I should have stayed to talk, for my experience belies her remark. I know well that the decision to end an intimate relationship is always complex and emotionally wrenching, especially when children will have their lives turned upside down.

Many ponder, sometimes for years, whether they should stay together for the sake of their children. Some, of course, do, and successfully weather a difficult time. For others, even after seeking professional help, a different answer is reached.

Another question, usually asked by the partner for whom the decision may have already been made, is: What example am I setting for my children if they rarely witness any expression of love or affection between parents living in a sea of unhappiness? Or worse, living with pervasive conflict, a child’s shifting loyalty the prize tacitly sought.

I recently completed mediation sessions with an emotionally mature couple who, after counseling and much thought, decided to end their marriage. It was a melancholy time, particularly for the partner less ready to move on and away, but both struggled to keep their focus on the stability they hoped to provide for their children midst the sea change in their lives. As they negotiated, they compromised on some significant financial issues, avoiding what might otherwise have taken months, or even years, to resolve at the courthouse.

They were still living under the same roof, and tension had been high in their home, with none of the mending moments of intimacy enjoyed in the past. Yet, most of the time they managed to maintain civility and respect, particularly in the presence of their children. Early on in the mediation process, they’d consulted with a child psychologist to devise the best plan for telling the children about their decision, and to help them adjust to the changes to come.

As we prepared to part at the end of their final hour with me, I commended them for their efforts and said: In today’s world, the likelihood is great that when your children are older, they’ll engage in a number of loving, committed relationships before they decide to marry, perhaps some of lengthy duration. A marriage may later fail. You have modeled for them how an intimate partnership can end with caring and dignity, and how parents can continue to provide loving protection for their children. One day yours will be able to bond with another with added courage to be true to themselves, with security born of knowing that their parents worked through the most difficult time of their lives taking good care of the ones they continued to love, and even each other. Saddened, but not destroyed. What a wonderful, if bittersweet, gift you’ve given them.

They left with somber smiles and tears in their eyes.

Dear M and D:

Were you as relieved as I was when you left my office? Witnessing the animosity, blame and disrespect with which you assault each other, leaves me both amazed and dismayed. Did you feel equally disheartened? Or, perhaps you welcomed having a safe haven in which to publicly expose your frustration and anger. You test both my skill and endurance. Can I possibly help you resolve your issues?

From time to time I’m faced with warring parents, long divorced like you, who’ve never given up the fight. I have only questions, no answers.

You tell me you recognize that your daughters are troubled, and you both acknowledge that in the face of your open conflict this is hardly surprising. Child specialists teach that children internalize the character, the essence, of both parents, and to the extent one parent denigrates the other, the child’s self-esteem is diminished. You both bear witness to the damage being done.

This is what I wondered about you after you left: was yours a studied performance, or were you out of control? Were you playing out a lack of satisfaction in your individual lives? Are you howling at the moon, and not just at each other? Or are you following an old childhood script, never having learned another? It was surely a passionate dance I witnessed, alternately one of you leading, the other in pursuit.

A psychiatrist friend I talk with about conduct I observe and cannot understand, shared his insights by asking: what’s the payoff? What benefits are these parents each receiving by their persistent warfare? He says we revert to those ways that are personally satisfying: the relief of stress, some imbalance set right, or perhaps the comfort of behavior consistent with our early experience, even when hurtful. Likely unseen by another, these rewards support the pattern of actions that repeat and repeat.

I know I see only the surface of your relationship, and I don’t have the analytical skill to draw conclusions. But what’s the payoff? Does keeping your conflict alive serve you in some important way? Perhaps even allow you to remain connected?

Am I wrong, or in the midst of your refusal to give even an inch in the direction of the other, did I glimpse in some offhand comments a hint that there are times, when out of view, you relate with a measure of civility and respect? Or is this wishful thinking on my part? Might there be some remnant of feeling that could be tapped by you as parents, to come to the rescue of your daughters?

When you left, did you feel better or worse?

In both of you, I recognize intelligence and love for your children, a genuine concern for their safety and well-being. But no willingness (or ability?) to protect them from the animosity you express toward each other.

If your kids crash, as I fear they will, is it only their behaviors that will be addressed? For their sakes, might each of you be willing to seek some path to greater self-awareness and ask yourselves: what’s the payoff?

They are learning from you how to live their lives.

Will you one day reap the whirlwind?

My friend’s son is divorcing, ending a 25-year marriage. Although sad, he doesn’t question their decision. From the sidelines he sensed that neither partner had been happy for some time. Past efforts to work things out seemed sincere.

In recent years, he and his daughter-in-law had been especially drawn together as she lovingly helped to care for his wife in her final illness. He was sure that despite the marital breach, she would remain a cherished member of his family.

