A recent conversation between a couple in conflict provided an interesting metaphor about emotional safety as a prerequisite for clear, consistent, vulnerable communication.
The argument emerged out of a tendency of the male partner to emotionally withdraw when experiencing any vulnerable feeling in relation to his partner. This looked like going quiet, being more standoffish, and not offering up much in terms of thoughts and impressions (something he liked to do when feeling better).
When he would feel worried about the relationship, hurt, insecure, embarrassed, disappointed etc., he would retreat within himself and work to resolve the emotions alone, fearing that bringing them up when they first emerge could lead to invalidation, criticism, more hurt feelings, or even humiliation.
And it would be great if I could say that his fears were entirely unfounded. But this man, like most of us, has experienced just that very thing when bringing up vulnerable emotions, even to a generally trusted loved one. I would bet my life savings we've all been on both sides of this problem at some point.
In this case though, like many, this man's stone faced distancing left his partner feeling anxious, hurt, and abandoned. The intensity of her feelings would lead her to pursue him for reassurance and comfort. But her bids for reassurance and closeness often seemed to him like frustrated criticism or angry insults. The further silence and running away that would follow felt unfeeling, uncaring, and even cruel to her. The cycle was as painful as it was predictable.
The following is a slightly paraphrased segment of their conversation:
Man: You don't seem to realize when you're saying hurtful things to me. I don't want to open up to you if I think you're going to just hurt me worse. I'm not bullet proof.
Woman: You never show any emotion. I never know what you're really thinking or feeling. You seem bullet proof so why not shoot at you? Maybe you'll show me some emotion.
Man: I'm not bulletproof. I wear a bulletproof vest, just in case. But why in the world would I take it off if I'm not sure whether or not you'll start shooting again?
Since, unlike real vests, emotional Kevlar is not so obvious, it's easy to take for granted that it is always on or that the wearer is actually impervious to our bullets. But in making this assumption, we may be unwittingly ensuring they never feel comfortable removing it.
By showing ourselves holstering or unloading our guns (perhaps even locking them away for a time) we are much more likely to persuade the wearer to give us access to the softness and warmth underneath. Ultimately, the other must brave the risk of that vulnerability, and all it's discomfort, to achieve greater connection, but understanding the role our assumption of invincibility plays in their protective withdrawal is a great place to begin encouraging the change we'd most like to see.
If we want them to take of the bulletproof vest, we have to stop testing it.
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