When Laurie arrived at my office, she was clearly upset. She told me she’d been angry with me ever since our last session with her husband, Keith. The issue, she explained, was that she shut down whenever Keith wasn’t being tender and soft. Although she wasn’t yet able to listen from her heart the way Keith had asked, I had been moved by her efforts to contain her anger and admit to her exhaustion. I had complimented her for taking responsibility for her anger and acknowledging that she couldn’t love Keith in the way he needed—that she struggled to listen sincerely when he was upset, anxious, or feeling empty.
Keith was able to do this for her, but Laurie’s inability to offer the same kind of listening was creating a significant imbalance in their relationship. I had told her I saw her on the brink of being able to listen to Keith from her heart, but that had angered her.
“I’d like to just let my anger out right now,” she said. “I want to tell you exactly how I feel. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” I said, bracing myself to look beneath her anger to understand what she truly needed.
“I feel like you’re taking Keith’s side and asking too much of me,” she started, her voice rising. “I’ve been working so hard, and you don’t seem to get what I’m going through.” Her frustration grew as she continued, “Here I am, working a part-time job, trying to take care of Jeremy, my six-year-old, and my husband. And you tell me I need to do more.”
She was furious now, her words cutting. “Can’t you see how unrealistic that is? I don’t want to do any more. I deserve to be loved as I am.”
When she paused, I said, “It sounds like you’re feeling a lot of pressure. Is that right?”
“Yes,” she snapped.
“May I offer my perspective?” I asked, hoping to help her see things from a different angle.
“Okay,” she responded, still angry and a bit defensive.
“You’ve already acknowledged that you haven’t been able to open your heart to Keith when he really needs you. You’ve told me you want to do this, and I’ve never meant to push you beyond your limits. If you truly felt you couldn’t do this, if your anger was more than just an emotional reaction, I would respect that. But I’m here to support your relationship and bring out the best in you.”
Laurie began to settle, her posture softening as she listened.
“Keith says he can’t be happy in the relationship unless you’re able to hear him when he’s hurting. My intention is always to honor your truest self and offer a perspective that brings wholeness, as objectively as I can. If your deeper wisdom asks me to respect your limitations, I will. I just don’t want you to be in denial about how it’s impacting your marriage.”
She was quiet for a moment, listening closely.
“If the pressure to change makes you reject yourself or feel inadequate,” I continued, “then you absolutely need to stand up for yourself.”
“I just think you like Keith better than me,” she said, her voice a mix of hurt and frustration.
I could feel how much she needed reassurance. “If I don’t help you stand up for your own truth, then I’m not doing my job. My goal as a counselor is to share my full perspective when I believe it will help, but ultimately, I surrender to your guidance regarding the overall situation.”
Laurie’s face softened, and tears began to form in her eyes. “I just don’t know if I can do it,” she said, her voice breaking. “It’s so hard to stay open with both my boy and my husband. Most of the time, it feels impossible. Both of my parents abandoned me, and it’s a miracle that I can love at all. I want to love them both, but I can’t seem to manage to show love for my husband and my son at the same time without feeling completely drained.”
I was moved by her vulnerability, her honesty, and her willingness to confront her pain head-on. “How would you express that as a need?” I asked. “And maybe think about Keith’s needs, too?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
“Could you tell him exactly what you just told me?” I suggested. “Tell him, with the same tenderness you just shared with me, that you’re not sure you can give love to both him and Jeremy at the same time.”
“It’s scary to be so vulnerable,” she admitted, “but I want to try.”
“What do you feel underneath your anger toward me?” I asked her gently.
She let out a small laugh, realizing her anger had shifted. “I feel hopeless, despairing, and inadequate,” she said, her voice quiet.
“Could you share that with Keith too?” I asked, offering her space to consider it.
She nodded, her expression thoughtful.
“Do you have any compassion for your despair?” I asked her, hoping she could connect with it more tenderly.
“No,” she replied at first, then softened. “But I do now.”
“How can you respond to it?” I asked.
Without hesitation, she said, “I’m really sorry that this is so hard. It’s difficult to care for both of you and for myself at the same time.” Her tone had shifted, and I could feel her heart starting to open.
“How about making this a practice of self-love?” I suggested. “One that includes the people closest to you?”
She agreed, and over the following months, she began learning to support herself with more kindness, while doing her best to be there for her family.
I checked in with her a few months later. “Would you say this is your constant practice of self-love now? A way of loving your family as well as yourself?”
She smiled, her confidence growing. “Yes,” she said.
In the long run, Laurie came to understand how much she longed for empathy for her struggle with Keith. She was determined to continue supporting her own needs for kindness, as well as being as gentle and understanding with her family as she could.