So, he was determined throughout the difficult months of the couple’s estrangement, and then their separation, to preserve his relationship not only with his son but with his daughter-in-law as well, even if it meant seeing her at different times and places. They continued to share occasional meals and spoke often on the phone, simply skirting the subject of the marriage ending.

One evening, soon after the divorcing couple entered the legal arena, he encountered her parents at a concert and they were cool to him, as they hastened their departure. Upsetting, but understandable, he thought, and shrugged it off. Wouldn’t even bring it up. At least his relationship with his daughter-in-law would not change.

But, of course, it had already changed.

The hurt and anger she experienced, feeling herself to be the one aggrieved, had slowly begun to seep into every conversation and email. At first only a nuanced suggestion. But then there was more open talk of his son’s failings. My friend’s response was silence. Communication boundaries, even though he thought them clear, continued to erode. No longer able to be empathic in the face of her repeated accusations, he retreated and their contact ended.

“Blood is thicker than water” was the quick and easy answer given by many to whom he spoke of his dilemma. He was still unwilling to be judgmental, wise enough to know that no one but the marriage partners themselves could speak of the realities, and that even their perceptions would surely differ.

His lament: I love them both dearly, but I’ve lost the close bond with my daughter-in-law.

I said I didn’t think that need be the case in the long term, and offered stories of others I’ve known, myself included, who mended similar relationships once the most painful time of the marital collapse had passed. Although, I had to acknowledge that the renewed connection was different, still loving and even intimate at times, but some doors always remained closed.

So many important attachments are lost to both parties when the terrible angst of divorce seems to call for taking sides. Extended family members and mutual friends need a protocol, an agreed upon time out. Necessary boundaries should be made clear and respected, to protect against hurtful expressions of disloyalty towards one or the other. And to avoid a permanent breach.

But perhaps more than anything, we need to have realistic expectations of the healing time required for friendship to win out over recrimination and the pain of loss.

You consider disclosing an important truth, but reconsider when a friend urges caution, that you not take unnecessary risks. You are halted by ambivalence.

We grow up being told to always tell the truth. But parents inevitably send a more nuanced message when we hear them tell a half-truth, or tell an untruth out of kindness, or send a false message by remaining silent to keep a promised confidence.

Is it better to tell or not tell? This is the question sometimes asked by a spouse who has strayed, and now seeks to revive a marriage gone adrift. I have no pat answer. The complexity of people’s lives, always only partially known to others, suggests that giving advice would be unwise. At best, we can ask probing questions for the keeper of the secret to explore.

Sometimes it seems only the teller, not the unknowing other, would be well served by admission. Guilt made more bearable by confession. Yet for some, living with deception is untenable, believing that only through a shared exploration of the past can a genuinely loving and committed relationship be restored.

Risky, either way. And not an easy call when the decision is unilateral, but the potential impact falls on many.

Consider this: A wife, who for some time has been silently enduring her husband’s sustained lack of sexual interest, gathers the strength to ask him if he is gay. Husband answers emphatically and in anger that he is not, knowing that he is. His great fear is that exposure will cause the loss of the precious connection he has with his young children. When asked for advice about this potential disclosure, I’m surprised to find I am comfortable responding that, of course, the truth should be told. And in this case, it was.

All of his worst fears came true in living color. Wife raged. Husband was awash in guilt. The children were confused and frightened, and the family’s community of friends unbelieving, some falling away. Many tears and sleepless nights. Yet, over time, with the support of professionals and loyal friends, acceptance and accommodation evolved as the family was reconfigured. Loving feelings were once again expressed. The world shifted, but righted.

It became clear that this truth needed to be told, for the damaging impact of keeping this secret seemed too serious to justify the lack of honest disclosure. But “clear” is not a good choice of words, for these decisions are often anything but clear. Had this wife been judged to be a vengeful, vindictive person, a different choice might well have been made.

Approaching adulthood and beyond, as self-knowledge and self-acceptance grows, most of us allow ourselves a good measure of authenticity, a willingness to openly share our truths.

But concerns will inevitably continue to arise when we must choose between being a truth teller and protecting our privacy. We strive to maintain the delicate balance of our own well-being and the possible harm to others. Perhaps doing so is one important definition of maturity.

The timbre of his voice conveyed intense emotion. He called because his wife suggested mediation. He’s interested but skeptical, insisting that she is inflexible about the issue most important to him. He says: I’ll only try mediation if she agrees in advance that she’s willing to share time with our children equally. Otherwise I’m filing for sole custody.

I suspect anxiety about being denied this most precious connection is motivating his warning, but I urge him not to throw down the gauntlet.

Threats beget threats. And often lengthy litigation.

I learn they have been attempting to negotiate on their own. Their discussions even begin in a comfortable way, for they value each other as parents, but then frustration mounts over something said or a proposal made, and anger is triggered. Their reasonable discourse escalates into dueling ultimatums.

