Managing Emotions with Rubber and Glue

On a beautiful, fall afternoon in 2001, I stood in a parking lot with my future husband, Andy. It was the kind of day you see in paintings. A rainbow of red, yellow and orange leaves shone brilliantly against a backdrop of vibrant blue sky. The soon-to-set sun cast shadows along a stone wall that separated us from the gentle hills that rolled toward a lake's edge.

Several feet from my love interest, I folded my arms across my chest, a bag full of books slung over my shoulders. Andy was in a hurry and distracted by his high-tech, BlackBerry phone, which he always had in hand. We'd caught one another in passing, he was on his way to work, and I was headed home to read and write. We were two busy museum studies graduate school students juggling jobs and studies, thinking we were ready for an adulthood of making an impact, but not knowing yet what it meant to be an adult, or the impact we would have.

We also didn't know what to do about our relationship. We met a few months earlier, were seeing other people, and accidentally started seeing one another, too. It was a fling gone wrong and our connection developed quickly and with passion. The situation we created for ourselves caused friction and forced us to make several, uncomfortable, life-changing choices.

I can't recall the exact conversation we had in the parking lot that day, but I know we were fighting about our relationship. I was angry and upset or hurt and frustrated, or all of them, all at once. He was annoyed and unprepared, but not willing to walk away because he cared, even if he wouldn't admit it. Our banter came to a standstill, both of us exasperated to not hear what we needed to hear. I knew in that moment that I had to quit this nonsense for my own sanity.

I began to walk away and he called to me. I turned, perhaps hoping to hear the words I love you, or better yet, I was wrong. Instead, he told me he'd been in the library and found some interesting primary resource material related to my current research topic. It was as though he'd forgotten the tension of our argument. Despite being peeved, I spent ten more minutes animatedly discussing the origin of a punched tin lantern, and I thanked him for finding critical information for me. As I drove away, I cemented a sentiment that has lasted for the past twenty years. I could not stand him and I could not stand being without him.

In 2004, the guests at our wedding parked in that same lot where we argued, on a fall day with a blue sky and brilliant leaves. We received a reproduction, punched tin lantern as a gift.

Remember the 90's classic book, Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus? Andy and I operate in very different ways, and we are regularly confused by the other, but we aren’t so cosmic in our misunderstanding. Instead, I describe us more like rubber and glue; whatever I say bounces off of him and sticks to me.

Rubber is an incredibly useful polymer, with tons of positive qualities. It is known for its durability, flexibility and malleability. Rubber can stretch and shrink and it can handle hot and cold conditions. It can be molded. It plugs holes. Rubber can save you from electric shock. Rubber also absorbs and releases energy really fast, and that means it bounces. No amount of gravity can keep Andy down. He just let's whatever comes his way hit his shoulders and- boing-bounce somewhere else.

Glue is a totally awesome adhesive. It's abrasion and fatigue resistant, highly durable, even in the most hostile environmental conditions, has low flammability, helps bond things together, and hey, it's tasty because some kids love to eat it. It sticks to almost any surface. Glue can close wounds. It is used to saves lives. I am the glue that keeps my family together. I am their strong bond, mending the broken pieces; keeping us whole even when we start to tear apart.

Here's where things get really sticky. As a highly emotive, dramatic and extroverted person, my emotions are a bottle of glitter in the hands of toddler. Glitter can be really fun, pretty, mesmerizing, and entertaining. It also causes a mess and gets stuck in every crack, for eternity. When I throw my glitter at Andy, none of it sticks to him. It all comes back to me and then I am walking around with my emotional mess all over myself.

Letting criticism and negativity bounce is a pretty savvy coping mechanism, and one that a lot of partners use on one another. Andy doesn't allow my words or actions to impact his ability to be content with himself, or to move on and forward. He is so good at it that I often wonder if he has an invisible, rubber force field around him. For example, if Andy returns home later than planned, and the dinner I made is cold, I am prepared to tell him how I feel about this, which is angry, hurt, frustrated, disappointed and hangry. I stand in the kitchen with arms crossed with steam coming from my ears. I follow him around, asking why he didn't text me. I ask why he can't be on time. I tell him he is rude and inconsiderate. My heart pounds and tears roll. Like an expert four square player, be bounces the ball back to me. He gives me a side glance, says nothing, grabs his plate, and sits down to eat. That's right, he says NOTHING. He concludes the evening as though there is no tension in the house. He putters in his office, takes a work call, and watches SyFy before falling asleep on the couch. I spend the evening yelling at the kids for leaving socks on the floor, eat the emergency Hershey bar in my nightstand, and sulk while watching Hallmark. My anger and resentment for Andy's actions is stuck all over me and I can't get it off. I wake up the next morning with my emotional glitter scattered everywhere. I sweep it up, and while it may be out of sight and out of mind, the little pieces are still stuck in the cracks and stuck on me.

I am impressed with Andy's rubber super power. I want to be rubber. I don't want to be glue. I don't want things to stick to me, whether it's other people's problems, or my own. I wish I could bottle up my emotional glitter and shove it in the bottom drawer of my craft room. But, I don't know how to be rubber because I have always been glue.

I am also sad for Andy because he is all rubber, all of the time. I watch him, time and again, bounce compliments and affection. His force field is so strong that I worry he is missing the positive effects of letting other's emotions stick to him, especially when those emotions are love, affection, pride, and adoration. I grab the adoration, compliments, love, and affection, and stick it all over me, with pride. I layer it on me, like a collage.

We can't be all of one and none of the other. Glue is often a key partner of rubber, moving us forward, including in the creation of shoes and tires. Together, rubber and glue are problem solvers, key elements for invention and ingenuity. Successful negotiation of relationships requires the ability to bounce and stick. We need to know when is the time to use both, for our own health, and the health of our relationships. With time, I want to be more rubber and I want Andy to add some glue to his toolbox. And, maybe some glitter. No matter how messy, we all need a little glitter.