This is the story of how a moleskine notebook saved my marriage.
As Alan Loy Mcginnis observed, "If you train your mind to search for the positive things about other people, you will be surprised at how many good things you can observe in them."
Searching for the positive in your spouse is easy when life is running smoothly. But how do you train your mind to search for the positive when your marriage is under stress, money is tight, or you're in a crisis?
That was my situation a few years ago: my husband and I were super-stressed: overwhelmed parents of a new business, as well as several small children. I was depressed, we both were anxious; neither of us were sleeping much. We intentionally lived on a teeny salary, choosing to fund our business instead. This confluence of events meant that we were often short tempered, irritable, and took our frustrations out on each other. This was not conducive to a loving marriage.
Enter the notebook. Since my husband worked late at night, I would connect with him by leaving him notes in a journal on our bathroom counter. I'd read his replies in the morning.
At first, our written exchanges encompassed all sorts of rantings, the emotions of a typical couple: love, passion, gratitude, regret, frustration, anger. We even fought by notebook. (I don't recommend it.) Over time, we instituted a rule of only positive, kind notes. Requests were okay---I need a date; or, Make love to me. (Who wouldn't want to see that message awaiting them at the end of a long day?) But complaints and disagreements were alloted for another time.
I wished my husband luck on important phone calls; I thanked him for helping with household chores. I asked for attention; I shared what I loved about him.
What you focus on, expands. As the notes accumulated, I found myself reflecting more and more about what I loved about my husband, and less about what irritated me about him. I felt more compassion for his challenges, recognizing my own contributions to our stressful situation. I awoke in the mornings with positive expectation instead of dread, anticipating the gift of a note.
The bathroom notebook gave me a non-confrontational means to ask for help. In the early years of my marriage, I was under the mistaken impression that if someone loved me, they would know what I need. Or if I dropped enough hints, my spouse would understand my unspoken request. Now, I ask for what I need---in my notebook.
Our external circumstances didn't change for several years. The pressure cooker didn't disappear overnight. But our notebook brought my husband and I together in a way that silenced our bratty selves, helping us recognize that we both, ultimately, wanted the same thing. We'd arrive there much faster by working together.
Over time, the notebook became much more than a gratitude journal, or a pick-me-up. It morphed into a chronicle of our very lives: a record of our growth, both as individuals, and as a couple. A storehouse of treasured moments and personal victories; a cache of happy memories.
Now I also trade notebooks with my children. I write them notes; they write back. In this way, too, I'm recording a chronicle of their lives. As they get older, and enter the teenage years, I hope our notebooks can serve as a safehouse for things they may not feel comfortable telling me about in person.
Do you want to change your relationships? Do you want to save your marriage? Start a notebook, and see what unfolds.
As Alan Loy Mcginnis observed, "If you train your mind to search for the positive things about other people, you will be surprised at how many good things you can observe in them."
Searching for the positive in your spouse is easy when life is running smoothly. But how do you train your mind to search for the positive when your marriage is under stress, money is tight, or you're in a crisis?
That was my situation a few years ago: my husband and I were super-stressed: overwhelmed parents of a new business, as well as several small children. I was depressed, we both were anxious; neither of us were sleeping much. We intentionally lived on a teeny salary, choosing to fund our business instead. This confluence of events meant that we were often short tempered, irritable, and took our frustrations out on each other. This was not conducive to a loving marriage.
Enter the notebook. Since my husband worked late at night, I would connect with him by leaving him notes in a journal on our bathroom counter. I'd read his replies in the morning.
At first, our written exchanges encompassed all sorts of rantings, the emotions of a typical couple: love, passion, gratitude, regret, frustration, anger. We even fought by notebook. (I don't recommend it.) Over time, we instituted a rule of only positive, kind notes. Requests were okay---I need a date; or, Make love to me. (Who wouldn't want to see that message awaiting them at the end of a long day?) But complaints and disagreements were alloted for another time.
I wished my husband luck on important phone calls; I thanked him for helping with household chores. I asked for attention; I shared what I loved about him.
What you focus on, expands. As the notes accumulated, I found myself reflecting more and more about what I loved about my husband, and less about what irritated me about him. I felt more compassion for his challenges, recognizing my own contributions to our stressful situation. I awoke in the mornings with positive expectation instead of dread, anticipating the gift of a note.
The bathroom notebook gave me a non-confrontational means to ask for help. In the early years of my marriage, I was under the mistaken impression that if someone loved me, they would know what I need. Or if I dropped enough hints, my spouse would understand my unspoken request. Now, I ask for what I need---in my notebook.
Our external circumstances didn't change for several years. The pressure cooker didn't disappear overnight. But our notebook brought my husband and I together in a way that silenced our bratty selves, helping us recognize that we both, ultimately, wanted the same thing. We'd arrive there much faster by working together.
Over time, the notebook became much more than a gratitude journal, or a pick-me-up. It morphed into a chronicle of our very lives: a record of our growth, both as individuals, and as a couple. A storehouse of treasured moments and personal victories; a cache of happy memories.
Now I also trade notebooks with my children. I write them notes; they write back. In this way, too, I'm recording a chronicle of their lives. As they get older, and enter the teenage years, I hope our notebooks can serve as a safehouse for things they may not feel comfortable telling me about in person.
Do you want to change your relationships? Do you want to save your marriage? Start a notebook, and see what unfolds.