My sweetheart said something to me a few days ago that was really hard for me to hear. He told me that I was being cold. I know it was hard for me to hear because as soon as he said it, I got defensive. I felt attacked and unseen and responded in a way that I don’t feel proud of. I told him that it wasn’t true. I told him that I was feeling open and that he must be the one feeling cold. It started — I started — a negative cycle between us. I was being protective/defensive and then he got protective, and soon we had locked horns and found ourselves in a power struggle. We both focused on what the other person was saying or doing. And we each wanted to control the other. I wanted him to show up in a loving way with me; he wanted me to show up with him with kindness and gentleness. Eventually, he ended the conversation. We both felt awful. And in the two conversations we have had since then (it’s a long distance relationship, and we’re not together this weekend) one or both of us has felt really disconnected.

I felt so confused about why we got into such a downward spiral. I really love him, and I know he loves me. We’re really great together in so many ways. And we’re both smart, resourceful, and open to learning and growing through life. So it felt so disappointing to wind up feeling alienated from one another, instead of being able to find a way to be there for one another or band together to overcome this dynamic that felt like it overcame us. There was a feeling of powerlessness that came with this sense that we couldn’t find our way back to the incredible love that we so often share.

I spent a good chunk of yesterday trying to understand what had happened. Not in the “he said” “she said” kind of way, but instead looking at the dynamic between us, the roles we found ourselves playing in this little drama. I moved into the role of observer, and got really curious about what was going on:

• Because we hadn’t talked the previous day, neither of us had a really good sense of the other’s external circumstances or internal reality
• We each made assumptions about what was going on in/for the other, instead of asking
• We both got protective
• We each started focusing on what we were getting instead of what we were giving
• We didn’t give the other the benefit of the doubt; we somehow lost sight of the fact that we are on the same team

Then I let go of thinking about what he did and why. I know that he’s a really kind-hearted man. I know that he loves me deeply. I am sure that he had really good reasons for doing and saying what he did and said. Instead of focusing on him, or even the dynamic between us, I turned all of my attention to me.

I began by asking myself, what if everything he said is true? What if I was being cold to him? Is that possible? If so, what was going on in me? Or what was I believing that caused me to show up that way? He told me that he feels like he never knows what he is going to get when he calls me during the long stretches when we aren’t together. Sometimes, I’m really warm and loving and excited to hear from him. Too often, though, I’m cold or mean to him. Why would I show up that way with my best friend and lover? Why would I treat the man that I love that way?

To be totally honest, I had already been judging myself for feeling and being that way with my Beloved. I had taken on the daunting work of learning how to control what I thought were my natural instincts and reactions and feelings. I did this willingly because I know that my SweetHeart deserves to be treated with consistent kindness. I did it because I love him profoundly and want for us to be together long-term. Perhaps most importantly, I took on the task of trying to control my behavior and feelings because I want to consistently show up in my life in a way that I am proud of. But when I tried to push down what I was feeling, so I could show up in a loving way even when I wasn’t feeling loving, I flailed time and again. Maybe it hit me so hard when he told me that I was being cold — despite the fact that I was really careful about the words I said — precisely because I had been trying so hard to be kind to him.

When he called on Saturday, I was feeling sad because I had taken it personally that he hadn’t called me earlier in the day. I missed him, and I felt abandoned. But there are lots of ways to handle feeling those things that don’t involve shutting down and being protected/defended with him or lashing out at him (which he’s also told me I do). How did I learn to respond to someone I love in those ways? How can I stop that cycle — and begin being consistently kind and loving and warm when we talk while we’re apart?

Then it hit me. That is exactly what my dad used to do. I spent my childhood feeling like I was walking on eggshells because I never knew — and felt I could never predict — whether he was going to show up as the dad who got tears in his eyes as he told me how much he loved me (higher than the highest mountain and deeper than the deepest ocean), or instead the dad who used anger to control me and my brother and even my mom. That behavior, that pattern, was something I had learned from my dad. I felt a wave of relief as I realized that.

I felt relieved because I had been so identified with the pattern that I thought the pattern was me. Now, though, I realize that I was simply running a pattern. It’s like being a wide receiver and running a pattern to get to a certain position on the field in hopes of getting a pass and the chance of scoring a touchdown. I was doing what I had learned to do.

My efforts to control myself were completely misguided. That’s not what my real work is. My work is instead about unlearning something that I had taken on because I witnessed it so often as a child. It’s about reminding myself, when those familiar feelings arise, that it’s just my dad’s pattern showing up. And hopefully even enrolling my Love to tell me gently when I unconsciously act from a place of being in the pattern. I can then leave that pattern where it belongs, sprinkled with his ashes around the tree he planted in honor of his father outside the house where I lived as a child. There’s no need for me to carry my father’s burden. If he were still alive, he would want me to relieve myself of that weight. It’s a way of honoring my father, actually. And freeing myself to be the loving person I really am.

Once I can see it, then I don’t have to be it. And the truth is, it was never really me anyhow.