Can these mutual efforts to intimidate just be ignored? Yes. Actually, that is probably the wisest course. Step aside. Verbal jujitsu.

Most threats are born of fear, and it is the fear that needs to be explored and understood rather than the menacing words. But does that happen? Or, does the “fight or flight” response take over, precluding rational discourse?

In the divorce mediation context, threats are legion. As here: I’ll sue for custody before I ever accept one minute less than equal time with the children, or: I’ll go to jail before I pay a dime of alimony, when you’re the one who wants this, or: I’ll disclose the pornography I found on your computer if you fight me on this point.

If the sincere goal is to move a partner towards agreement, which it almost always is, responding to such statements made in the heat of the moment, only makes a later retreat more difficult.

The parties need to buy time. Although I’ll not allow coercion of either party, I know that to oppose a threat head on, or to counter in kind, may well destroy the chance of settlement. There are other options.

If sufficient calm prevails, we could discuss the possible consequences of the threatened action, and the party having issued the threat might then be drawn into a discussion about why they feel so strongly about the issue. But the degree of tension already generated may preclude either party being able to really listen to the other with understanding.

If so, consider this option: acknowledge the strength of the feelings underlying the threat which has been made, and then move on to a discussion of an unrelated issue, allowing the passions of both parties to cool. Verbal jujitsu.

This is the choice I usually make if the parties will accept the diversion. It is a choice individuals can make on their own, without announcement. The passage of time will likely allow for a return to reason, once the fear underlying the threat, usually of some loss or perceived loss, is acknowledged and addressed.

And ideally, the threatened party will recognize that it is in their own best interest to allow the other to save face, by continuing to ignore, to step aside from the menacing words earlier spoken, so that both can refocus on what each hopes to achieve in the long term.

She sits on my office couch and speaks as if she is not even a participant in this drama, weeping and angry: This divorce is his idea, not mine.

I understand her tears. Her marriage has fallen apart, and facing that reality is bleak. But this is our second mediation session, and I must swallow my impatience as she resists my efforts to move her past this focus on her misery, and talk of a plan for the future. Although reluctant to indulge her mood, I know she needs more time, so I continue to listen, and I hear:

If only he would be reasonable . . . .

Somehow I need to make him see . . .

I never wanted this, so it’s up to him to . . .

I want to tell her to stop howling at the moon, but remain silent.

Her words are like those often spoken by people whose lives have been tipped off balance, and are desperately seeking to regain equilibrium. The words are actually a plea for change. But it is the other who is expected to alter their ways.

So, is it possible to shift, even reverse, another’s point of view? Maybe so.

Here is her story which illustrates the point:

This divorcing husband and wife were negotiating financial issues. He was adamant about only paying support in the amount his attorney told him a Court would likely order, not a penny more. She insisted, and probably rightly so, that he could well afford to provide a greater sum, which would allow her and the children to remain living in their current home.

On the other hand, awash in her own misery, the wife had made no effort to shield their teenagers from the conflict in which she and her husband were engaged, and had portrayed their father as the bad guy who was forcing them to move. Not surprisingly, his relationship with the children was seriously eroded. He was hurt and incensed and blamed her for their alienation.

They were at an impasse, and at the end of our last session, both walked off in a storm of irritation.

The next morning, when I returned a call from the wife, she reverted to her now familiar refrain: if only he would be reasonable and provide enough for us to stay here just for the next four years, the kids wouldn’t resent him so.

This time, wanting to keep her engaged, but moving forward, I asked for and received her permission to offer some advice: Sometimes when parties are deadlocked, if one person acts, unilaterally, takes even a small positive step, it can cause an important shift in the relationship. Can you think of something you might do to break this logjam?

Her silence suggested she was finally ready and had heard me.

The next weekend, without requesting anything in return, she invited the husband to dinner with the children, and in their presence she apologized for having unwisely and thoughtlessly placed them in the middle of their parent’s conflict. She said she and their father were both struggling to create good outcomes. He relaxed his stiff posture and by the time dessert was served, tensions visibly eased.

Will this magically bring about the hoped for solution? Hard to say. But there will be an important change in the nature of their conversation, of that I’m sure. There are many bargaining chips still on the table. Talk will recommence. Impasse is averted.

Giving up on trying to persuade another to change, when a dialog has broken down, and taking a relatively small forward step oneself, without requiring anything in return, often generates a positive shift in another’s perspective, and the dust settles in a new configuration.

A mediation client recently phoned after a session and politely but firmly accused me of favoring a plan put forward by his wife, displaying a bias, not the neutrality I’d promised

Although I thought his perception wrong, I knew I’d likely contributed to this misunderstanding, so I simply apologized. That seemed to clear the air, and we were then able to listen to each other’s view of what had taken place. Defensiveness fell away, for both of us.

