Over the next several weeks, John and Jane visited the counselor regularly, once per week. The problem they confronted and recovered from during each session worked in fit and starts. They could finish each other’s sentences; they could anticipate each other’s reactions and in most cases, recite very clearly similar events in their past but there were issues between them that they hesitated to give voice to.
- Issues about finances.
- Issues about time management
- Issues about motivation
- Issues about loyalty
- Issues about happiness.
However, it wasn’t until the counselor looked at them both and said “I want to ask you a question and I want you both to really consider it before you answer. Do you want to be married?”
John’s answer was automatic and Jane’s answer was not.
“Right now or in general?” Jane asked to qualify the question and doing her best to not look at John’s expression.
“Either one,” the counselor leaned forward slightly, her pencil poised on the notepad.
“I like being married most of the time. But sometimes I think it would be easier if we weren’t – a lot of our problems aren’t because we don’t love each other – it’s because we are having a hard time living with each other.”
John frowned and then looked at Jane oddly. “But we lived together for years before we got married.”
“I know.” She replied.
“And you don’t like living together now?”
“No – it’s just harder.”
“How is it harder?” The counselor interjected.
“We never dated – not really. We met – we really liked each other – we became friends, we moved in and we were friends living together and then we fell in love and we got married.”
“We dated.” John protested.
“Going out with our friends is not dating. Going out with family is not dating. We never did any of the things where you picked me up and took me out and we spent quality time together.”
“We still dated.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Yes, we did.”
“No. We didn’t.”
“Yes, we -”
“I’m going to stop you both right there.” The counselor held up her hand. “First things first – can you both accept that there can be two versions of the truth?”
They stared at her, perplexed. Truth is truth, right?
“John – in your opinion – you and Jane dated. That’s the memory you have. For Jane, you did not. You are remembering the same events, but you each have a different perspective.”
Slowly, both John and Jane nodded their head.
“Now, wouldn’t you like to ask Jane if dating was important – how can you help her achieve that desired goal now?”
So, John asked the question and Jane frowned. She started to answer with an I don’t know until a thought occurred to her. “I want to feel special – I need you to treat me like you would if you were trying to earn my attention, my favor – I guess that sounds stupid.”
“No,” John said before the counselor could say anything. “You are special – I do want you to pay attention to me – tell me how I can do that.”
“I don’t want to have to draw you a road map.”
“Not a road map – some ideas – things you would like to see me do.”
“I liked it when you used to bring me flowers – for no reason. I liked it when you’d bring home a book out of no where – just because you thought I would like it. I’d like to feel that appreciated again.”
“So you want gifts?”
“Not just gifts – to know you were really thinking about me – and not what we need from the store or for the house or for errands or for the kids – but just me. It’s like when I get up in the morning and I fix you breakfast, I know you like that – it makes you smile everytime and I like making you smile – I want you to like making me smile.”
“I do like making you smile.”
This was an important day for John and Jane – they connected and listened to each other. They heard what the other had to say and they made a pact. Courtship sounds very traditional, but Jane didn’t feel like she’d ever been courted or romanced in the traditional sense. John didn’t like thinking Jane felt that way. So he made a plan. The counselor also gave them some homework – it was time for them to practice some appreciation exercises.