We’ve never really been big fighters in our marriage. Of course we have regular disagreements and sometimes Cassie will inform Dan that “we’re fighting” only to let him know a while later that the fight is over. Other than that, fighting between us is not particularly commonplace.
A few weeks ago though we had a fight. It was a pretty run-of-the mill, typical long-time couples fight, that covered well worn ground. We don’t say that to minimize either of our perspectives but rather to simply note that this wasn’t remotely the first time in our almost 23 year marriage that we’d had this particular disagreement. Cassie felt Dan was ignoring her. Dan felt Cassie wasn’t giving him space. A lot of couples can probably relate and, in normal times, we might not even have categorized it as a fight.
Not in these times though. This time it felt like World War III. We were both angry, hurt and hurtful. We exchanged stinging retorts and retreated to different rooms. It felt really intense and heavy. We were both agitated and pissed off. Neither of us wanted to give an inch. Neither of us had an “I’m sorry” in us. It felt overwhelming like there was almost no way to resolve it.
That’s when it hit us — we weren’t angry about the fight, we were angry about our lives. About Cassie’s continued back pain and slow recovery. About the pandemic. About the impending start of the Derek Chauvin murder trial (thank goodness that turned out OK). We were both angry about all of that and as we came to realize, we were especially angry about Cassie’s cancer. It never goes away. It’s there every day. Constant and unrelenting. It makes everything harder and heavier. And for things like a “typical” couple’s fight, the cancer acts as an accelerant. It can easily blow the simplest most basic things out of proportion and it’s hard to see that when it’s happening.
The other thing about fighting when one of you has a serious cancer diagnosis is that you frequently ignore little things that are annoying you because they can feel petty. Cassie knows Dan is doing so much as a caregiver so she often stops herself from raising small things that are bothering her. Similarly, Dan sees how much Cassie is suffering so he too often holds onto issues rather than communicating openly and directly. Left unsaid, these small things simmer, fester and grow. Then they blow up into something that feels much bigger than the underlying issue. It’s yet another way cancer acts as an accelerant.
Once we realized what was happening it was easier to let go of our mutual resentments. To apologize to each other, hug (gently) and make up. It was a lightbulb moment for both of us. Cassie’s cancer impacts everything so we will often have to pause and ask: “What are we really reacting to in the moment?” How much is about the issue of the day and how much is about the overriding issue in our lives? How much are we holding onto and not saying because we don’t want to “bother” the other, risking simmering resentment. That’s a whole lot of intentionality to be sure and we will most definitely miss the mark with some frequency. That said, in the years ahead as we have other arguments, gaining some clarity about what might really be driving our anger is helpful to both of us.
