Morse Code Marriage

Morse Code Marriage

Signals Received. Words Pending.

There are many sophisticated ways adults can communicate with one another.

Words, for example. Words are excellent.

We have spent thousands of years developing language. We have nouns. Verbs. Adjectives. Entire dictionaries filled with useful phrases such as:

I’m upset.

Can we talk?

That bothered me.

I wanted something different.

I’m going to need a little time, but I want to talk about this later.

All excellent choices. And yet sometimes, despite having access to this extraordinary linguistic inheritance, grown adults decide:

Nah. I’m going to sigh loudly and bang a cabinet.

Welcome to Morse Code Marriage. Maybe you’ve encountered it.

There’s the Exaggerated Sigh.

The Cabinet Shut With Slightly More Force Than Necessary.

The Heavy Footsteps.

The Meaningful Look.

The Dramatic Arm Gesture.

The classic: “What’s wrong?”    “Nothing.”

And apparently, if all traditional forms of nonverbal communication fail, there is always the household electrical system.

Flick.

Flick flick.

Message received.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what it says. For years, I didn’t realize how quickly another person’s mood could become an assignment for me.

If someone I loved seemed unhappy, my brain went to work.

What’s wrong?

Was it something I did?

Was it something I said?

Should I go ask?

Should I explain myself?

Should I apologize?

Should I change what I’m doing?

How do I get everything back to okay?

And if I asked and received some version of “I don’t want to talk about it,” my brain didn’t clock out.

Oh no.

Apparently Detective Me had been assigned the night shift. I would replay conversations. Search for clues. Remember something said at dinner. Wonder whether a facial expression meant something. Construct theories. Reject theories. Reconstruct theories.

Meanwhile, the other person could go about his evening. I was doing enough emotional labor for both of us.

And then, recently, something embarrassingly obvious occurred to me:

I had received a signal.

I had not received information.

Those are not the same thing. I can recognize that someone is upset without knowing why. I can notice someone’s emotional weather without being responsible for changing it. And—this one took me a while—

someone being unhappy with me does not automatically create an assignment for me.

Damn.

That one hit.

Because I had confused caring about someone’s feelings with being responsible for managing them.

They’re not the same.

Caring says:

I see that you’re upset. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen.

Managing says:

You’re upset, so now I need to figure out why, decide whether I caused it, determine what you need, and somehow restore you to an acceptable emotional temperature so that I can relax again.

One is love. The other is exhausting. And somewhere along the way, if you do enough emotional management, you can start editing yourself before the other person even asks.

Maybe you don’t order what you actually want because something else will make someone happier.

Maybe you don’t suggest the activity because you already know what the reaction will be.

Maybe you don’t buy the thing.

Go to the class.

See the friend.

Say the thing.

You become very good at predicting someone else’s emotional weather. So good, in fact, that you start dressing for storms that haven’t even happened yet.

And here’s another sentence I’ve been learning:

I can have a preference even if somebody else doesn’t like my preference.

That sounds ridiculously simple. Of course I can. But there’s knowing something intellectually, and then there’s standing in the middle of your actual life and saying:

This is what I like.

Without immediately following it with a defense.

Without presenting supporting documentation.

Without checking the emotional barometer.

Without trying to make your preference more convenient for everybody else.

Just:

This is what I like.

There’s something wonderfully freeing about that. And none of this means I want to stop considering the people I love. Quite the opposite.

Relationships require consideration.

Sometimes I choose what you like because seeing you happy makes me happy.

Sometimes you come to my thing.

Sometimes I go to yours.

Sometimes we compromise.

Sometimes money really is tight and neither of us gets the damn filet.

That’s life.

But I’ve realized something else:

Reciprocity isn’t mutual appeasement. It’s mutual consideration.

I don’t want someone else walking on eggshells around me because I’ve spent years walking on eggshells around them. I don’t want my turn to be appeased. I want something much simpler.

I want to be met.

Meet me in the easy conversations.

Meet me when we’re laughing.

Meet me when we’re planning something fun.

But also:

Meet me in the difficult conversation.

Tell me you’re angry.

Tell me you’re disappointed.

Tell me you wanted something from me that I didn’t give.

Tell me you disagree.

Tell me you need an hour before you’re ready to talk.

I can handle words that are difficult. What I don’t want to do anymore is chase after someone else’s silence trying to drag the words out. I don’t want to spend the night decoding sighs, footsteps, cabinet doors and facial expressions. I don’t want to become smaller in an attempt to keep somebody else’s emotional weather pleasant.

And I don’t want to mistake someone else’s displeasure for instructions.

So I’m trying something different.

I notice.

I care.

And then I wait for words.

If there’s something we need to discuss, meet me.

I’ll listen.

I’ll bring my words too.

Maybe we’ll disagree.

Maybe one of us will realize we were wrong.

Maybe neither of us will.

But at least we’ll both be standing in the same conversation.

Because I’ve finally realized that another person’s unhappiness isn’t necessarily a problem I’m supposed to solve.

Sometimes it’s simply a feeling they’re having.

And they’re an adult.

They can bring it to me.

With words.

Preferably words.

Seriously.

Please leave the fucking light switch alone.