But it could have gone quite differently, for I almost, mindlessly, and defensively, responded to him by saying: I’m sorry you see it that way.

I didn’t do so because of my heightened awareness of other expressions of regret gone awry: a celebrity, a politician or a radio talk show host places foot squarely in mouth and indicts an ethnic group or gender with evil or foolish intent and when once again sober or contrite, with great apparent sincerity apologizes by saying: If my words resulted in discomfort or pain, I’m very sorry.

Responsibility for the incident is thereby shifted away from the speaker and to the listener, who is presumed to be overly sensitive. Not really an apology at all.

Working with people who have hurt each other in egregious ways and decided to divorce, I don’t often hear an apology spoken. When the decision has been made to part, and anxiety about the future is high, perhaps this is not surprising. Yet, I regret this constraint, for expressions of remorse that take responsibility for acts or omissions, can be so healing and open the door to understanding.

Even under less stressful circumstances, in secure times, some can say they are sorry with ease, perhaps even be too apologetic, when for others, the words of regret remain unspoken.

The different ways each of us convey ideas or express feelings is dependent to some extent on ethnicity, nationality or some special dynamic in our family of origin, disparities that too often go unrecognized. The apology also presents an important gender distinction.

Here’s an interesting insight from Debra Tannen, a linguist, author and professor at Georgetown University. She’s written a number of books pointing out the differences between the communication style of most men and women, differences which she observed even in nursery school age children at play. She notes how willing women often are to apologize when things have not worked out well. I’ve noticed that myself, and assumed it simply grew out of women’s greater ability to express feelings, and the reluctance of many men to display emotion. But, according to Tannen, there is more to it than that.

Tannen observes that women tend to focus more on the question: is this conversation bringing us closer or pushing us further apart? Men, on the other hand tend to focus more on the question: is this conversation putting me in a one-up or one-down position?

For women, she concludes, apologies are to be embraced because they reinforce connections, but many men are attuned to the symbolic power of an apology to advertise defeat.

I find this to be a meaningful distinction, although, to be applied knowing that generalizations don’t always fit.

When our youngest grew up and moved some distance away, I claimed her room and fashioned a space all my own. It was quite small, on the second story of our home, with leafy tree branches almost touching the windows, a nest of sorts. There were times my husband came and stood at the threshold to ask a question, but he didn’t walk in. He never entered uninvited. It was our unspoken understanding, as natural as breathing, that our separateness was respected. This background sets the stage for a mediation session in which a privacy issue arose.

The couple working with me was seeking to preserve, not end their marriage. They had come to negotiate some well-defined concerns, when discussions at home had proven difficult and divisive.

Their story: in the prior week, the husband installed a lock on his home-office door, without consulting his wife. She was hurt and angry.

His story: when he was away, his wife opened mail addressed only to him. It was nothing of a highly personal nature, but in doing so she learned that his business debt was considerably greater than she had known. Then, still in his absence, she looked through his desk and files, and eventually explored his computer, where she made discoveries of a more personal nature. That’s when the lock went on. He was outraged, and no doubt chagrined.

Her story: She firmly believed there should be no secrets between marriage partners, and that she was, therefore, perfectly justified in her actions. He was the one who had much to explain.

The response I addressed to her was spoken without hesitation, or sufficient forethought. With some fervor I said: But everyone is entitled to a zone of privacy.

This statement and my tone surprised them, and myself as well. With hindsight I regret the unprofessional way I spoke. I should have posed some neutral questions, not been judgmental. Predictably, the issue did not get resolved in my office. Later, when the wife called to cancel their next appointment, I learned that after further discussion, her husband had removed the lock from his office door.

I recall another client who discovered that her husband had read the journal in which she wrote each morning on waking. She was incensed, even though she’d kept it tucked in her nightstand drawer, readily accessible. Her question: how could he not understand that it was for her eyes only?

Will these unwelcome intrusions continue to rankle over time? My guess is that insistence on full disclosure, some even demanding to know their partner’s innermost thoughts, is more likely to erode than to foster harmony. Are these wounded loved ones likely to become more or less secretive?

Why is privacy so important? We speak of someone “invading” our privacy and the very use of that word suggests a violation of significance. It is an assault on our autonomy, a piercing of that protective skin we seek to keep in tact (so many words of aggression!). Privacy keeps us safe, free of judgment until we are ready for exposure, and then, only to those we trust.

She said: I feel terrible. You’ve ruined my life.

The blame game is neither fair nor in the long run satisfying. Nor is the guilt.

Sometimes partners drift apart slowly, move into separate worlds, failing to disclose to each other the evolving person they’ve become. They may be communicating in subtle nonverbal ways, but is the message getting through? An example:

If both were motivated and felt safe enough to talk openly about their desires and disappointments, and early on enlist the aid of a skilled professional, they might get the prize: an intact family.

