We were in serious need of guidance: How could we move from power struggle to compromise? How do you motivate a deeply ambivalent spouse to do chores? When do you take a stand on something, and when should you let it go? So I called upon three experts who could try to help us reach a resolution. Julie Morgenstern is a New York organizational consultant for Fortune 500 companies and the author of books such as Shed Your Stuff, Change Your Life; Gary Chapman, Ph.D., is a relationship counselor and the author of the vaunted 5 Love Languages series; and Darby Saxbe, Ph.D., is an assistant professor of psychology at the University of Southern California who has studied the effects of stress from clutter. First my husband and I e-mailed them all a description of our issues and challenges. Then, in separate phone calls, each pro gave us feedback and tips, and crafted a strategic plan just for us (that can work for anyone).
Meeting of the minds It turns out my edginess sparked by mess is not imaginary. Darby Saxbe tells me her scientific research has shown that a cluttered home can disrupt a person’s level of cortisol, the stress hormone. “One of the things that make people have a physiological stress response is feeling a sense of overload,” she says, “and clutter is a nagging reminder of things that are left undone.” On the other hand, Saxbe has found that, for others, a surfeit of stuff offers security, memories, and even pride. In other words, one person’s detritus— Tom’s old concert ticket stubs come to mind—is another’s treasure. So the first step toward marital harmony, says Julie Morgenstern, is to understand each other’s perspectives. “Focus on the person and not his or her stuff,” she says. She tells me to have Tom walk me through the house, with-
out comment or criticism from me, TO M : and explain why his systems, as bon“OK, yeah, it does pretty kers as they might seem, work for him. much look “If you ask for a tour in the spirit of like a crime scene.” seeing it through his eyes, it will change your relationship to the situation,” says Morgenstern. “You will understand that he simply views his stuff differently than you do.” It never occurred to me that there could be some logic behind his habits, not just sheer laziness. Tom points out that the various paper skyscrapers on his desk are needed every day for TO M : “That suitcase research. The closet where he keeps is a grim his five (yes, five) bikes is chaotically symbol of a bursting, but he shows me that he fun trip that has ended. knows where every item is. Boxes are Delaying stacked by the front door as a visual unpacking prolongs the reminder to take them to the post office. pleasure of (Even though, after a few days of non- being away.” action, I end up being the reminder.) He even provides a semi-credible reason for the suitcase that, one week after the trip, is still not unpacked. His explanations do dial down my irritation a tad, and his suitcase rationale actually makes me feel a little sorry for him. “So he does have a methodology—it’s just not the way your system operates,” Morgenstern explains. In the same spirit, I ask Tom why, after he makes a sandwich, it looks as if our refrigerator has exploded. “Forgetting about the prep things,” he says, “is like a form of what psycholo- TO M : “You make the gists call ‘inattentional blindness’: You sandwich; you don’t see what you’re not looking for.” want to eat the sandwich. (Tom writes about science and psychol- You don’t want to be returning ogy, so he really talks like this.) food to its Fair enough. But then Morgenstern rightful place has me walk Tom through the kitchen as the sandafter he has barreled through it to make wich sits, beckoning. In a sandwich so he can see my perspec- my head, I’ve tive. “Show him how upsetting it is already moved on to the next that his mess costs you time and keeps stage: eating you from doing what you want to do,” the sandwich.” she says. We walk past the scattered utensils, the bags of bread, chips, and turkey, and the empty lemonade car-
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ton. I point out that because the kitchen now looks like the Gorilla House at the Bronx Zoo, I’m going to spend 10 minutes cleaning, when all I wanted to do was make a cup of tea. Not to mention that when he leaves containers open and wanders off, the food can get stale or spoil—which costs us money. He is abashed. He promises to make an effort from now on to straighten up as he goes. But just in case, I try one of Gary Chapman’s suggestions and ask him, “Would it be OK if I left you a note to clean up, or would you take that as me being your mother?” (“A request is always better than a demand,” says Chapman, so asking, and providing options, will boost my chances of results.) Tom is fine with it, so I hang a small note on the kitchen bulletin board that reads, PLEASE CLEAN AS YOU GO.
A clothes encounter One of our most squabbled-about issues is Tom’s bedroom closet: It’s stuffed so full that he can’t even close the door. I’ve been pestering him to shovel it out for the past six months. Chapman suggests an opposite approach: “Don’t mention the closet again. He already knows that you want him to clean it out, because you’ve told him 15 times.” Instead, he tells me to give Tom a compliment every time he does another chore, like taking out the garbage or helping my daughter put away Legos. “But why should I praise him like he’s a golden retriever for things he should be doing in the first place?” I ask. Chapman laughs. “I hear you,” he says. He explains that this advice applies to either gender and is not about bolstering a mate’s ego but about establishing an atmosphere of kindness and respect, which is ultimately a more fertile ground for effecting change. It still feels retro to me. When I grumble that Tom doesn’t compliment
