| Like clockwork, it seems to happen at about the three-month mark. Things are chugging along nicely, sex is fantastic, toothbrushes have been confidently left at each other's homes. Perhaps you've even uttered the "L" word. You've most definitely hinted at it with your friends. "I think this is the guy," you've muttered excitedly, but under your breath, through slightly clenched teeth, as if stating it out loud will somehow jinx it.
Then it happens. Some – usually – insignificant event bursts your seemingly perfect bubble. For a friend of mine recently it was when her guy took a slightly too-keen interest in a colleague of hers. She was having an "ugly" day and feeling insecure. His comment about this other woman pushed her buttons and started a chain reaction. He freaked. She freaked that he freaked. One of them stormed out. The bubble was burst.
They had now entered what I call "the transition phase" – that awkward, scary and confusing point in a relationship when you have to move it from the "Oh my God, it's so amazing, you should see him breathe, he's so good at it!" phase into the "Oh my God, am I completely deluding myself? I thought he was different but he's just like the rest of them" phase. Of course, this often dovetails into the "Oh my God, why can't I make a relationship work? What's wrong with me?" self-pity phase.
With almost shocking speed, the wonderfully blissful state of googly-eyed lust is shattered. The honeymoon's over and it's time to start unpacking the baggage.
As far as I’m concerned, this is the phase that makes or breaks it. When you start to explore each other's soft, white underbelly. When you discover you both have needs you may not understand, insecurities you might not like, and you have to sort through the whack of crap you've hauled in with you from all your previous relationships. One wrong move here can send both parties into a panic and throw the entire relationship into question.
Immediately, my friend is wondering: "How can he not understand why his comment would bother me? Am I not beautiful enough? How does he really feel about me? Is he really just a big insensitive lout?" And her guy is thinking, "Oh my God, I can't say anything without her overreacting. She's going to drown me in her needs. I can't give her what she wants."
His reaction makes her feel vulnerable and exposed. She revealed a soft spot and he poked it a little too hard. Did this mean she can’t ever allow herself to be vulnerable around him? And he's just thinking it's all too complicated.
Now this one little comment is suddenly deciding their future.
That's because it taps into the unknown. The territory beyond the initial public relations campaign when you're both on your best behaviour. Doubts are triggered. Perceptions thrown into question. You discover that perhaps love actually isn't going to be the only thing that will keep it together.
It was so much easier when both parties could do no wrong, wasn't it? Now you have to figure out how to talk to each other about the emotional stuff. Get to know each other beyond the "Wow, I like going out for dinner, too!" phase. Dislike things about each other. It's hard and scary.
Which is why, at this point, I usually freak out and start looking for things to prove whether he's capable of going the distance. And he's freaking because this fun-loving, seemingly sane-when-he-met-her person has suddenly turned into a maniacal bundle of unmet needs and demands.
My current guy was different. When I started freaking out, he just sat back and waited, assuring me he wasn't against me, that he wasn't the enemy and that while a situation may feel to me "just like every other time I've been betrayed/hurt/lied to/dragged through the mud," he was actually a whole new person who wouldn't necessarily be doing things the same way.
He wore me down. I calmed down and gave in. I stopped blaming him and the relationship for all my fears and insecurities. And I found myself able to forgive a lot about him as a result. I learned to compromise. I even started to, gulp, trust him.
Now when we misinterpret each other or when I feel like he's not meeting my needs, I only sulk for a minute or 10, then I take a deep breath and instead of freaking out, I try to take responsibility for my feelings and reactions and attempt to get to the bottom of them. If we're both feeling too emotional to get there calmly, we retreat to our corners until we can come out and play fair. Then one of us usually cracks a joke about it all and we move on.
We survived the transition phase. I learned that if I didn't like something about him, or if I didn't like certain reactions, it didn’t mean he wasn't right for me. I learned that uncertainty during the transition phase is normal – it’s how you handle this uncertainty that’s crucial to the survival of the relationship.
That, while, yes, it is important to express yourself and be honest and all that crap, at this volatile stage (and quite frankly at all stages of a relationship), it is often better to hold back that initial need to blurt out all your fear and hurt and take time to regroup and figure out what's really going on and how you might communicate it without pushing each other's buttons.
Because if you can survive the transition stage, there's a whole new stage that is even better than that lusty, googly-eyed stage we are all so fearful of losing – true intimacy. When you can relax a little and every conflict or problem doesn't have you questioning the entire relationship. When you know the freaky bits and you still like the person. And you can caress each other's soft underbelly. |
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