Don’t be a Doormat

When I want my wife to change, my brain reaches for the same tool every time: emphasize my distress. The logic feels airtight—if she could just see how much this hurts, she'd change.

But think about what that communicates. When I ramp up my distress to get a response, I'm saying: My okayness is in your hands, and you're failing. That's not a request. That's an emotional control lever. And some part of her recognizes it and thinks, I can see you're using your pain to run me, and I refuse to be run.

Relatioship Coach Catherine Roebuck put it sharply: if your partner gives in to a request made from judgment and coldness, what have they won? Nothing. They've confirmed that giving in sets them up for more of the same. To protect their sense of self, they almost have to say no.

This instinct isn't a character flaw—it's our oldest survival strategy. As infants, ramping up distress until someone responded was our only tool. But what worked on a caretaker responding to a helpless baby has the opposite effect between adults. Your partner already knows you're upset. The issue is they don't want to be controlled by your upset.

What Actually Works

Before I bring a request to my wife, I have to figure out: if she says no, am I going to be okay? If I haven't settled that, she'll sense that her answer carries the full weight of my emotional wellbeing—and that pressure alone will make her want to say no.

But if I've genuinely gotten to a place where I can accept either answer, the request arrives without a threat attached. I'm not asking her to save me. I'm asking her to consider something, and she's free to choose. That freedom is what makes it possible for her to choose yes.

Sometimes people honestly examine this and find out: No, I really won't be okay. That's not a problem with the exercise—that's the exercise working. If your okayness truly depends on your partner's response, the focus needs to be on building your own foundation, not making a more persuasive appeal.

The Third Way

When she’s responding to a partner’s request, Catherine makes herself come up with three possible responses before picking one. The first two are almost always childhood coping strategies—comply or rebel. The third option is the first one that's actually yours, coming from values instead of reflexes. Something like: I'm going to tell you what I honestly think, in the kindest way I can. That's infinitely harder than caving or blowing up. But it's the only response that keeps both connection and autonomy intact.

Always saying no is just as reactive as always saying yes. Either way, someone else is determining your behavior. Real autonomy means slowing down long enough to figure out what you actually want.

I have to feel solid in myself before I can reach out with kindness to someone else. That's the foundation. There's no shortcut around it.