“Chill out,” he said to me.
I began divorce proceedings immediately.
There are just some things that you never say to your spouse if you wish to remain wed. “Chill out,” and all of its many euphemisms — “Calm down,” “Relax,” or my daddy’s favorite, “Simmer down” — should be struck from the vocabularies of every creature with a Y chromosome.
This phrase has never, in the history of human interaction, been known to achieve its implied goal of deescalating a tense situation. It is, in fact, like throwing kerosene on the sun.
Most XY’s know better. But there’s another utterance that’s a little trickier, though no less explosive. So inflammatory is this little syllable, we have banned its usage in our humble home. It’s right up there with the f-word, eye-rolling and cupboard-door-slamming on our list of unacceptable communication practices.
And on the surface, it seems so innocent, even noble if you use it as an adjective. But, as an adverb, it’ll mess with your marriage in the most subversive of ways.
The word “just” as in “it was a just cause” implies fairness and is a very good thing. The word “just” as in “just hit CTRL+ALT+DEL” when my laptop has frozen solid and my deadline is 18 minutes away is not helpful at all.
It is infuriating. It is reductive. It is dismissive.
And it’s kinda funny.
Years ago, I was having an altercation with my refrigerator. The in-door ice dispenser would randomly malfunction. I never knew when it would happen, but every so often, the thing would begin spewing ice at me and refuse to stop. My glass would overflow and as I’d scramble for a bigger vessel, ice would fly around the kitchen like hail. I’d frantically mash all the buttons on the keypad in every sequence to no avail.
During one such skirmish, Ted, hearing the commotion, sauntered into the kitchen and said it — “Just open the door, Sharla.” And he proceeded to do just that.
And all of the ice cubes backed up awaiting their turn to go down the chute now exited the freezer en masse — slamming into the floor and shattering at my feet.
And yes, the ice storm abated, but my fuse ignited. I had tried that solution before. And just as CTRL+ALT+DEL is not a novel solution for anyone who has ever used a PC, I took umbrage. I’m not an idiot.
And it’s not that these suggestions aren’t good ones. Actually, they are. In this particular instance, I, in my franticness, had forgotten that opening the freezer door would curtail the hailstorm (though not solve the chronic problem). And I’ve been known to forget that rebooting my Mac is often the only way to get that beachball of doom to stop spinning.
So, it’s not the advice that irks me. It’s the delivery. It’s that word.
That simple word. Using the word “just” expresses arrogance. It obliterates empathy. It implies that the solution to my struggle is so basic I’m something of a nitwit for not employing it first.
It is my firm belief that when someone is struggling — be it with a mischievous Frigidaire, a demon-possessed computer, or any challenging situation, my first response should be one of empathy, not authority.
And while this distinction may seem trivial in low-stakes situations like these, it can feel like the difference between contempt and respect when dealing with matters of the heart.
And this is where Ted redeems himself. His XY-ness seems to mandate that he approach petty problems with efficiency and authority, diplomacy be damned. But when my heart is hurting or my soul is wounded, he has been known to just hold me.
The divorce is off.
For now.
