Staying together: 18 tips for a thriving relationship

We've come a long way. What I thought would be a summer fling has grown into an 18-year (and counting) relationship.

Forrest and Laura, by artist friend
Teresa Waclawik, after visiting
us in Seattle, 1999.

He was young. A musician. I was divorced. Starting over.

I lived on the Canadian west coast. He was leaving Washington's Olympic Peninsula to return to the deep southeast, where he's from. By motorcycle.

He stayed at my place for Music West, Vancouver's then music conference and festival. We were two ships passing that weekend. But over dinner that last night, something clicked. He ran. I hid.

We saw each other a few more times before he crossed the country. Then we emailed. We hand-wrote letters. We had long conversations. We visited. For a year-and-a-half, we grew closer even in our distance. Then we landed in Seattle.

Forrest and Laura, May 18, 2014
at Willows Inn on Lummi Island.
Celebrating 18 years. 

That fateful dinner was the beginning of an adventure. Because we don't have a wedding date, we attribute May 18 as the day we set our intention to stay together.

I've read countless times that you won't always like or even love your partner, and it's true. While it isn't always easy, if you can weather the storms, the rewards are worth it.

Here's my list of 18 lessons learned - one for every year but in no particular order - to create an enduring relationship.

1. Laugh. Any way you can, as much as you can. Have fun. Be silly. Don't be afraid to look goofy. Then the difficult times become almost funny, as long as you're laughing together.
2. Get over yourself. Sure, we all want to be right. And, we all have filters that get projected onto our partners. Cliche' though it may be, recognize when you point a finger at your partner, there are four pointing back at you. Ask what's more important, being right or the relationship. 
3. Don't make assumptions. We created an "ass check" - a lighthearted way to check in with the other if one of us might be assuming something. The ass check also supports 1 & 2 above.
4. Chill. Another cliche', but don't sweat the small stuff. If 'improperly' squeezing the toothpaste tube is more than a minor annoyance, it might be a sign there's more going on under the surface.
5. Argue. Sometimes it's necessary. I used to think that disaster was upon us if we had a fight. But you're two different people and you're never going to agree on everything. Step away if it gets too heated, but be clear when you'll be back. And see #1 above; nothing diffuses an argument quicker than laughter. Inside jokes help; they both make you laugh and build intimacy.
   
6. Own your stuff. I am responsible for my emotions and actions. How he feels is his responsibility. Period. 
7. Talk. Even when it's uncomfortable. In fact, especially when it's uncomfortable. Be direct. Share feelings. Our partners aren't mind readers, even though they know us better than anyone else.
   
8. Give and take. You can't always have it your way. Know when it's important to compromise or concede. Sometimes doing something because you know it makes your partner happy is enough.
9. Dream. What do you want to create together? What kind of life do you want? Having shared dreams moves you forward, together. Having your own dreams makes you interesting... and helps you grow. 
10. Forgive. We've had some tough times. When we first landed in Seattle, I was depressed - my mom was ill, I had no job, and life looked grim. In 2009, his stress, lack of coping skills and unhealthy habits led to a meltdown. While forgetting isn't essential, forgiveness is. And if trust is broken, we're proof it can be rebuilt.
11. Have compassion. We all go through rough patches. We fumble, we fail, we lose confidence. No one escapes this, so be patient and kind when it happens to your partner. And, have compassion for yourself when it happens to you, and hope they do the same.
12. Trust your instincts. They're almost always right. Act on your hunches, for better or worse. 
13. Be trustworthy. Be who you say you are, do what you say you're going to do. Operate with unflinching integrity.
14. Be grateful and check your baggage. We all have baggage, and it follows us into relationships. So look for the gifts and appreciate the small kindnesses, and be mindful about taking each other for granted. Much like tending a garden, this requires consistent effort and attention. 
15. Ask for help. Sometimes you can't do it on your own. We had a therapist from an earlier time. He made the call, but I came along. We saw her separately, but concurrently. With her help, because of his breakdown, I had major breakthroughs. Painful, yes. We made the choice to stay together. Miraculously, we can even laugh at the breakdown now. It got us where we are. 
16. Make time for each other. And yourselves. Friendship is key. Share meals. Watch a movie. Hold hands. Write notes. Go for a walk and talk about your day. Everything has an opposing side - be sure to give each other enough room, too. Having a life of your own gives you something to talk about.
    
