The Resolution
When Callie didn’t show up for her complimentary session, I was concerned. Our last one together had
been fairly emotional—a state of being Callie tends to run from—but I hoped she recognized, and
appreciated, the potential her growth unleashed. The ability to express her more vulnerable side was not
only a healthy development for everyday life; it was also a requirement for any longlasting relationship. By
opening up about her parents’ failed marriage, the invisible obstacle that had been preventing her from
having a meaningful connection with another, I hoped that she’d finally start to heal and move past it. I
wondered whether she was avoiding me intentionally, or whether some emergency had prevented her from
sending a courtesy email cancellation. I deal with no-shows occasionally, with reasons ranging from an
unexpected death in the family to a poorly set alarm clock, and hoped it was the latter today. I tried to put
her absence out of my mind, assuming I’d hear what happened soon enough. Besides, work was insanely
busy, and I was grateful for the unexpected time to catch up. Before shifting gears, I perused the Google
Doc I share with Lauren to see if I had any outstanding dates to schedule. I smiled at the long list at the top
of the
couples we matched who were actively dating, followed by my list of coaching clients. My eye stopped on
Meera’s name, and I smiled at the matchmaking “hold” placed beside it. She had just reached the
one-month mark with the Midwestern professor from the movies, and asked for me to withhold other
introductions for now. “You’d be proud of us, Jaydi. We’re moving at a normal pace,” she’d informed me.
So far, the two had seen each other a handful of times, and no premature declarations of love had been
made. “I do think he could be the One, though,” she added. (At least she was telling me and not him.
Progress!) While I wanted her to ke ep her options open, she seemed to be navigating this situation with a
clear head. Until now, based on what Meera had disclosed, the Professor hadn’t demonstrated any red flags
to worry about, and his intentions with her seemed pure. He expressed healthy curiosity about her life and
desires, and most important, he listened, such as when he brought her daffodils because she shared her
favorite color was yellow. If this momentum continued, I guessed they’d be calling each other “boyfriend”
and “girlfriend” by month three. I asked whether they were both on the same page with religion and
politics, and they were. “He’s not Hindu, but he’s down to raise our kids that way—at least in terms of
exposing them to all my family’s traditions and culture. I don’t mean our kids, literally.” Her face fell, as if
she caught herself. “Just kids in general.” “Don’t worry.” I smiled amusedly. “I’m not judging. It sounds
like you two have a very healthy communication style.” I appreciated how different this dynamic seemed
from the relationship she was in a year ago. Next, I probed into her physical, emotional, and intellectual
connections with the Professor, and it sounded like each category was stronger than the last. (They hadn’t
yet been intimate with each other, but they’d fooled around a bit and he seemed okay waiting for more.)
They hadn’t experienced conflict yet, either—a positive thing given their short timeline—but I’m a fan of
seeing how someone handles a disagreement, however minor, before becoming exclusive with them.
Knowing whether that person has a tendency to shut down or work through conflict is helpful.
“But don’t initiate a fight for the sake of it,” I cautioned Meera jokingly. “Enough happens in life that
you’ll experience something to work through soon enough.” Our therapist taught Dave and me that most
relationships have a conflict cycle: a r epetitive pattern of blame and negative reactivity. What one person
says to defend themselves may inadvertently hurt the other, and that person’s reaction, in turn, has a
similar effect. The basis for the argument itself might be slight—or the result of a simple
miscommunication—but once this feedback loop starts, it can be difficult to end it. According to Dr. Sue
Johnson, founder of EFT, conflict cycles are composed of four identifiable parts. The first is an attachment
wound: how we’ve been hurt in our lives informs how we perceive the actions of others. (If you were
neglected by your mother as a child, you might react even more negatively if your partner needs to leave
the room to regroup, as this can trigger feelings of abandonment.) The second part is primary emotion: the
feelings that arise because of our attachment wound. (“How dare you, person who claims to care about me,
abandon me while I’m feeling upset and vulnerable. This makes me feel angry and extremely sad.”)
