London - A new study recently found that, far from keeping a marriage together, talking too much about feelings and problems can drive a wedge between a couple. With this in mind, writer Sharon Parsons, 51 (who likes to talk), decided to give her husband Eric (who doesn’t) the silent treatment for a week. So, would he notice?
Monday
Driving home from a weekend with friends, and there’s a resounding silence in the car. My husband glances across at me. “You all right, darling? he eventually asks. “You’re very quiet.”
What he means is, I’m not reflecting aloud on what we did, who we saw, or even what we ate. Instead, I am saying nothing. Zip.
Silence continues. He sighs wearily. “OK “ what have I done wrong?”
I’ve been expecting this. Like many women, when I’m upset I sulk “ although apparently, it takes men around nine minutes to realise it’s happening. But this time things are different. It’s important he doesn’t think I’m cross about something he’s done.
To reassure him, I pat his knee. “Nothing “ I’m absolutely fine!” I say cheerily. He looks relieved.
What I’m trying to do “ without coming clean “ is see what it would be like if I adopted some of his communication tactics.
We’re all familiar with the stereotypical scenarios of blokes enjoying a pint together in total silence, while women talk for hours on the phone, but I often wonder how much we really conform to them.
In my own marriage, there’s no doubt about it. I’m outgoing and talkative, whereas my husband’s always been quieter and more measured.
When we first met on holiday 12 years ago, I liked the fact he was content to sit back and let others hog the limelight “ to me, it showed a man who didn’t need to prove himself.
I also made him laugh (ironically with my chatty, gossipy observations), and I know those basic characteristics we first admired in each other haven’t really changed. It’s just that in our day-to-day life, they have become more pronounced “ and less appreciated on either side.
When it comes to talking, for instance, it’s not that my other half has no opinions, he just doesn’t see the point in lengthy discussion. “I just don’t do that,” he protests when I press him for an enlightening response. Often it’s only when he has something of “substance” to discuss that he comes into his own.
I’m not alone here: so many of my girlfriends complain about the same thing. I’ve been thinking how Eric would feel if I behaved in the same way “ would he even notice? So for one week, I’ve decided I’m going to talk like a man. Or not, as the case may be.
I’m not going to press him to tell me why he’s had a tough day (“You don’t want to know!”), keep asking what’s on his mind (“I’m fine “ what’s for dinner?”), or request his opinion on certain emotive situations, like my friend’s disastrous love life (“She sounds bloody hard work, anyway”).
Not least, I’m going to resist the urge to “fill in the gaps” when we’re out with other people. As a director in an energy company, he often welcomes my presence when he has to entertain business associates “ because my ability to do small talk keeps everything ticking along nicely.
The week promises to be an interesting, and very quiet, one.
Tuesday
My husband brings me a cup of tea in bed. “Are you ill?” he asks. “Only you didn’t say much last night. Is it that time of the month?”
Honestly, it’s astonishing that having crossed off the possibility of my sulking about something, he immediately puts my unfamiliar behaviour down to “women’s troubles”.
More interesting, though, is that we did have a proper conversation the previous evening “ about Gaddafi, “ which he’s not taking into account. I remind him of this, and he says: “Yes, but you’ve not been wittering on.”
Charming. And safe to say the chilly silence that follows has nothing to do with my experiment.
Later, he calls to say he’s meeting a friend for a quick beer after work. This chap’s just gone through a messy divorce, and normally I’m anxious for a blow-by-blow update. It’s invariably like pulling teeth, but this time, I just wait.
Unbelievably, after my husband’s finished an urgent report for work and we have supper, he provides a few details “ unprompted “ about how his pal is coping. True, it’s only the bare essentials, “Dan’s lost weight”, and “his ex wants the car”, was all I got, but it’s still a rather exciting development.
Wednesday
Tonight, Eric is having dinner with an ancient client who is truly hard work, and I know that when the conversation moves on from business topics, it can be painful. “You will come too, won’t you?” he asks anxiously.
How interesting that my willingness to chat is sometimes so useful, I think, wondering if I’ll be able to keep my resolve and allow the odd deafening silence to occur.
The problem is that although this man is somewhat dour, I also think he’s shy, which makes it even more difficult. Sure enough, when the first canyon-sized lull descends, my toes curl up in embarrassment. Twenty seconds “ it feels like three hours “ tick by as I realise I just can’t stay quiet. I dive in with a question about his archery hobby. My husband beams at me gratefully.
