That Time I Mistook Submission For Compromise

Most of my relationships played out in the same predictable fashion. I found someone to date. We had fun for a while. A conflict would arise, major or not, and I would bail.

I refused to deal with conflict or discomfort or anything that resembled rocky terrain ahead. It was easier to be alone and single than to imagine navigating the murky waters of deeper intimacy. The deeper you go, the more you reveal. The more you reveal, the more vulnerable you are. No, thank you.

Being vulnerable was the scariest thing I could imagine. I had been vulnerable once, fell madly in love, and lost myself completely. The relationship crashed and burned and took me down with it. I was an absolute mess. Inside, I couldn’t feel anything, and, if an emotion came up at all, I couldn’t recognize it as friend or foe. Nothing made sense, and nothing felt okay.

After that, I was determined to do life differently.

I became fiercely independent. No more falling in love, no more opening myself up, no more deep-level-shit. One heartbreak was enough for me.

I let my stubbornness take over and unapologetically created my own life. I didn’t let anyone step on my toes or challenge my perspective on the world or persuade me to follow their lead. I was determined to be my own person and my own keeper.

Okay, so I overcorrected.

It became evident to me that conflict was part of life and that relationships could be healthy and beneficial. And to be in one of those healthy relationships meant the possibility of conflict at some point. It was simple math.

Conflict didn’t have to be an all-out fight. It was any opposing force, a clash of perspectives, a disagreement over who would win in a fight – Ethan Hunt or Jason Bourne – or whether to hire someone to renovate the kitchen or DIY it.

Since I had spent so much time avoiding any type of conflict, I knew I had a lot to learn if I was going to get one of those healthy relationships. It meant shelving my stubbornness and calling on my inner flexibility to navigate the expected hurdles. I had to learn how to compromise – the very word used to give me agita. But I was ready for it now. I was looking forward to the opportunity to show myself how much I had grown.

It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually I found myself in a relationship. A healthy one with laughter and intimacy and, of course, a light sprinkling of conflict.

I had coached myself and practiced these moments over and over in my mind, so I was hyperaware of the opposition when it finally came up. During the tell-tale back and forth, my training kicked in. I took a deep, calming breath, smiled, and said okay.

I was so proud of myself for this. I had finally compromised. I said okay instead of digging in my heels. I said okay instead of drawing that symbolic line in the sand. This relationship would endure because I had learned how to say okay. I learned how to compromise.

That’s what I told myself. That’s what I thought compromise was all about. The giving in, the making room, the creating space for both of us to have what we wanted. And I was so excited about this revelation and this new ability that I spent the next couple of years compromising all over the place.

I said okay at the faintest clash or hint of tension.

I overcorrected. Again.

It wasn’t only that I didn’t fully grasp the concept of compromise, but I hadn’t really dealt with the underlying issue – avoiding conflict. I simply learned a new strategy for it.

Instead of running away, I had learned how to submit. And not in the sexy 50-shades-of-gray way. I was giving in when I wanted to push back and sitting this one out when I wanted to jump in the game. I was avoiding conflict by submitting in its face.

Is this ever okay? Sure.

When it’s over where to grab take-out or what movie to stream or anything limited to a moment in time or fleeting experience where you can get yours on the next one.

It’s not okay when the moment or experience in question has potential to alter the course of your life or drastically change it in some way. Buying a new car, adopting a pet, opening your home to someone in need, taking on a renovation. If it’s likely to be permanent or even a little bit long-term, just saying okay can trigger a series of events and emotional reactions that nobody’s ready to handle.

It's like climbing aboard an amusement park ride without taking a step back and looking at the ride itself. You have no idea what to expect, when those dips or loops are coming, or how high that drop is going to be until you’re right there.

You probably know what kind of ride you can handle. You know if you like loops or steep drops or sudden death-defying twists and turns. You know where you usually draw the line.

This is how I learned about boundaries.

When you simply say okay to avoid conflict, you’re disregarding your own boundaries. And that almost always invites more conflict – the internal kind that makes your guts churn and eventually sets off the external kind that makes you argue with your partner over the whole thing.

The worst part is that you said okay when what you really meant was – I need something different in this scenario.

Speaking on behalf of your boundaries can be unsettling and uncomfortable at first, but if you don’t do it nobody else will. Nobody else will get the message that you have boundaries at all. If you need or want something different than what’s being presented in that moment, you’re worth the extra energy and courage it may take to say it.

Opposing wants and needs do not necessarily mean the end of the relationship. It can be rocky terrain for sure. It’s also an opportunity to exercise compassion and compromise and can lead to a stronger bond.

That level of vulnerability is scary but rewarding when you realize the other person truly has your back and that you also have theirs.