Without realizing it, this seemingly minor argument is reinforcing your attachment wound. The next part is
defense mode. To protect ourselves, we react by fighting, fleeing, or freezing—all behaviors that might
elicit a strong response from our partner. Lastly, we do something protective—the manifestation of our
defense mode. If your instinct is to fight, you might yell at your partner, or even share some low blows, all
of which could trigger something regarding their own attachment wound. These are just some examples of
a conflict cycle. Every couple has their own unique one, and identifying yours is a requirement for being
able to break it. In the past, Meera had shied away from conflict entirely, and I’d encouraged her to choose
a different path moving forward. All not voicing her concerns to Trevor did was delay the very outcome
she’d been trying to avoid. The right partner, I’d explained to her, will want to know what’s bothering her,
so they have an opportunity to fix it. But this meant she couldn’t just presume intent. Similar to how she’d
expected men to magically know she was interested in them before, she expected
her partner to know when she was upset with him. Being in a relationship with someone who understood
this, and was interested in learning her nonverbal cues surrounding conflict, was vital as Meera continued
to work on improving her ability to speak up. I also anticipated some degree of overcorrection on that
journey, but it felt too premature to caution her. I’d address that in due time, if necessary. I pr epped Meera
on other precursors to exclusivity, such as being on a similar page with marriage and kids. She and the
Professor seemed to be, which was great. (One of my friends, a man who wants children, recently married
someone uncertain about having them. His spouse’s hesitation might eventually resolve the way he hopes,
or it could lead to divorce. Why roll the dice on something so fundamentally important?) When it came to
number of partners, Meera assumed he preferred monogamy. I told her she may want to clarify—after all,
we were living in LA, a place where ethical nonmonogamy was really picking up steam. Lastly, I
suggested she look for signs of future planning. If the Professor tried making plans together for weeks, or
even months from now, it would indicate long-term thinking. Meera didn’t seem worried, though. They
already had plans to see each other twice the following week, and there was a calmness to her, as if he had
somehow managed to quell her typical anxiety surrounding pace. In some ways, that change in her was a
clearer sign than any others on the checklist I provided that her relationship had the legs to move forward.
Regardless of how it would pan out, I was thrilled she was d eparting from similar patterns and types of
men. She seemed excited to be treated consistently well now, and was acc epting the Professor’s doting
without resistance, another sign to me that she was feeling more confident and worthy of a more mature
kind of love. I also suspected she’d be okay if this relationship didn’t work out, because ultimately, she
was beginning to truly love herself—the only guidebook she really needed. This felt like a new chapter in
Meera’s life, and I couldn’t wait to see how it ended.
It turns out I’d be entering a new chapter too. I stared at the plus sign on the pregnancy test in our kitchen,
but my brain wasn’t really processing its meaning. I took the test to confirm the news the nurse had just
shared with me and Dave over the phone. “Congratulations, Mama,” I remember her saying. It all seemed
unreal. My body felt the same as the times the embryo transfers failed before. Shouldn’t I feel a baby
inside me now? And what was our plan? We worked so hard to make the pregnancy happen, we had barely
focused on what to do afterward. But maybe that was okay. I don’t think Dave had thought much past
proposing to me before doing it, nor had I before I acc epted. While he’d been toying with the idea of
marriage for a while, a short conversation with his uncle in the ocean was what inspired him after we’d
only been together for eight months. “So, what do you think?” he had asked Dave. “You think she’s the
One?” “I do,” Dave responded, watching me fondly as I read a book to his little cousin Blair on the beach.
“So what are you waiting for?” his uncle had asked curiously. There was so much left to learn about each
other. Do we have similar thoughts on finances? Is Dave okay with my career as a freelancer? What are
our expectations surrounding domestic roles? Do our families get along? We know we want kids, but do
we share the same idea on timeline? How do we handle stress, and do we in volve our partner in our
processing of it? The questions were endless, but one thing was certain: we enjoyed answering them as a
unit. We were a team, and a damn good one at that. As Dave initiated a Face Time with our families to
share the exciting update, any fears I had surrounding the pregnancy instantly melted away. Just like
before, we may not have all our questions answered about the road ahead, but I knew that whatever it
entailed, we would be able to get through it together.