The Four Agreements in Marriage

As a homework assignment for my recent girl’s weekend, I was asked to read The Four Agreements. I was fully willing, but somewhat skeptical, since as the only child of a counselor, I was raised on a steady diet of self-help. I think I overdosed.

After the first few pages, my skepticism was replaced with excitement and understanding. This was one book that made sense to me.

The premise is simple: four agreements that, if followed, will change your life. The book is short and the agreements are extremely simple but nowhere near easy. They are applicable to every area of life and manage to be general and still useful all at once. They are interconnected; one always leads to another.

As part of my own work with The Four Agreements, I am drilling down and applying them to various areas of life. Here is my take on The Four Agreements in marriage:

Be Impeccable With Your Word

In essence, this agreement is your promise to say what you mean and to avoid speaking against yourself or others in fear, pain or blame. In a marriage, this means to refrain from using words such as “always” or “never” when referring to your partner’s actions. The agreement suggests that speaking in blame is not being impeccable since the underlying motivation does not match the message. When speaking to others about your spouse, avoid endless complaining, as this only serves to reinforce those beliefs. Also, avoid speaking against yourself, saying words that diminish your value and worth.

I am working on this agreement in my current relationship. When I get frustrated, I find myself running an internal (sometimes it slips out!) dialog cataloging his wrongs and missteps. Or, I berate myself endlessly for my role in some screw up. To be impeccable, however, is to speak in love and kindness, forgiving both he and I in the interest of a better relationship. To help with this, whenever I am frustrated with him, I intentionally catalog his gifts and blessings or my own, if I am speaking against myself. In this way, the words and the intent match.

Don’t Take it Personally

No spouse enters into a marriage as a blank slate. They have a lifetime of hurts and fears that they carry with them. Any reaction they have is filtered through their unique experiences and views. It is so easy to react to every word or action as being directed to you, but the reality is that they are operating from their own place. You are not the center of their world; they are. It’s strange, it’s easy for us to identify the multitude of factors that influence our own thoughts yet we seem to think that our partners somehow don’t posses that complexity. When you feel attacked by your partner, don’t take it personally. Try not to be defensive by realizing that they are projecting their own fears and wounds. If you can remain open, it is possible to work down to the root cause of the verbal strike.

I’ve shared my struggle with this issue with Brock. I am learning not to take it personally when he needs distance; it is not about me. Likewise, he does not take it personally when I need time alone to decompress and recharge.

Taking things personally has been my biggest challenge of all of these. As life so often does, it is making sure that I get repeated lessons here. By choosing to share my writing (and my life) publicly, I have been the target of many attacks. I have come to learn that when someone (especially a stranger) is so threatened or incensed by my words, that they are really a trigger of some other event in their life. It’s not about me.

Don’t Make Assumptions

My 8th grade social studies teacher had the following bumper sticker posted on his board: “Never assume because all you do is make an ass out of u and me.” I’ve never forgotten that message, although, like all of the agreements, it is easier said than done:)

In a marriage, assumptions allow us to feel judged and can keep us in a victim role (not exactly an attractive trait in a partner). It’s easy to assume you know your partner’s motivations and to assume that they understand yours. Before you respond, ask. Find out their perspective. And then listen. The worst part of assumptions is that they prevent us from really listening to our partners. It’s amazing how much your attitude can be transformed once you release assumptions and become open to possibilities.

I find at times that I will predict Brock’s response to something before I even bring it up. Then, I respond to these assumptions, at times getting upset before I’ve ever given him a chance. Crazy, right? But does it sound familiar?

Do Your Best

One of my favorite aspects of yoga training is that you are encouraged to do your best on that day; it recognizes that “best” is subjective and movable. In a marriage, be gentle yet firm with yourself. Expect your best and accept where you are in that moment. Recognize that your spouse is doing his or her best, even when it may not feel that way. Part of doing your best is to do things for your spouse without any expectations. You do your best for you, not for recognition.

This is an area where Brock has really helped me. I used to be too hard on myself and not forgiving of periods of anger or sadness. He helped me accept that I was doing what I could at that moment and that the moment would eventually pass.

So, don’t take it personally, but do your best to check out the book (don’t assume you know what it says) and see if I’ve been impeccable with my word:)

Next up, the four agreements in divorce (that’s gonna be fun!) and in health/wellness. Okay, maybe I’m a little obsessed at the moment:)

The Day the Marriage Died

Up until now, everything I have posted has been recently written, almost 3 years since the end of my marriage.  I recently went back and visited some of my earlier writings, drafted in the weeks and months after he left.  I’ve decided to share some of that, to expose the raw underbelly of divorce.  Please be aware that this writing has a different tone.  The emotions and language are harsh as they capture my reaction on the day the marriage died.

