Why My Husband Infuriated Me During a Parenting Squabble

We have four teenagers, so dinnertime is never dull, but this particular evening it was full of chaos. One of our kids had not eaten much. My husband, Mark, really wanted this particular kid to eat more, and so he offered a bribe/threat: You can't mow the lawn until you finish everything on your plate.

This kid loves mowing the lawn. A power struggle unfolded, complete with sibling cheering sections. I tried to shut it all down using dramatic non-verbal cues. This was not what we agreed to do when a kid doesn't eat well, I screamed silently with my supercharged glares. I didn't want to undermine Mark in front of the kids, at least in theory, but he was not following the plan.

I was not successful. The picky eater ate what was required in order to mow the lawn.

Although I would like to go into all the reasons I was obviously right (because while bribing kids can work in the short run, research clearly demonstrates that it backfires in the long run) this post is actually about what I did next and why I did it.

The next night, I intended to calmly raise the issue so that we could prevent similar dinnertime spectacles in the future. I knew that in order to teach Mark a more skillful tactic for dealing with picky eating, I couldn't make accusations or do anything that might make him defensive, because people don't learn well when they are being criticized.

Let the record show that I was not even remotely uncritical.

I opened with something like, "How could you have been so stupid?"

And then I started to rant.

"Haven't we talked about that situation a million times? We have a freaking plan for this! We've agreed what we will do about picky eating! Why can't you follow through with the plan? Why can't you understand how important it is to be consistent?" He responded calmly. I rolled my eyes with contempt and superiority.

I was such. an. a--. Being an a------ is not an effective way to get someone to change their behavior or to teach more skillful parenting.

I do not know of any parent, myself included, who has not at some point threatened, bribed or otherwise manipulated a child into doing what they wanted the kid to do. I actually do possess a huge capacity to empathize with my dear husband's intentions and behavior, but it was a capacity I failed entirely to draw on.

Why? Why was this so emotional for me? Why was I so critical and punishing?

Because I was projecting.

We project, psychologically speaking, when we unconsciously attribute our judgments about ourselves to other people.

See, the thing that drives me most crazy about myself is that I often make big elaborate behavioral plans for myself and then I don't follow through on them. I make plans for everything: my sleep, exercise, eating, drinking, meditating, walking the dog, working, writing – I even plan the time I spend staring into space. No minute is too unimportant to strategize about.

And while I'm often successful, I've recently stopped meditating (again) after making a plan to meditate more over the summer. The perfectionist in me has been a mess of guilt and anxiety over this, something I didn't consciously realize until I found myself dressing Mark down for not following through on our picky eater protocol.

We humans have blind spots. It's often hard for us to see our own failings, but it can be very easy for us to see what's wrong with other people. The people around us, particularly our spouses, are like mirrors. We see clearly what we don't like, but we get it backwards.

It's not them; it's us.

Martha Beck cleverly calls this charming human propensity "You spot it, you got it."

Psychological projection (in its many forms) is a defense mechanism first conceptualized by Sigmund Freud. His daughter, Anna Freud, then elaborated on this theory. The Freuds posited that we often deal with the thoughts, motivations, desires and feelings that are hard for us to accept in ourselves by attributing them to someone else.

Although many Freudian theories have not stood the test of time, projection is still considered a textbook human behavior. I see projection at work all around me, in myself, in my friends and children, and in my clients.

That doesn't mean we're always projecting when we see other people's flaws, or when we see the ways that others can learn and improve. But when we feel particularly emotional about a situation? When we feel hooked and irrational and harshly judgmental about someone else's shortcomings, rather than empathetic or compassionate? We are probably projecting.

Projection is an undeniable human tendency, and I think it's pretty wonderful, actually, because it allows us to see ourselves more clearly, to better understand what's causing us anxiety and stress.

The greatest thing about projection, to me, is that it comes with a set of instructions for our own growth and happiness. We'll usually do well to do whatever it is we wish other people would do (or stop doing).

I was infuriated by Mark's inability to follow our parenting plans, but even in fury, my instructions for him were clear: Stop asking me to make parenting plans that he can't follow through on. Instead, make easier, good-enough plans.

So the way forward for me is not to follow through at all costs. It's not to be perfect. It's to stop making plans that aren't realistic. I live in the lovely, messy world of teenagers and a career that has me traversing time zones. I cannot count on the things that once anchored my routines, like knowing how much sleep I will need (or get).