ering and wanting the other to alleviate. What they both wanted, but could not articulate in a positive way, was to be together, differently.

He looked at me in amazement. It was not what he expected to hear. “But you don’t understand”, he said, “I really hate her now. I can’t stand her.”

I repeated to him what a wise counsellor once said to me: “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”

Neither felt anything approaching indifference for the other. Neither was remotely interested in finding another partner. The husband was desperate to have his marriage back, be around for his children and be involved in their

Recently, I went for a drink with a group of people I know through a networking community. I ended up talking with one of them, a man I’d never felt particularly comfortable around, because he is generally quick to anger and often has a short word for people, including me.

I heard him say to someone that his wife was a fat slob. Before I’d even thought about it, I asked him: “So, why do you stay with her?”

The story was long and sad. They had, he said, been happy together for 15 years. Then, she had stopped wanting a sexual relationship after giving birth to their second child. After 18 months he had started an affair… with her best friend. They’d fallen in love, been careless and their respective spouses had found out. In the end the lovers had chosen to stay with their spouses and try to put their marital relationship back together.

The only problem was that this couple didn’t know how to do that. She had banished him from the bedroom and he increasingly felt that she was more interested in punishing him than moving on. He responded by punishing himself and her.

They had gone for help and the help had been ineffectual. Their friends were like a Greek chorus, constantly butting in and helping nurture their sense of grievance, telling each partner how awful the other was and how they shouldn’t put up with it. But still they did.

The bottom line was that both incessantly talked about leaving, and didn’t. In fact, both wanted to rebuild the relationship and didn’t know how.

They operated on the unspoken principle that if they expressed their own pain loudly enough - and they did this principally by levelling accusations at the other – then eventually the other would hear them and empathise with their pain. Needless to say it wasn’t working. Somehow they wanted their continuing rejection of the other to bring their partner closer to them.

But of course, they couldn’t consciously admit what they really wanted to happen. Instead they both told each other and themselves how much they hated the other.

Sometimes they would let their guard down long enough to share a little of the old warmth and then the thought that they were condoning the other’s behaviour would kick in. So they would revert to their habitual expressions of anger and contempt, criticism and rejection, feeling even more confused and saddened by that glimpse of how things once were and might possibly be again.

I expressed my sadness for the pain they were both experiencing. I sensed the loss and abandonment and betrayal that both were suffering and wanting the other to alleviate. What they both wanted, but could not articulate in a positive way, was to be together, differently.

He looked at me in amazement. It was not what he expected to hear. “But you don’t understand”, he said, “I really hate her now. I can’t stand her.”

I repeated to him what a wise counsellor once said to me: “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”

Neither felt anything approaching indifference for the other. Neither was remotely interested in finding another partner. The husband was desperate to have his marriage back, be around for his children and be involved in their

best friend. They’d fallen in love, been careless and their respective spouses had found out. In the end the lovers had chosen to stay with their spouses and try to put their marital relationship back together.

The only problem was that this couple didn’t know how to do that. She had banished him from the bedroom and he increasingly felt that she was more interested in punishing him than moving on. He responded by punishing himself and her.

They had gone for help and the help had been ineffectual. Their friends were like a Greek chorus, constantly butting in and helping nurture their sense of grievance, telling each partner how awful the other was and how they shouldn’t put up with it. But still they did.

The bottom line was that both incessantly talked about leaving, and didn’t. In fact, both wanted to rebuild the relationship and didn’t know how.

They operated on the unspoken principle that if they expressed their own pain loudly enough - and they did this principally by levelling accusations at the other – then eventually the other would hear them and empathise with their pain. Needless to say it wasn’t working. Somehow they wanted their continuing rejection of the other to bring their partner closer to them.

But of course, they couldn’t consciously admit what they really wanted to happen. Instead they both told each other and themselves how much they hated the other.

Sometimes they would let their guard down long enough to share a little of the old warmth and then the thought that they were condoning the other’s behaviour would kick in. So they would revert to their habitual expressions of anger and contempt, criticism and rejection, feeling even more confused and saddened by that glimpse of how things once were and might possibly be again.