17. Respect each other. We all aim to do the best we can. We make mistakes. There's truth in the saying, "perfect is the enemy of the good." Take time to learn about your partner's life goals and aspirations, and share yours. 
18. Be willing to grow. Don't be afraid of change because nothing stays the same. Giving each other room to grow, as well as growing together, is essential. A solid foundation of shared values, dreams, love and respect helps you grow as an individual and as a couple. We're two individuals on our own paths, and they happen to be parallel. It makes our journey together far more interesting. 

Many of these were hard for me and took plenty of practice. Even laughing. Often serious and sensitive, I've had to let go of some beliefs about who I was, what I thought was important, and maybe more importantly, what I made things mean. Now, it just gets better.

Words matter. I love you... 

thank you.... I'm sorry... I get it... 

 these make a difference... 

PS... For anyone who's read this blog since the beginning, this is evidence of just how far we've really come.  

Bittersweet: Mother's Day reflections

Yes, a mother's job is serious stuff, and a lot of hard, often thankless work. But being a mom, especially one from earlier generations before support groups and online forums, doesn't come with instructions, and not every woman is inherently good at it. 

First, I'm not a mother, unless you count cats or a brief foray into step-parenting 20-some years ago. Second, I'm not very sentimental about Mother's Day. Reading the history of mom's day makes me feel better about that. There's nothing like seeing 500 Facebook posts about people's moms to induce guilt.

I loved my mother.

She left this mortal coil on May 19, 14 years ago. And 14 years ago, we shared our last Mother's Day together. But she'd be one of the first to tell you it's a Hallmark holiday. Still, it was a lovely, sunny Sunday. She was feeling good and in good spirits. It was one of the few times she'd been back to the house, her childhood home, after moving to an assisted living apartment. Forrest's brother Clay and his family joined us for a backyard picnic. Just 64, mom's health was failing, but she'd been doing better lately and I thought there would be several more mom's days to come.

But just one week later, she was gone.

My mom and I had our challenges. She admitted one day not long before she died that she hadn't always been a good mother. I was a little surprised to hear her say that, so I asked what she meant. She didn't elaborate. But I knew. I also know she did her best. She didn't have a lot to work with. Her mom, my grandmother, was mean, and even meaner after a stroke. She was a martyr whose favorite tool was manipulation through guilt, and she treated my mom, her youngest, badly. Shit flows downhill, and I felt the brunt of that when, in her final years, we moved in to take care of her. Those were tough times for all of us.


I know my mom loved me. 


At least, she did to the best of her ability. There's an adage that says you can't truly love someone else until you love yourself, and my mom, for the most part, didn't like nor love herself. She spent most of her life fighting depression. And she did fight. From lots of self-medicating with the popular pills of the day, to a seven-year stint with a psychiatrist. She even took me to a session when we were having a particularly hard time. Mostly, she hid behind her weight, her caustic wit, TV, and cigarettes.

Co-dependent. 

That's a good word to describe our relationship. My earliest years were spent with my grandparents and an aunt while mom worked, but we'd always go home together. Just the two of us.

During those earlier years, we did things together. She was a good sport. She'd camp with my Girl Scout troop. She'd help me with badges, even if we did everything wrong (which we'd laugh about). She took me to see Fantasia. We went to ceramics classes. She made sure I had birthday parties and separate birthday and Christmas presents (I arrived just before Christmas). She fed me well and dressing me nicely was one way she showed she loved me. I honestly think she was both thrilled to have me in her life, and greatly burdened by me.

As a teen, she took in all my wayward friends, but at some point she abdicated any parental authority. She wanted what was best for me but didn't know how to guide me. She couldn't keep me safe. She especially didn't know how to deal with my hormones or emotions. My mom didn't have much love in her life, and though she and my dad were together only a short time, I believe she mourned him for the rest of her life.

My mother was social and loved family gatherings, but as family and friends died or slipped away, she became more reclusive and detached. From my earliest days, I remember her anger. She yelled. Slammed things. Threw things. Her frustration was easily triggered - a characteristic I adopted and only unlearned during my own self-analysis. I shared her anger, too, although I didn't realize this until a lifelong friend told me that as teens, she was afraid of my anger. That was a big a-ha for me.

I loved my mother. And I know she loved me.

And I'm not sentimental about Mother's Day.

By that last Mother's Day together, we'd largely made peace with each other, and ourselves. She once asked, "How'd you get so smart?" I told her I had good genes. My mom was wicked smart but had rare outlets to express it. Late in her life, she shared with me the dreams she'd had of doing something more. But fear, self-loathing and the responsibilities of being a single mom kept those dreams safely tucked away. Her fear spilled over on me; she discouraged my dreams, always suggesting the safe, familiar path.

