Why being a 'nice guy' doesn't work in relationships

Healthy (and sexy) relationships require emotional vulnerability and realness.

No, it’s not hot sex that makes or breaks relationships. Or being best friends. Or never fighting. Or doing romantic date nights. Or an equal share of the household labor (though more and more women seem to be understandably fed up about having to do too much of it).

It’s how a couple handles the inevitable fighting that happens in every relationship. The unavoidable differences of opinion. The inescapable conflicting needs.

Maybe you’re like me and you try to avoid conflict and hope it fades away. Like that cartoon dog surrounded by fire, saying, “This is fine.” Maybe you randomly blow up and yell. Maybe you get defensive whenever there’s a whiff of criticism from your partner. Maybe you drink beer and watch YouTube every night to get some relief.

None of that works in the long run. In fact, renowned relationship researchers John and Julie Gottman claim that how a couple “repairs” is key to making or breaking a relationship. What happens or what’s said during conflict doesn’t matter as much as the conversation afterward. The return to each other. The apology. The check-in. The getting-on-the-same-page-so-we’re-good-again talk.

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I’m going to teach you how to repair, because odds are growing up you learned some other, less healthy way to handle conflict.

Like I said, I’m an expert in avoidance. I tuck my tail and hope for the best. It’s what my parents did. One of my grandfathers would piss them off for some reason or another, and they wouldn’t say a word back. Until we were driving home from my grandparents’ house, when they would complain to each other about him, and my dad would yell. Other times, tension between my parents about who knows what would get so big and go for so long that my dad would explode. Again, an unhealthy way to deal with conflict.

I don’t blame my dad, by the way. He wasn’t taught the healthy way either. Most people aren’t. Many men feel like we have to either be the “nice guy” and “go with the flow” or blow up in anger. Otherwise, we’d have to be emotionally vulnerable, which is shamed out of us as young boys by our patriarchal capitalist society.

Here’s an example of a healthy way: This didn’t happen with my partner, but it shows that learning how to repair can help all relationships—at work, with friends, with family members, etc. A few months ago, in a weekly therapy group with other therapists—that’s right, I’m a therapist but also in therapy myself—the group had a big fight. Someone who’d been in the group for years was leaving. There was yelling and arguing and crying. I got in an argument with another group member. I raised my voice, which I’d never done in five years in the group. I really love and care about this group member, but their anger about the other person leaving was, ironically, making me angry. I felt defensive of the person leaving. “What the fuck?!” I said, “Why are you angry? Aren’t you hurt? The whole point of this group is to be vulnerable!”

Luckily, the group therapy session ended only minutes later. I had a whole week to reflect on why I got so triggered. I thought about what happened on my drive home. And then again when I meditated the next morning. And then again the next day on a walk to the grocery store. It had something to do with my dad. Something to do with how I react when someone is angry. My body tenses up, and I get a little scared. But there’s almost like a smirk on my face. I feel dismissive, like I want to shew away the other person’s anger. Like it doesn’t matter. Like there’s something deeper underneath inside of them that’s more important to know about.

I realized the other group member had triggered a part of me that felt young. This little kid inside of me had seen my dad get angry so many times, and he was tired of it. He was scared and wanted it to stop. He’d watched my mom smirk and roll her eyes in response to my dad’s yelling. It’d seemed to be the only way she could challenge him. And it worked. My dad would usually leave the house to work on the car or cut the grass, and then come back inside later like nothing had happened and everything was fine (sound familiar?). So, this young part of me learned how to do the same thing in response to anybody’s anger.

In our next session the following week, the other group member and I talked about what happened. We “repaired” (not because we’re therapists who do everything perfectly, but because that’s what’s encouraged in group therapy). I shared what I’d learned about my initial reaction, and she shared what had been going on for her when she’d been angry. I apologized for raising my voice. I felt warmth growing in my chest. I told her I felt much closer to her, and we laughed about how mad we’d been at each other the week before.

Repairing not only brought us closer together, but it also helped me trust her more. The next time we get in a conflict, I know we’ll be able to work it out. Our relationship is now stronger and can handle more authenticity and potential conflict.

Let me break down the ingredients of a repair.

First, take a pause or step away. Figure out what you’re truly thinking and feeling. When we’re amped up, it’s almost impossible to think straight. In therapy-speak, when our nervous system is “dysregulated,” the rational parts of our brain go offline. We keep trying what isn’t working on autopilot—yelling, getting defensive, shutting down, whatever our default relationship to conflict is. Tell your partner you need some time to think. Let them know you want to talk about it later.

Go for a walk, journal, or meditate. Whatever you need to do to “regulate” your nervous system. Focus on what’s happening inside of you. What does your body feel like? What sensations do you notice? What’s going through your mind? Are these familiar feelings or thoughts? Do they remind you of a time in your life or a certain relationship in the past? You might need help from a therapist, but you can figure out some of it on your own.

When you’re feeling ready, come back to your partner and tell them you want to talk about what happened. That’s the start of the repair. That takes courage, which will likely help your partner be open with you. Try your best to be open yourself—to be curious and vulnerable—even if it’s scary.

If you were able to figure out where your reaction came from, like I did when I raised my voice, talk about it. Own up to your side of things. Apologize—or ask for an apology—if that feels authentic. If you aren’t sure, say that: “I don’t know what happened. I’m confused. What was your experience?” If you want to point out what your partner did or said and how it impacted you, use the structure: “When you did X, I felt Y.” When you yelled, I felt scared. When you looked at your phone at dinner, I felt lonely.

The Gottmans describe repair as “any statement or action—silly or otherwise—that prevents negativity from escalating out of control.” You don’t have to go for a walk or take a week to reflect, like I did. You can pause for a moment, take a deep breath, and tell your partner how you’re feeling inside. I feel tension in my stomach. Or you could make a joke. Not to divert attention from the conflict, but to poke fun at the tension. To lighten the mood—to help regulate your nervous system and hopefully your partner’s too.

What really matters is that you try. That you don’t either avoid or blow up in the face of conflict. That you show that you care enough about your partner to be messy and vulnerable and curious with them. Most of the time that will invite their messiness and vulnerability and curiosity. And you’ll move forward together stronger and more real with each other.

That’s what makes great relationships (and sex, by the way). Emotional vulnerability and realness. And, unfortunately and counterintuitively, it only comes through getting in and out of conflict.

Now, a question for the comments below (or email me at jeremy@mohler.coach): What’s your relationship to conflict?

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