I expressed my sadness for the pain they were both experiencing. I sensed the loss and abandonment and betrayal that both were suffering and wanting the other to alleviate. What they both wanted, but could not articulate in a positive way, was to be together, differently.

He looked at me in amazement. It was not what he expected to hear. “But you don’t understand”, he said, “I really hate her now. I can’t stand her.”

I repeated to him what a wise counsellor once said to me: “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”

Neither felt anything approaching indifference for the other. Neither was remotely interested in finding another partner. The husband was desperate to have his marriage back, be around for his children and be involved in their

awful the other was and how they shouldn’t put up with it. But still they did.

The bottom line was that both incessantly talked about leaving, and didn’t. In fact, both wanted to rebuild the relationship and didn’t know how.

They operated on the unspoken principle that if they expressed their own pain loudly enough - and they did this principally by levelling accusations at the other – then eventually the other would hear them and empathise with their pain. Needless to say it wasn’t working. Somehow they wanted their continuing rejection of the other to bring their partner closer to them.

But of course, they couldn’t consciously admit what they really wanted to happen. Instead they both told each other and themselves how much they hated the other.

Sometimes they would let their guard down long enough to share a little of the old warmth and then the thought that they were condoning the other’s behaviour would kick in. So they would revert to their habitual expressions of anger and contempt, criticism and rejection, feeling even more confused and saddened by that glimpse of how things once were and might possibly be again.

I expressed my sadness for the pain they were both experiencing. I sensed the loss and abandonment and betrayal that both were suffering and wanting the other to alleviate. What they both wanted, but could not articulate in a positive way, was to be together, differently.

He looked at me in amazement. It was not what he expected to hear. “But you don’t understand”, he said, “I really hate her now. I can’t stand her.”

I repeated to him what a wise counsellor once said to me: “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”

Neither felt anything approaching indifference for the other. Neither was remotely interested in finding another partner. The husband was desperate to have his marriage back, be around for his children and be involved in their

usly admit what they really wanted to happen. Instead they both told each other and themselves how much they hated the other.

Sometimes they would let their guard down long enough to share a little of the old warmth and then the thought that they were condoning the other’s behaviour would kick in. So they would revert to their habitual expressions of anger and contempt, criticism and rejection, feeling even more confused and saddened by that glimpse of how things once were and might possibly be again.

I expressed my sadness for the pain they were both experiencing. I sensed the loss and abandonment and betrayal that both were suffering and wanting the other to alleviate. What they both wanted, but could not articulate in a positive way, was to be together, differently.

He looked at me in amazement. It was not what he expected to hear. “But you don’t understand”, he said, “I really hate her now. I can’t stand her.”

I repeated to him what a wise counsellor once said to me: “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”

Neither felt anything approaching indifference for the other. Neither was remotely interested in finding another partner. The husband was desperate to have his marriage back, be around for his children and be involved in their

ering and wanting the other to alleviate. What they both wanted, but could not articulate in a positive way, was to be together, differently.

He looked at me in amazement. It was not what he expected to hear. “But you don’t understand”, he said, “I really hate her now. I can’t stand her.”

I repeated to him what a wise counsellor once said to me: “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.”

Neither felt anything approaching indifference for the other. Neither was remotely interested in finding another partner. The husband was desperate to have his marriage back, be around for his children and be involved in their upbringing.

He said that he’d tried to build bridges and had met with constant rebuffs. He had understood the rebuffs signified her loathing for him. He’d never considered that it might be an expression of her pain.

Both had wanted to move on. Yet neither had been able to truly hear and acknowledge the other’s hurt, and so that hurt expressed itself in hate.

How could they do it differently? By truly listening to the other, listening respectfully without comment, until the other moves from reproaches into the underlying feelings. And then listening some more. Staying with their hurt and their guilt and the sense of betrayal, in the knowledge that that is the most powerful way to make their agony pass.

It may sound scary and painful, but it will actually prove a lot less painful and more effective than tearing themselves and their partner to shreds.

Will they do it? Hard to say. There are no guarantees that it will work. On the other hand, if they don’t do it, there is the certainty that they will hate themselves and their partner until they can hate and hurt no more.

(c) 2006 Annie Kaszina