Interviewer: What would you consider to be your greatest weakness?
Interviewee: I think my greatest weakness is honesty.
Interviewer: Hmmm…. you know, I don’t really think of honesty as a weakness.
Interviewee: I don’t give a shit what you think.
Sometimes, maybe often, I’m not very good at putting my best foot forward. Perhaps more accurately, what I consider to be my best foot (my rambling attempts at transparency, radical honesty, and self reflection – in short, my long-winded acknowledgments that even my best foot is crooked toed and slightly lame) may not be viewed by other people as the endearing and redeeming quality that I think it is.
Put into fewer words, I may need to learn to say and share less. Maybe that begins here, in this space. I’m not sure. And yes, I see the irony in writing (sharing) about sharing less.
For a really long time, years, if not decades, I’ve held the belief that the best approach to forging new relationships (or at least the best approach for me) is to lead with authenticity and negotiate from an “all cards on the table” point of view. I’ve had the belief that if I try to acknowledge and own my flaws and weaknesses, you’ll know what you’re getting and you can make an informed decision about getting involved with me. I do this most often in business negotiations and romantic relationships. Because the stakes and the relationships are different, I don’t do it quite so much in job interviews – though I always appreciate those interviews where it feels like we’re having an honest conversation about room for individual and organizational growth.
Where this tendency to be an open book (to overshare) seems most detrimental to me is when I meet people on dates and we start talking about the ways past relationships have influenced our current state of being and thinking. I don’t necessarily want to talk about past relationships (or at least that’s what I tell myself), but they are an important part of how I got where I am. Trying to avoid dealing with a break-up influenced my decision to move to Memphis which, in turn, made it easier for me to move to other places. It’s hard to talk about my “journey” without mentioning past relationships.
Additionally, when asked about past relationships, I won’t avoid the subject. I don’t like to appear as though I’m trying to hide anything. If asked additional questions, I’ll provide additional context. I’m never sure if openness is the right approach. As I’m relearning (because I learned this years ago when I was more actively dating), when done too early in the getting to know you phase, these conversations can look and feel more like therapy sessions than dates. And I’ve played both roles (counselor and patient). I’ve been the spiller of beans and the receiver of spilled beans. Neither of which is inherently bad, but… regardless of who’s doing the sharing, it can impede early dating chemistry.
When I’m in the role of the counselor, I’m looking for and listening for personal accountability and nuance. I’m skeptical of anyone who places all of the blame on their former partner(s). I’m skeptical of anyone who has always left, who has never stayed when they weren’t wanted or made a fool of themself in the effort. If you haven’t fought for anything in your past, I’m inclined to believe that you’re practiced at cutting your losses and may not be cut out to go the distance. Relationships require some fortitude, some grit, some willingness to work through unpleasantries.
Conversely, when I’m the patient, I try my best to own my part of the equation and avoid placing blame on my former partners. I try to say things like “it was complicated,” or “here’s where we ended up and these are the things I did that weren’t helpful.” I try to blend those moments when I was the sinner with the times when I was the saint. I also try to avoid oversharing the negative things that a partner may have said or done because I just don’t see the point. Another thing that I’m re-learning is that in real time, I can begin to feel triggered in the retelling and I can get defensive – at which point, I’m all more than willing to look for several busses under which former partners might be all too conveniently thrown.
Generally speaking, I’d like to do less of that – all of it… but when I see the look in a date’s eyes or hear her begin to “take sides,” I find myself feeling like I’m right back in those past relationships fighting for my position, trying to make peace, or argueing with partners who are no longer in my life. When triggered, people, myself included, will sometimes, quite subconsciously, practice transference and get defensive. I remember a therapist sharing a story about an argument she had with her partner after which she realized that she was really playing out an argument with one of her parents. This tends to happen a lot with unresolved conflict – especially when we think we’ve resolved said conflict.
When I’m doing well as the patient, and trying to keep the focus on my flaws, this can end up looking like my own personal apology tour. I’ll share about the times when I wasn’t my best self or was insensitive or needy or cold and dismissive or noncommittal. Wanting to avoid blaming others, I’ll gloss over the other side of the story, leaving out the contextual things my partners said and did (how the disagreement and distances evolved). Relationships are complicated – there’s usually a push-pull dynamic somewhere along the way and the best we can do is take responsibility for whatever role we played. Only recently have I considered that over-sharing in this way (pointing out where I could have done better while trying to avoid sharing additional context) might make me look like a jerk – might make me look like the one who did all of the pushing or all of the pulling.
Not long ago, a woman asked me about my engagement from five years ago (because I usually refer to that as my last big relationship). Specifically, she wanted to know how long we were together before we got engaged. When I said five or six months, my date said that was fast. I didn’t say it at the time (because I’m slow, conflict-averse, and I didn’t quite realize it), but I felt judged. I could feel myself getting defensive. I wanted to say, “I know someone who got engaged after three months and they’re still together.” I wanted to say, “I also know people who waited years and all they were doing was avoiding problems the surfaced later.” Instead, I tried to respond with “I’m not sure there’s a right amount of time.” I suspect I did not articulate that point very well.