They were young, but had finished high school before they married. That’s the good news. The bad news is that after seventeen years the marriage is over.

If I could write the script, this wife, while still being supported will spend the next six years in school, and regain the power she gave away when she auditioned for and landed the role of Cinderella. Her prince is charming, will continue to work hard, and likely pay their daughters’ college expenses.

Daughters everywhere: are you getting the message?

After living together for fifteen years, they married when she became pregnant. Their daughter is now three years old. Two physicians, he an academic, she in family practice.  Neither have remarkable income, but due to the generosity of her wealthy family, their financial lives have been more than comfortable. Most recently, upon the birth of their granddaughter, the gift from her parents was an elegant home.

It is said that revenge is sweet, but there is only bitterness here.

I’m watching a young family self-destruct. I cast caution to the wind and offer some advice. A foolish move.

Best we share our own experience, give of ourselves, not advice, and offer our analytical skills. The rest is up to the listener.

She said: you need to learn some new dance steps.

On my weekly Sunday walk with a close friend, she a psychologist, I’d spoken of my inability to penetrate the gloom that had befallen my husband. Each time I probed to learn more about the source of his apparent sadness, the few words he spoke in response served to close not open the door.

I queried: a new dance?

Her response: Stop asking questions. That’s your old dance. Just tell him how you’re feeling, only a few sentences, no accusations and see what happens.

It worked. A brief back and forth began and he shared a few important words. The next day, the new steps were repeated. A bit more disclosure and tensions eased.

Some new wisdom to keep in mind. And recently the occasion arose to offer it to another.

The newly separated father and mother seated on my office couch came in to address his accusation that their seven year old daughter was being turned against him. She was unwilling to talk and share her life with him, non-disclosing in response to his efforts to engage her in conversation. But when she phoned her mother from his home, she was animated and fluent. He made little effort to hide his resentment of his wife, allowing himself to believe this was all her doing.

So, I suggested: maybe you need to learn some new dance steps.

At the start of his weekend, the father picked up his daughter at her school. We deconstructed the usual conversation they had as she climbed into his car:

He: Hi, sweetie, how was your day?

She: Fine.

He: Learn anything new?

She: Not much.

He: Any good friends in your class?

She: Um hum.

He: So, play with them today?

She: Yes.

He: What sorts of games?

She: Oh, just stuff.

Now frustrated, he shuts down, angry and hurt, and they ride along in silence until reaching his home, when his daughter brightens and showers affection on the dog, turns on the TV and cuddles with her pet. He feels the outsider. This conversation dance repeats many times over the next two days.

Bringing to mind my past experience with a sometimes-silent partner, I suggest: Try this. Stop asking questions. Just talk about yourself, nothing too profound and not accusing or in any way critical. Maybe talk about what happened to you earlier in the day. But no questions.

On return for their next visit to my office he was smiling: Amazing! Picked her up at school. No questions. Told her about the pizza I had for lunch, made with anchovies, which I hate, and what a time I had dislodging them from the layers of melted cheese. She told me about the yucky salmon patties served in the school cafeteria, and how one of the boys started tossing them around and got into trouble, and that she knew his older sister who was stuck up. So, I told her about a woman in my office who was stuck up, and she asked me why I thought people got that way. We had a great talk.

Hard to know what this youngster’s feelings were when she left school with her father instead of ending the school week by returning to the parent with whom she was most comfortable. What subliminal message did she carry from her mother? Did his being the one who left their home still feel like abandonment? Was she at fault for what happened? No easy way for a seven year old to address these issues, even for herself. Was closing the door on his questions a perfect defense against revealing a confusion of emotion?

No monumental disclosures were made, but tensions eased. Now the possibilities for real talk and future understandings were there again.

And for comfortable silences too.

She rummages in her purse but then pauses, smiles, and remembers that she no longer smokes. It’s a tense moment and she wishes she still did. Deep sigh: he says he just needs some space. What do you think?

For some months now, I’ve been aware that the marriage of my friends was troubled, although she was sure they both still valued their bond. Counseling was rejected, her husband insisting this was a private matter and he didn’t need to “get fixed”. My cautionary words were: if respectful conversations are still possible, give it more time. Separations usually become permanent.

I realized as I spoke, that although invited to give advice, I had no sound knowledge base for my statement, no actual data to support my conclusion, and I told her so.

All of my evidence was anecdotal, and those who separated and then reconciled did not end up on my office couch, so my evidence was not only anecdotal but skewed. Yet many of my divorce mediation clients reported having separated for a trial period, sometimes for as long as a year, only to later decide to end the marriage. For many I surmised that a proposed temporary parting was often one party’s way of letting their partner down easy, suggesting only the need for space, but knowing that their decision to end the marriage was made, and was the right one. For others, I believed that the motive was more sincere, a testing time.

