Coach Joanna

In the beginning, his kindness was a beacon—a smile that was the sun on my horizon. His generosity was an overflowing fountain, his independence, a mountain that stood tall, and his thoughtfulness, a gentle wind that whispered sweet nothings.

Sadly, the beauty and tenderness of this landscape would soon drain away, leaving behind a parched desert.

After our college days, we pledged to be each other’s forever, with an ironclad resolve, vowing not to let the cold, hostile menace of my parents’ marriage, which had ended in a bitter divorce after twenty-seven long years, haunt our own. Yet, by the seventh year of my marital journey, I found myself trembling on the edge of a frightening void.

The haunting patterns of my parents’ marriage began to resurface like a ghost from the past. Just as my father had sought refuge in his office, my husband found solace in his career. He was the successful provider, and I, the exhausted homemaker, had left my job to mirror my mother, raising our daughters and fighting a relentless battle for my middle daughter, who was born with profound developmental disabilities.

My husband’s life, as he climbed the professional ladder, seemed to remain unchanged, while I lost myself in the quagmire of therapies and the quest for a miracle cure.

Betrayal, coldness, and confusion swarmed.

I oscillated between two extremes, either living a parallel life, playing the stoic, afraid to expose my vulnerability, or becoming the martyr, clawing at him for love. I begged, fought, and demanded his attention, which only instigated aggressive reactions.

His comforting smile now seemed icy, his independence felt like an abandonment, his attention to others, an outright betrayal. My playful, fun-loving self had transformed into a fearful creature, ever vigilant, viewing my husband as a stalking, ravaging predator.

But we survived, our gloomy marriage eking on. Until the renaissance came—not by a miracle, but by learning the skills my parents couldn’t teach me. Rather, a friend told me about Laura Doyle’s work, and in my despair, nineteen years into my marriage, I zealously turned to Laura Doyle’s 6 Intimacy Skills™.

Like a path of dropped breadcrumbs, they led me out of my dim world.

The first Intimacy Skill I learned was to release control; I chose respect instead. Instead of my habit of correcting, I remember using one of Laura’s phrases during a car ride: “You got this!” My husband’s responsive chuckle was music to my ears.

It was the beginning of restoration.

According to Laura Doyle’s teachings, I understood that I was the keeper of our relationship. I could powerfully change the culture of our home by how I chose to show up using my gifts.

I began by asking myself what I felt and what I wanted. I realized that in feeling rejected, I was rejecting myself. Pleasing him, I learned, could not be achieved without pleasing myself first. My vision became clear; I was responsible for my feelings of rejection.

I discovered that my husband wanted what I wanted: a happy wife. My own lack of self-worth and value for my husband were the barrier to my happiness. I began to fill my life with poetry, painting, theater, and self-care. My husband couldn’t help but be intrigued.

As I practiced expressing gratitude, I began seeing my husband in a new light. I noticed his efforts to make me happy, his generosity, his hard work. A decade prior, he had renovated our master bath precisely how I wished it. Now, I sat dumbfounded to realize that I had never noticed that he had done all this to make me happy, and for the first time, my heart brimmed with gratitude as I began to express appreciation for his pains to please me.

Through these expressions, my cold heart thawed, the resentment melted away, and disgust drained out. I began to see him as the hero he truly was. I let down my protective shield, allowing vulnerability to seep in and love to flow out.

Shortly after I began practicing the Skills, our relationship changed dramatically.

That Christmas Eve, my husband asked briskly about shopping that day. I responded with newfound respect and understanding, “I don’t own your time. Whatever you think.” His attraction to my femininity led him to buy me the most expensive Christmas present he had ever given me. Holding one another, the star on the tree didn’t glow as brightly as our melded hearts.