The best room goes to the guests

The other evening we were in the fifth stage of My Best Version, the one called My Loves and Me. As we talked, the guest room came into my mind and my mind stayed nailed to it.

When I was little, most homes had a guest room. It was the tidiest room in the house. Every good set was in there, the armchairs sat straight, the curtains were always clean and in line. The door to that room was usually shut. It opened a few times a year, when guests came. Do you remember those rooms?

For years we gave the best room in our house to the people we saw least.

Who are we saving our best selves for?

During the day we are generally patient. In a meeting we choose our words, we listen to the other person right to the end, we do our best to be understanding when a colleague is late. Just as we smile when a guest arrives even if we are out of sorts, bring out the finest plates, stay patient even when the visit runs long…

Then we come home, when evening falls. Our patience is spent, our courtesy has been handed out all day long… And whatever is left in our hands, we give to the person we love most. Do we ever wonder whether what is left is what they deserve?

They’ll understand anyway

I know we do not do this out of ill will. I think there is a quiet assumption underneath it: the one closest to me will understand anyway. They will not leave anyway. They will see how tired I am, they will read my state, I will not have to explain myself.

The assumption is true up to a point. The person beside us really does understand, really does stay. But understanding and being treated with care are not the same thing.

Closeness is not a licence to be excused from care.

Relationships wear out through neglect, not through fighting

Talking with my clients, I see this again and again: what tires a relationship is usually not the big arguments. It is the “darling, have a look at this” that goes unanswered. It is the “mm-hmm” given while looking at a phone. Or the day that someone starts to tell you about and then leaves half-told.

None of these matters on its own. The danger is that when they pile up, what emerges is two polite strangers living in the same house. Nobody slams a door, nobody shouts. It is a kind of toxic adjustment, a quiet giving-up.

Gottman’s study, which followed newly married couples for six years, puts a number on it. Through the day partners make small bids for each other’s attention: “look at this”, “did you hear about that”, “this is how my day went”. The couples who were still married six years later had responded to those bids 86% of the time. Among the couples who separated, the figure stayed at 33%.

What keeps a relationship standing is not the big conversations. It is the answer given to the small bids.

Opening the door of the room

The remedy for this is not grand gestures, I think. It is small things, repeated. Shall I leave you three to try this week:

A last word

Most homes no longer have a guest room. The room has gone; the habit has stayed.

So what happens if you try those three things? In my sessions I see it go something like this.

On the first evening nobody notices a thing. You give a minute before you look at your phone, and the other person does not even ask what is going on. On the second evening you ask “how was today”, and you get a short answer. On the third evening the answer runs a little longer.

On the fourth evening something shifts. The other person looks at you before they begin to speak. They have understood that what they say is going somewhere.

What happens inside is this: a person who feels heard lowers their defences. The voice softens, the sentences get shorter, and they stop saying “they won’t understand anyway”. The load they carry through the door gets lighter too, because a question is waiting for them on the other side of it.

May our best selves stand in front of the people we see most 😊