I quizzed a friend who is a Magistrate in the Domestic Relations Court and got another perspective on separations. She commented on the number of dramas that had played out in her courtroom where one spouse had asked, even demanded, that the other leave, only to later acknowledge that their real intent was to test the commitment of their partner. The departed spouse had then became happier living on their own, and declined to return. A risky request, probably made impulsively at a moment of hurt or anger. I too had heard this scenario a number of times.

I shared my personal experience with my friend, for I well remember those times during my marriage when we were both unhappy, though not always at the same time. It was toughing out those difficult days, struggling for understanding, and to be understood, that repeatedly brought us to a new and better place. Long walks were taken, sometimes together, sometimes alone. There were tearful but also loving times, because we had opportunities to reconnect with spontaneity. While still together we could reach out and touch, smile, or fix a favorite meal, do something to bridge the gap and then begin again to talk. But I know others within my own family who took a different path, lived apart and came back together successfully. A little scarier perhaps.

So, on balance, I’ve come to believe, even without reliable evidence, that when unhappy partners remain committed and respectful, most problems are best worked out in close proximity, often with professional help.

Although I know there are those exceptions that prove, or probe, this rule, is it not also true that nature abhors a vacuum? The intimacy vacuum created by a separation often gets filled, with new directions, or other people.

On the day we first meet, I spend time alone with each new client, and ask how disputes were resolved during their marriage. It’s helpful to understand their negotiating style, and essential that I uncover any claim of intimidation.

She said: I just went along to get along.

And when she noted my knowing smile, my eyebrows raised as if questioning the truth of her words, she became more insistent: I really did. Even if we argued bitterly, I’d give in just to keep the peace.

I explained my curious glance, telling her that often both parties deliver the same message, that they were the one who was passive in the face of disagreement, the one who always surrendered. And this was exactly what her husband had told me moments before.

My personal experience suggests that most of those living in contented relationships aren’t shy about trying to influence their partner when differences arise. Talking, back and forth, weighing of options. Humor may diffuse rising tension, and even when hurtful words are spoken, always knowing wounds can be healed. Perhaps a touch, as a reminder of loving, of respect, becomes the promise of a million new beginnings.

But more often than not, when a relationship is ending, has been eroding for some time, each person sees themselves as the one who always accommodated to the other’s wishes or demands. As improbable as it seems, I think both perceptions are sincerely voiced, that personal power has been relinquished, or taken away. Resentments build until the delicate balance tips.

So, is there something important to note here? How differently has the couple that is falling apart been living during the years of growing unhappiness? Has the ice become too thin to risk discussion, when they are hoping to avoid the break up, clinging to the chance of remaining together? Is each slowly losing, giving up their authentic self in the struggle, at times acting out in anger, at other times quietly swallowing their words? And as one assumes the role of decider and the other retreats, are the last words spoken at day’s end: not tonight, I have a headache . . . .

Are these the moments most remembered, the times when wishes were compromised or submerged, sacrificing the sense of self?

Friends ask if it isn’t depressing to witness the sadness of those I work with. It is not. For, here is the hope: now they head for life apart, autonomy restored. Once anxiety about the unknown diminishes with the development of a plan for the future, the freedom to again be authentic will one day lift despair. A new beginning.

I wish I could think and write intelligently about pornography. I’ve read some of the position papers of well known academic feminists for whom it is an unmitigated evil, but the very existence of a $60 billion global industry represents a demand they do not address, except to seek censorship. Does prohibition ever work?

My vantage point is narrow, and the forms presented to me do not involve children or violence. Pornography enters my world when the viewing is seen as a symptom of the disintegration of a marriage. But as a cause or an effect? Despite the many stories clients have told, I don’t know.

Wives bemoan a spouse’s internet travel. They believe a vivid fantasy life threatens the marriage bond. For some the question is a moral one, their upbringing or religious belief affords them absolute clarity of judgment. But for most, their partner’s involvement, clandestine, or at least a solitary activity, evokes concern that what is viewed creates a yearning that erodes commitment. Is that inevitable? I meet with those for whom this has become a defining negative issue. And because open discussion of this taboo is rare, I have no knowledge of how others cope.

The conversations I have with the men, the watchers, are superficial and brief. They’ve been “outed” and neither deny nor make excuses. In every respect known to me, they are honorable and healthy, supporting their families, devoted to their children. Their exterior life is on display. Their interior lives, behind their masks, allows them to travel wherever they wish. Except, now they are met with rage or sullen silence, their family at risk.

About less oppressive, more familiar fantasies, I can think and write intelligently. There is probably not a married person alive who has not, in their interior life at least, envisioned the “what ifs?” What if I’d married someone else? What if we separated or divorced? What if in ten years I live with regret for having missed important opportunities? What if I seek some major changes in my life right now, and give them  primacy over the accepted norms that have developed in my marriage?

