By now, most people are at least aware of the concept of "Love Languages." It's the idea that each person values something as the most important component of a relationship, so they will try to provide it for their partner. People who value financial security and/or gift giving will work extra hours in order to give expensive gifts. But, if their partner values time spent together, they will be disappointed that their partner chooses to stay longer than necessary at work instead of come home to them, and they will view gifts as a failed attempt to "buy" their affection.
I was truly unaware that there are so many other instances in which the idea people think they're presenting is not what others see or hear - ordinary instances of everyday words or actions. I'm still often taken by surprise - when someone tells me that my definition of the word "evolution" is the "wrong" definition, for instance. (I mean, I always figured that the dictionary had the final say on what words mean. Now, people tell me that "popular usage" is the most important thing, but that changes extremely frequently, by location, etc. That's almost like having no definition at all.)
It makes living with other humans, even in a community, much less in a shared home, difficult.
Allow me to demonstrate with an argument about: steak. Sincerely; bear with me.
I've mentioned before that when I was a newlywed, my husband had a really hard time with the way I prepared food.
"I was now having flashbacks to instance after instance in which my husband and I had been on completely separate pages. When we first got married, for instance, how I ate and/or cooked my food could send him into a tailspin. I remembered him insisting, completely distraught, "You cannot go on eating your sandwiches that way!" What? It was my sandwich, and I liked it. When I would tell him that, he would huff and roll his eyes, or worse, tell me, "That's irrelevant." How could the way I liked my sandwiches be irrelevant to me? I wasn't making his sandwiches that way and asking him to eat them, I was just feeding myself. Does not compute!
(His beef with my sandwiches, in case you wondered, is that I put only butter and cheese on my grilled cheese. "They have no taste!")" "The Right Way," July 2013)
I found it bizarre and unfathomable. If I'd insisted on making his food the way I liked it, I'd understand, but this was my own food.
My husband loves steak. If he could have only one meal, for the rest of his life, it would be steak and eggs, medium rare, over easy, with wheat toast.
Quite often, the way he cooks his steak looks, to me, like there's nothing "medium" about it, and it's straight up rare. I do not like rare meat, even medium rare meat. I don't need it to be all the way to "well done," but I can't stand it raw looking or tasting. This really disturbed my husband. Not puzzled, but sincerely upset him.
He kept trying to get me to "just try it" his way, and I kept repeating that I had tried it, and that's how I know that I don't like it. Then one day he said, "You just haven't ever had a really good cut of meat, properly prepared." Well, OK, maybe there was something to that. Money was tight when I was growing up; expensive cuts of meat were not on the menu. So, my husband went shopping, bought (ridiculously expensive) steaks, and cooked them, and proudly served me dinner. "You'll see," he said.
He was so delighted with his dinner. "Isn't this great?" he kept saying. "So tender! Doesn't it just melt in your mouth?"
NO. It did not "melt" in my mouth. It was not "tender." It was like chewing rubber bands - the chewing did not actually change the size, shape, or texture of the meat. My teeth just kind of bounced off of it. And the longer I chewed, the more it seemed that the meat actually absorbed my saliva, and got larger and larger. This might be OK if I just loved the taste, but I didn't. It tasted bloody, like when you've just had dental work, or accidentally bite yourself. It was barely edible. I knew this from previous experience, but this was particularly bad, as he'd left it so rare that I expected it to still moo.
I tried to respond without hurting his feelings, but finally said, "I just can't eat this. It's barely even cooked." I got up and tossed it back on the pan. When it was done, I happily ate the whole thing, and complimented his seasoning and choice of steak. "That was really good."
"Yes, it was good - and then you ruined it."
Well, I expected a bit of a huff, since he felt that I'd criticized his cooking.
I also expected that to be the final word. We were done now, I was sure. We'd tested every hypothesis, and I just do not like rare meat. Now we could quit discussing it.
But we, apparently, could not. If anything, he wanted more discussion, and he got more and more agitated.
I'd order my meat medium well at restaurants, and he'd say, "You're offending the chef. They don't like it when people want the meat well done."
I resisted the urge to say, "Oh, now you're psychic?" but said, "He's getting paid the same, no matter how I want it. He doesn't care. Besides, I didn't ask for well done. I asked for medium well."
"The chefs hate that. And they don't give you the good cuts then. They give you the old stuff or the tough stuff that other people won't eat."
"So, they'll be happy I'm using up their surplus, and paying the same as you are. And I'll be happy, too." I could not imagine that there could be a down side to this.
He did not see it this way. He was sure that I was being "rude" by ordering my food the way that I liked it; I could not imagine how that was possible.
I took to ordering chicken; I was informed that this, too, was "offensive." "You should always order the specialty of the house. The chef hates it when people come to a steakhouse and order chicken."