Not everyone is fit to be a parent. I tried my best to be a step-mom. I didn't have a lot to work with. And my step-daughter triggered fears I didn't know I had. She came to live with her dad and me when she was 14. By 14, I had already cracked open the Pandora's box of drugs, sex and rock-and-roll. She was on a similar path, and it scared me. For her and for me. Step-parenting ushered in the end of my marriage - and drove me to see myself in a way I hadn't ever viewed myself previously. I had already done some inner work and made some changes, yet this was a real crossroads. I felt both proud and shamed by some of my own behavior.

Not all moms should be moms. I don't have children of my own, and I don't think that's just an accident. I put my mom through hell during my teen years. And, as she graciously owned, she wasn't a very good mom. I don't blame her. She didn't have anything to go on. From a young age, she shut herself off emotionally, did everything she could to protect herself from her own childhood pain.

Blood connections don't mean you owe each other anything. A friend is now caretaking her mom - a mom who's life was spent in festering resentment, never gaining emotional maturity, despite her advanced age. My friend is a compassionate woman; she left home at 16 for good reason, but she's doing what needs to be done, not because her mom earned her care, but because it's the right thing to do. And she's heartbroken, watching her mom suffer in her final days, still angry, resentful, and full of blame.

Yes, I miss my mom. 

I miss her humor and creativity, her insightful perceptions, her flashes of wisdom, her hugs. And I believe I was there for her in the best possible ways for both of us those last few years of her life. Her care was my priority; despite our continued challenges, I so badly wanted her to experience ease in those final years. She had done her best, given her circumstances. We had weathered a lot.

Despite it all, I didn't need a holiday - a day that began with good intentions (but even the founder was appalled at what it quickly became) - to do the right thing for my mom.

Not every mom knows how to be a mom. My mom tried, when she could. I'm grateful to her for much: she brought me into this world, she tried hard to do things differently with me, and she passed along some priceless gifts, in part, unwittingly. I honor her by doing things differently, still.

I applaud all those moms who made it through, do good jobs, and have wonderful relationships with their children. And I applaud those who were able to mend difficult relationships. And, I acknowledge all those who had a different experience.

Yes, I miss my mom. In many ways. But sometimes I just feel sadness when I think of her, and can't imagine anything else.

For me, as it is for many, Mother's Day is bittersweet. 

Empathy: Been there, done that

Empathy seems to be a trend these days. Don't get me wrong; by calling it out as a trend, I'm not dissing the importance of figuratively walking in another's shoes.

As a kid, I celebrated the Pagan May Day by anonymously giving baskets of
flowers to my elderly, and in some cases, incapacitated, neighbors. I give my
grandfather credit for fostering my early ability to feel empathy.

Empathy is one of my most treasured values, and I came by it honestly - I've been there, done that in a whole lot of circumstances, and benefited from some very hard lessons.

Lately, though, I'm hearing about empathy in unlikely places, particularly in a business environment. Marketing especially seems to have co-opted empathy (as they do any value worth its salt, really). I don't think this is bad; I think it's largely been missing despite lip service about caring about and understanding the customer.

I'm also hearing the word authenticity a lot more. Maybe it's because it's also on my radar; being my authentic self has become more important than ever and was a big part of my coach training program.

The thing with empathy is that it can't be faked well. Speaking of lip service, empathy is just that without authenticity. It certainly isn't sympathy. I don't want anyone's sympathy. But I damn sure want to feel empathy when I need it.

Truth... Trust... Actions do 

speak louder than words. 

Body language. Facial expressions. Tone. Inflection. Each says something, and adds meaning to your words.

How do you show up? How do you want to be seen? Understood? Are you willing to understand?

I'm also hearing more about how we're collectively experiencing an empathy deficit. This shows up in many ways, including hate speech, bullying, racial profiling, gender bashing, the list goes on. Immigration, gay marriage, women's rights - these are in the news, everyday, and here we are in 2014. What did Shakespeare say? The play is the same, only the characters change? We've made progress, true. Yet this isn't new; there's just a new(er) term for it. There are and always have been factions of insular, small-minded people, everywhere.

I'm all for fostering ways to bring more empathy into the world. If marketing helps us get there, well, whatever it takes. The more life we experience, the more ups, downs, failures, challenges we face, if we learn from them and don't become bitter, we can be empathetic. We can walk in those other proverbial shoes. We can make a difference for each other - and ultimately ourselves.

Seek first to understand...