When my date asked some follow-up questions, I shared some of the dynamics of that relationship. She then suggested that I might have rushed my partner into the engagement – that she wasn’t ready for that step or that commitment.
This only made me feel more defensive. What my date didn’t know (couldn’t know) was that this was how I felt that partner tried to dodge accountability when she left – she blamed me for rushing her (as if she didn’t have a choice, as if she didn’t possess free will). That would be an understandable charge had I threatened to leave or used other methods of coercion – but that’s not how it played out. Not wanting to get into (except really wanting to get into) the “it takes two to tango” discussion (because I was beginning to feel defensive and a little triggered), I tried to focus on why I thought getting engaged felt right. The context that I didn’t share with my date was that my partner at the time was the first one to mention marriage, or that she insisted we get engaged if we were going to live together, or that she gave me her mother’s engagement ring to give to her when/if we decided to get engaged. Sharing those things might have shown that there were two people making the decisions collectively, willingly, (and I thought) eagerly… but by that time in our conversation, I felt like I had already shared too much and gulped my last breath before sinking in my own quicksand.
These are the booby traps of dating. These are the conversations that make dating challenging. What I’m realizing is, that despite feeling like I’ve worked all of this out in my head and having made peace with past relationships, I’m not terribly practiced at explaining those dynamics to other people. Which brings me to an interesting observation about courtship. While it’s natural to discuss with potential new partners what has and has not worked in past relationships, it can be an added complication that’s surprisingly difficult to navigate. In the very early stages of dating, everyone is looking for green and red flags and making judgments. How one treats waitstaff, how one asks questions, and how one talks about past relationships are all opportunities to shine or shit the bed. And because I’m a little out of practice, I’ve forgotten how in the gradual process (or not so gradual) of revealing oneself, there are a ton of opportunities for potential missteps which will put one or both parties into a position of wondering, “what am I supposed to do or think in this moment? Whose side should I be on?”
What I mean here, is that if I, or someone I’m dating, begins to talk about a previous relationship or an ex, the other person in the conversation seems to have one of three options: try to listen with neutrality, side with the person telling the story, or side with the person who the story is about. While that may be an overly simplistic breakdown of what’s going on in the moment – and there’s room for many gradations between those three choices – it seems reasonable that opinions (maybe even strong ones) will be formed. Wow, this person’s a jerk. Wow, this person’s a push-over. etc. etc.
In trying to think through how I would like those scenarios to play out, I think my preference would be for neutrality: to both give it and receive it. In trying to think about how those scenarios have played out in past relationships, I think, in most cases, both my partners and I took the “side with my new, potential partner” approach. My ex-wife sided with me over my ex-girlfriend, my ex-fiance sided with me over my ex-wife, and so on – and I did the same. There are a lot of understandable reasons as to why that approach feels easy and natural (we want to show support and trust, we want to prove that we’re on the same team, and it can feel empowering to have a common “enemy”)…. but I also suspect that such an approach can lead to co-dependency and can lead to something that’s less than fully honest. Conversely, challenging your potential new partner (while ultimately something healthy relationships learn to navigate) can lead to unnecessary conflict and to a right or wrong dynamic that becomes an argumentative pattern. Done too soon (meaning without having built sufficient trust), this can lead to a sense of feeling attacked or unsupported.
While not terribly surprising, I’m realizing that I’m really out of practice when it comes to these conversations. I try to speak of past relationships as being full of complications, hope, and competing needs/desires. I try to talk about them (or at least I think I do) as good relationships with wonderful people but poor timing and sometimes unfavorable circumstances. When the questions arise, as they sometimes do, “would I do it again? do I regret it?” I’m unequivocal in not having regrets, and I usually say, I’m not sure if I’d do it again – I’m different, they’re different. With people less practiced in, or attuned to nuance, such a statement can be misinterpreted as wanting to get back with former partners
What I hope to get better at, is striking an appropriate balance. Learning what to share, how, and when. I’ve gone out with people who refuse to talk about an ex (as in “they’re dead to me and I don’t ever want to say their name again”). This, for me, hints of unresolved conflict and I don’t want to be that person or be with that person. I’ve also gone out with people who only talk about their exes – usually in a disparaging way. This, too, hints of unresolved conflict – and I don’t want to be that person or be with that person either. But to walk around as though all of my conflicts have been resolved feels dishonest. Sometimes we get closure, but quite often, we don’t. Unfortunately, the best way (perhaps the only way) I know how to show that I’ve made progress or peace is through sharing and through my use of nuance – is to suggest that honest and serious relationships will have triggers and disappointments and moments of defensiveness. I think if we’re serious about making it work (and I’ve only had a few instances in life where we seemed serious about making it work), we’ll approach those things with patience, grace, and non-judgment. I just don’t know how to get there from here other than to think, at least early on, that maybe less is more.