Me: "So, the chef will be angry if you order literally half of what's on the menu? Why does he work here? And how do you psychically know what he's thinking?"
Him: "Because that's what most people think."
Me: "WHAT?" Now he can read the mind of not only the chef, but "most" of the population? And I still didn't know, even if he could, why they got to choose my meals. I wasn't choosing theirs!
At home, I took care to cook his steak the way he liked it. Mine, of course, I cooked the way I like it. I was sure that my husband would be happy that I was being considerate enough to remember what he liked, and make it for him. I felt like a very attentive wife. I was therefore very puzzled when he was not happy, and did not consider this behavior to be considerate, but instead insisted that I was being self centered. "How can giving you what you like possibly self centered?" I wanted to know.
"Because you know how to do it right, and insist on doing it wrong."
"'Right' is however a person likes it!"
"Most people like their beef on the rare side."
"I am not cooking for 'most people!' I am cooking for specific individuals, not random passers by! And I am making sure that each person gets what they like, not what strangers might want!"
It made no sense at all to me.
I also could not understand why this was a big deal. Statistically, we were supposed to be arguing about money, sex, in-laws, chores, child rearing - and we're stuck on food. FOOD.
After literally years of this, I finally discovered a few things that finally shed some light.
One, my husband did not see this as a disagreement or a misunderstanding. He was positive that I knew exactly what he meant, and why, and my insistence on making my own food outside of what he considered to be the norm was a posturing attempt to dominate, control, and assert that I was the Alpha in the relationship. Holy cow. I never would have gotten that interpretation, not in a million years. I did, however, think that his behavior was controlling. (I mean, who tells people how they should like their food? Also, I think that if you have an Alpha in the relationship, it's unhealthy.)
Two, he was sure that if you disagreed with someone (about anything, really), you thought, and were saying, that they were stupid. ("If you thought they were smart, you'd agree with them.") He therefore felt criticized and judged - ironically, exactly how I felt.
Three, he was sure that there was only one best way to do anything, and that people should be concerned with doing anything "right," so individual tastes were irrelevant. Saying, "Bob likes it this way, but Susie likes it that way" was the same as saying, "We're doing a really mediocre job, and encouraging chaos and selfishness." It didn't matter how you liked it, it mattered what was right. And if you liked things the wrong way, you should be embarrassed, and should stop doing it wrong, no matter how you felt. Who wants to be wrong? And if you point out to someone that they're wrong, you're being helpful.
Wow. This was not how I was raised:
"I grew up hearing, "There's more than one way to skin a cat," and, "All roads lead to Rome," being told over and over that there was always more than one way to accomplish any goal... The idea that there was only one "right" way to do anything was not part of my daily reality." ("The Right Way")
This was not a matter of morals or physics, and therefore, to my mind, there was no possible way to be "wrong."
Four, the fact that I kept using the word "I" confirmed to him that I thought my opinion was the only thing that mattered, and I was therefore, by definition, being selfish and self centered. When I said, "I like it this way," he heard, "I do not ever need to consider anyone but myself."
On the other hand, I had studied communication in school. Plus, I'd approached marriage the same way I approached anything, by reading voluminous amounts. I knew that making "I" statements is what psychologists and relationship experts advise. It tells your partner what you're thinking and what you need, and avoids inflammatory, blame placing statements like, "You make me so mad."
Five, he thought that he was being a considerate partner by looking beyond what I was saying to try to figure out what I "really meant." He also thought that being vague avoided putting people on the spot, or hurting feelings. I thought that I was being a considerate partner, and avoiding misunderstanding, by being clear and literal, and taking what he said at face value. I thought that he'd appreciate my lack of game playing, and avoiding infuriating behaviors like, "If you loved me, you'd know why I'm upset." I find vagueness infuriating and unhelpful.
And you can be sure, all of this affected far more than our discussions about steak.
Holy. Cow.
So, now knowing these things, are we living in perfect harmony? HA HA! You're so cute! No. But understanding is indeed the first step.
What we try to do is consider our partner's style. It's not a case of, "I'm right, you're wrong." Intent is important.
He has to try to remember take what I say at face value, without looking for ulterior motives. I have to try to remember that he may not actually be saying everything that he wants me to know.
Of course, he still thinks that the way I like my steak is weird. I think it's weird that the way I like my steak concerns him. But we've learned how to avoid arguing about it.
You know when you hear that someone's getting a divorce, and one partner says, "I was completely blindsided. I had no idea my spouse was unhappy," and the other says, "My spouse knows perfectly well why we're divorcing! S/he knows that I'm unhappy, and that I've been this way for a long time! This cannot be a surprise!" I understand now how that happens.
What you think you're saying may not be what other people are hearing.
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