I remember some of those times when the “what ifs?” were on my mind, and times when I imagined my husband asking himself similar questions. Some of those moments were scary.

But these daydreams turned out to be healthy, even if  unsettling. For eventually we talked. They provoked change, small steps that gently shifted established patterns or even major moves that altered life’s course.

These are speculations we can honor, whether enticing or scary, whether about intimacy, a job change or even global disaster, and when one day comfortable doing so, talk about them. Is that also possible in the realm of explicit, deceptively idealized  sexuality?

Is porn inevitably a destructive force? May it also bring important questions into the open? If a more nuanced discussion could be had, rather than unwavering judgment and blame assigned, might changes then be made to improve upon the reality, the fantasy world recognized as just that?

Or is that a fantasy?

She called to ask for the first available appointment because her husband, feeling guilty about an affair, was proposing a generous settlement. My silence told the story. I thought: don’t count on it, guilt fades fast. As if able to read my mind, she laughed, and I thought I heard a knowing sadness.

The first mediation session was scheduled for the next week. The husband’s culpability, unchallenged, was spoken of at our first encounter, and hung in the air each time we met. Yet he remained steadfast in his offer of substantial financial support for his wife, for many years to come.

When promises earlier made are broken, the betrayal becomes the focal point. It’s easy in those first days to be simplistic and blaming.

But with the passage of time, the breach, initially seen as the cause of the rift, is often recast as the effect of expectations unmet. Regrets unattended. Sometimes this is a reality perceived only by the actor, sometimes by both players.

As this shift from cause to effect evolves, the injured party may well get advice from family and friends to move forward quickly and take full advantage of their partner’s remorse. But experience has taught me that regret, or even the admission of fault, is a shaky foundation for lasting agreements.

I met alone with the husband wanting to assure myself that his decisions were well considered and would not crumble before pen was put to paper. I wondered aloud whether it was guilt or compassion that was motivating his largess?

His  response was a question: Does it matter? What’s wrong with feeling guilty and doing what I can to put those thoughts to rest? I know the reasons for our failure are not all of my doing. But this is less about looking back than about looking forward. I’m not atoning or even offering compensation. I want us both to get on with life. She’ll be secure, and I’ll feel better about myself. Leave it at that.

I was chastened.

Will he still feel he made good decisions some years hence? Impossible to know, but his values  prevailed, respected by me, prized by his wife.

Guilt has gotten a bad name in our feel good age, the sources to be analyzed and exorcised. Was I misguided in my cynical assumption that guilt, met with blame would ultimately fade, fuel anger, even retribution? When instead it motivates compassion and a recognition of shared human frailty, is that the exception that probes the rule?

I did not fully realize anger was in the room until they were walking out the door. A step ahead of her, looking away, his tone flat, he said: when are you moving out?

Throwaway lines. Spoken into the air as someone is walking away, off handed but ambiguous. Attention should be paid.

 I have friends, in a distant city, who divorced some years ago and are now contemplating remarriage, to each other.

And here’s a twist. John’s and Mary’s children very much want them to remarry, so with some new agreements, possibly even formalized in a legal document, that is likely what they will do.

If you clicked on this commentary expecting a ”visualize world peace“ proposal, wrong guess. I don’t suggest that by imagining winning a contest (of wills) the likelihood of victory is enhanced. Quite the opposite. Try to visualize obtaining a hard fought for result, either through tough bargaining or by convincing a Judge, and imagine the consequences that will flow from the victory.

In the effort to regain control during the chaotic times of our lives, getting the necessary help to refocus and contemplate the consequences of winning a battle, and not just the anticipation of painful losses, can point towards peaceful resolutions, and often significant gains.

“We just can’t talk.” The sad refrain of so many disappointed partners. And likely of others still struggling to ward off failure. Surely they talked early on, when first getting acquainted. But with greater familiarity, and perhaps an accumulation of minor or significant disappointments, some opt for saying nothing, if unable to find just the right words. Perhaps yearning to be authentic, but fearing further distance or hurt. Others talk non-stop but in accusatory mode, desperate for acknowledgment, but succeeding only in driving a partner further away.

Oddly, many report that once having made the decision to part, with the reduction in tension born of that resolve, ease of communication returns, but sadly only after all passion has flown. Is there something to be learned?

Friends of those still struggling to overcome the silences often suggest that partners try active listening, a determination to not interrupt, and then feeding back what has just been heard, as a way of regenerating communication. On an intellectual level, these are techniques that have always made good sense to me, even though my own success using them was abysmal. My mediation clients would often report that the feedback given was tinged with sarcasm or boredom, resentments too firmly established.

So, my interest was aroused when, some years ago, I read about the research of Dr. John Gottman, a psychologist at the University of Washington,(brought back to mind, as his work is written about extensively in Malcolm Gladwell’s fascinating “Blink”). He studied 130 newly married couples over a six year period, tracking how they handled disagreement. Many reported they tried active listening and feedback skills.

