Last night was the fall band concert at my 13 year old’s middle school. The concert started at 7:00 pm but we needed to be there about 6:15. When we pulled up to the school, we noticed a student standing in front of the school anxiously watching each and every car that pulled into the parking lot. He wasn’t wearing the concert attire, so we asked our son who he was. Our son said, “Oh, that’s Jason (not his real name). Looks like his mom forgot to pick him up.” School gets out at 4:00 pm, which means Jason had been standing there in a tee-shirt and shorts in the cold October Pacific Northwest weather for almost two and a half hours.
As we approached him, we could tell he was uncomfortable—not just from the cold weather, but from the attention he was getting from us and from the other families walking in. We could tell he was embarrassed and, even though he was doing his best to keep it hidden, we caught glimpses of tears running down his cheeks. We didn’t want to call any more unwanted attention to his situation so we walked into the school.
But my wife and I couldn’t leave him there. We immediately sent our son on ahead and turned around and approached Jason and asked him if he was waiting for someone. He confirmed that his mom had forgotten to pick him up but that she should be there shortly because his younger brother was in the evening’s concert. Even though he said he wasn’t cold, we told him he needed to come into the school where it was warmer and he could use one of our phones to call his mom. When there was no answer, we had him join us in the gym where the concert was held so we could keep an eye on him.
When mom eventually showed up, we watched a strained conversation between the two of them. Jason kept his face actively turned away from mom to hide his obvious hurt, fear, and frustration. More tears quietly fell from Jason’s hidden face as they eventually stood near the back of the room, silent and distant from each other.
Now, why do I tell you this story?
Because Jason is going to grow up one day and get married. And Jason is probably going to continue to practice the same self-protective strategies with his wife that he uses with his mom. Chances are, Jason is never going to get an opportunity to safely and productively process through the intensely painful experiences we just witnessed, and that pain will continue to seep out in day-to-day interactions with his wife and his own children.
You’ve probably heard the phrase “Hurt people hurt people”. Jason is a hurt little boy (or more appropriately, a young man). His pain is real. So real that it leaks out uncontrollably through tears. But he doesn’t want that pain to be seen. He is profoundly embarrassed by his emotions and wants nothing more than to be invisible. At this point, this young man actually prefers to be alone in his pain than accept help from the well-intentioned parents of his classmate.
Boys (or again, young men) learn very quickly to stuff, shut down, hide, withdraw, or pull away from those wanting to offer help. Young men embarrass easily. Having vulnerable feelings like fear, anxiety, disappointment, confusion, and helplessness places a boy in an un-winable situation. We have no idea what to do with our out-of-control feelings, and so we opt for the best strategy available—avoidance and denial.
These well-honed strategies are going to drive his wife crazy. Because she wants connection, she is going to push, plead, pry, and do everything she can think of to get him to open up, engage, initiate, and talk about his feelings. But it probably won’t work. She will personalize his self-protection as rejection of her and start to shut down, hide, withdraw, and pull away herself.
An Opportunity For Wives
Wives, the thing I’d like you to hear from this story is this… Your husband was at one time a boy. Probably a scared boy. He didn’t process through his feelings the same way you did. He probably was never invited to talk things out. Unfortunately, his avoidance strategies probably worked better than he thought and he actually was left alone to sit in his terrified feelings. On top of that, he probably was expected to maintain the appearance that everything was okay.
The look on Jason’s face was too familiar for me to ignore last night. There were dozens of times I wish someone would have approached me and kindly but directly called my bluff and seen that I was not okay. Sometimes that happened. Too often it didn’t.
Wives, you still get the opportunity to see through your husband’s avoidant behavior and recognize it for what it is—a self-protective strategy that is well rehearsed for many many years. This behavior will not change over night. But it can change. Yelling, nagging, demanding, manipulating, pushing, and coercing him will end up being counterproductive. Gently, but kindly creating an atmosphere of understanding, compassion, and safety will pay off in the long run.
I know this is not easy. I know you want more from him. But your kindness and patience may be the first time your Jason experiences what he should have been receiving his entire lifetime. I know it will cost you something. I’m sorry you’re the one who will have to bear that. I also can’t think of a better way to selflessly invest into your husband’s heart and into your relationship.