Choosing: painting by first husband, George Fr...

Wellness is not measured by the amount of broccoli you eat or the number of miles you can run.  It is not found in the number of punches on your yoga membership card or the double digits of your sit-up count.  Wellness is not indicated by the reading of the blood pressure cuff or the size indicated on the label of your jeans.

I used to think I was well; I had all of the above mastered.  My lean, muscled body spoke of the intense workouts it was subjected to along with the strict vegetarian diet that was used to fuel the exercise sessions.  I awoke before dawn to ensure that I could fit a workout into my hectic schedule as a middle school teacher.  I fit long runs in on open evenings or on the weekends.  I watched everything I ate, avoiding meat and keeping a careful eye on the amount of fat consumed.  My favorite way to spend the weekends was working in my extensive garden or going on long hikes in the nearby North Georgia mountains.

I used to think I was well.  But, I wasn’t.  All it took to strip away all of physical manifestations of health was a few short sentences.  A text, sent across the country on a sunny Saturday afternoon, arriving unexpectedly on my phone.

July 11, 2009  12:38 p.m.

I’m sorry to be such a coward leaving you this way.  I am leaving. Please reach out to someone let the dogs out as I am leaving the state.  The code for the garage is 5914.  I’m truly sorry but I can’t do this anymore.   Please give me some time to come to terms with my decision.  I will call you in a few days.  I am sorry that I have failed you.

Lesson One

When two become ones, you are able to see yourself clearly.

Fear gripped.  Legs collapsed.  Brain stuttered.  Lungs heaved. Gut clenched. Body trembled.  World shattered.  Visceral.  Violent.

My father’s arms engulfed me as I lay shaking on the floor, my body and brain rebelling from my new reality.

“What can I do for you?  Do you want me to call mom?” my dad offered, seeking for a way to comfort his only child.

“Yes, please,” I responded, forcing the words out through my locked lungs.

He reluctantly left me in a heap on the hallway floor in my aunt and uncle’s house as he moved to the dining room to make the call to my mother in Texas, whom he had divorced decades earlier.

My brain barely registered his soft, yet strained voice in conversation several feet away from me.  My hands gripped my phone with urgency, willing it to send another message.  Wanting this to be a mistake.  A joke.  Anything but real.  A little anger pushed through the initial shock, enough for me to summon the courage to flip open the phone, using muscle memory trained over years to scroll down twelve names to Mr. T, the nickname he used to put himself in the phone he bought for me years before.

“Hello.  You’ve reached T of MMS.  I cannot come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as possible.”

I took a deep breath and left a message, almost unintelligible through my tears, my shaking, and my heaving chest.

“T.  I don’t understand.  What is this?  A text message?  Sixteen years and a text message? Please don’t do this.  Not like this.  Call me.  Please.”

I closed the phone, severing the connection.

It sat there silent.  Taunting me.  I opened it again, this time to send a text message.

What about the dogs?  Are the dogs okay?  Call me.

It remained silent, the screen dark.

How It Began

My own divorce story began in 2009 when I received a surprise text after 10 years of marriage that my husband was leaving.  That text was the last contact I ever had from him.  Over the next few weeks and months, I struggled to make sense of what happened.  It turned out that the reality was even stranger and more horrific than I could have ever imagined.  I found evidence of years of lies and deception, found empty bank accounts and overfilled unknown credit cards, and I saw evidence of another woman.  Further sleuthing uncovered the shocking revelation that he married this other woman 6 days after he left me, thus committing felony bigamy.  I found myself catapulted into a world of police, lawyers, psychiatrists, and media, trying to find my bearings.  One of the worst aspects of those early days was the feeling that he had stolen my voice my refusing to communicate with me.  I will be silent no more.

My marriage began with vows, vows to love and cherish him.  My marriage also ended with vows, vows made to myself.  I promised to thrive despite the pain, I committed to working to find balance in my life, I vowed to move beyond anger and revenge, and I pledged to use my voice to help others find wellness after trauma.

I have learned many lessons from the end of my marriage, and I am still learning.

You can read my entire story in my book Lessons From the End of a Marriage, available on Amazon.

The Day the Marriage Died

Where is He Now?

The First Tears of the New Year

When is a Phone More Than a Phone?

Wanted: The Ronald McDonald House for the Recently Separated

Dear Ms. Manners: The etiquette of Bigamy

If You’re Going to Get married Illegally, Be Sure to Pay the Band

Two Years Ago Today