These couples were then compared to an older study in which successful marriages had been followed for 13 years. Dr. Gottman found that people who stayed together almost never used such listening techniques.

What the marriages that seemed to work had in common, according to Gottman, was that the husband was willing to be influenced by his wife, and I quote the good doctor who said: We found that only those newly-wed men who are accepting of influence from their wives are winding up in happy stable marriages.

Now, I am not so naive as to believe for one moment that this is all it takes, but I clipped this article, gave it to my husband, sent a copy to my daughter, and of course, to my sons.

Sometimes  it seems so clear to me that divorcing partners have virtually completed the mediation process, but the process does not end. Some relatively minor point becomes a major sticking point. Both parties become entrenched, unwilling to give in or compromise, even when the issue is minimal.

One might almost think that they do not want to finish and have their meetings end. These two people sitting on either end of my long couch usually have been a “couple” for a long time. There was a time when the relationship was everything they could have wished, full of promise. The dream faded and the promise was not kept. Most likely they lived with frustration and unhappiness for a good long while before making the wrenching decision to part.

However dysfunctional, this relationship is a known quantity. The future is full of frightening unknowns, the single life, financial insecurity, facing responsibilities alone that previously were shared, having to contemplate the dating scene, new sexual partners. Too much change to even imagine. Holding on to the present, however miserable allows one to hold the future at bay just a little longer. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know.

It’s hard to know how to help when I suspect that it is fear of the unknown future that is preventing closure. I can normalize, talk about other folks who have been similarly stuck, empathize and be patient, Eventually one or the other will break the logjam, perhaps suggest a compromise and get us moving again and then in no time simple agreements are made.

What is most important is not to allow these minor sticking points to cause a full-blown retreat. The test of my skill is to keep everyone coming back to the table even when, in frustration, the threat may be made to resort to litigation. This is one of those moments when to go slow is to go fast.

It is not unusual for some of those entering the divorce mediation process to question whether it can work, because they so distrust the other party.

As an intimate relationship ends, the breakdown of trust is almost inevitable. A spouse formerly so well known becomes a stranger. It can be terrifying. The intimacy vacuum created is quickly filled with anxiety. Then all that is needed is a spark, a canceled credit card, a letter from an attorney or the closing of an account without consultation. Any residual trust vanishes.

The offended party asks: How can I possibly work with this person? Perhaps I have to hire a gladiator to protect myself.

A reasonable question that requires a reasonable answer.

To those who have survived this stage without declaring war, born of their fear, and have found their way into a mediation setting or have hired lawyers who seek to collaborate and meet the interests of both parties, this is what I would say: Let’s just assume that your spouse is untrustworthy. This is your current perspective. You may be wrong but you may be right. So, why not simply accept his/her untrustworthiness as a reality and design a settlement that doesn’t depend on trust. Assert the power you have to say no to anything proposed until you are ready to say yes, to see the documentation for every fact alleged, to test conclusions with the involvement of appropriate experts, to make no decisions until they are fully informed decisions.

In marriage we expect trust, a global trust that we will always be told the truth and emotionally supported. That perfection may not always exist, but it is a legitimate goal.

In divorce we may have to give it up. A new trusting relationship may well be established, incrementally, but until it is, a “show me” attitude is completely appropriate.

While I’m always pleased to hear my mediation clients articulate the goal of a fair outcome, I rarely let the statement go by without a note of caution.Two individuals have agreed to share a process. While no doubt some of their values converge, there are likely many values they do not share. I tell them that in the mediation process, we will not strive to change that.

My expectation is that their perceptions of past events will also differ. While their perceptions may well factor into the decisions they are willing to make and so are of importance, coming to some meeting of the minds about what actually happened in the past, some empirical truth being proven, is neither likely to happen nor of importance to their reaching workable solutions for the problems at hand.

I urge the adoption of a flea market mentality. Finding an item you wish to purchase, you ask the dealer “how much?” And when the response is “twenty dollars”, you don’t say “but that’s not fair”. You might offer to pay ten dollars and later settle for fifteen, but the deal is not struck by arguing the fairness of the price, but by reaching an acceptable one.

So too do I urge my mediating parties. Do not try to convince someone whose values or perceptions may differ from your own to agree with your sense of fairness. Seek instead an outcome that is acceptable to you, that meets your interests and that sufficiently meets the interests of your bargaining partner, so a deal can be struck.

Understanding those interests, your own and those of your counterpart, both short term and long term, becomes the key to success. And to get there, asking questions in a non-blaming, non-accusatory way can elicit the information that will bring valuable bargaining chips to the table.

Fairness must exist in the process, each side fully heard and fully informed, but as a criterion for evaluating the outcome, it is an ever-elusive goal, best forgotten.