When we get home, he gives me a hug. “Thanks for coming,” he says. “It made a big difference.” I’m touched that he appreciates my sociable efforts “ but furious with myself. I seem programmed to behave in a certain way, instinctively obliged to make everyone feel at ease.
Thursday
I am determined not to let last night’s lapse ruin my experiment. I’ve had a horrible day, however “ let down by an editor on a project. I feel unfairly treated, and want to talk it over with my husband.
He always says I approach problems too emotionally, so I try hard to present my dilemma in a very detached, logical way. “These are the facts from start to finish,” I say, leaving out all mention of this woman’s rudeness, and the way that’s made me feel, especially as I’ve known her for a long time.
He responds immediately, and assesses the situation with level-headed cool. He suggests a brief, measured response, clearly setting out the agreed contract. “Don’t get drawn into any personal nonsense,” he says. “Remember, it’s just work.”
He’s right, and I feel quite empowered as I compose my email to her.
True, I still want to discuss why this person has behaved so horribly, but decide it can wait until tomorrow when my friend Naomi is coming for dinner. She knows this woman too, and we can go over her behaviour in painstaking detail.
Friday
The fact that I was able to separate the “emotional” effects of my editor’s behaviour makes me think about the way couples today are generally expected to connect on every level with one another. There’s so much written about “sharing everything” to have a successful relationship, but I can’t help wondering if we women are being unrealistic.
Men and women have always communicated differently, but perhaps when roles were more clearly defined, it didn’t seem to matter so much.
I don’t think my grandmother would have felt it particularly beneficial to share the minutiae of her day with my grandfather, or vice versa, for instance. I imagine there was a clear understanding over what they discussed and what they didn’t, so while she’d happily chat to her neighbour over a cuppa, he went fishing with a chum, sitting on a riverbank in contented silence.
Anyway, by the time my husband gets home, my friend Naomi and I are engrossed in a detailed character assassination of my editor and I’m feeling much better. I’m intrigued to note he seems to enjoy all the chat and gossip between Naomi and me “ maybe because he’s not required to participate too much. We all have a great evening.
Saturday
We usually go for a long walk at the weekend. This is often when Eric talks more about what’s on his mind with work or whatever, albeit in broad brushstrokes. I think this is because the regular rhythm of walking helps him assimilate everything that’s going on (and perhaps it’s less like an interrogation).
In any case, I stop myself interjecting with questions that tend to be based on the responses or behaviour of those he works with: something I know he finds baffling.
When we get back, I pop to the shops and return to find “ much to my delight “ that he’s repaired some shelves in my office, and is preparing dinner.
Later on, as we settle down with a DVD and a bottle of wine, he asks me yet again if I’m OK. He seems genuinely confused by the “new” me. “You seem detached,” he says sadly, which is what I sometimes accuse him of when he’s being particularly restrained. It’s one of the few things we tend to argue about “ though not this week, obviously.
Sunday
Today, thank goodness, is the last day of my experiment “ I’ve found the process a real strain because it’s all seemed so unnatural.
My husband is astonished when I confess what I’ve been doing. “I’ve been really worried,” he says crossly. “I thought I was making you unhappy.”
“I assumed you’d be pleased I wasn’t rambling on as usual,” I counter.
It takes a while to get there, but eventually “ and somewhat grudgingly “ he admits he’s missed my normal behaviour. This might be because it’s familiar, but is it also, I suggest, because my need to engage with him on all sorts of levels shows I really care?
He briefly weighs up the possibility. “Maybe. Plus, it’s been weirdly quiet,” he offers, ruining the moment.
In any case, I’ve realised that we both play our male and female roles to the letter. My instinct is to observe, connect seemingly random ideas and relay what’s going on; he, on the other hand, wants to get straight to the point in as quick a way as possible.
I’m not sure we’ll ever really understand one another’s “language”, but we do agree that this week’s experiment has been useful in many ways. I’ve been able to see, for instance, that working through problems in a logical way can be far less draining, and also that if I give him a bit of space, he’s more likely to open up and talk to me.
He, on the other hand, admits that a bit of gossipy banter and “wittering” can liven up a dull day.
“We’ll both have to do some adapting, won’t we?” I ask brightly.
There’s a pause. “Yes, but let’s talk about it for an hour first,” he replies. - Daily Mail