Inside the Work: Rebuilding Connection Without Blame
How I help couples regulate, repair, and reconnect with intention.
In couples therapy, it’s rarely about who’s right or wrong — it’s about what happens between two nervous systems trying to stay safe.
Recently, I worked with a couple — “Joe and Linda” — whose story reflected something I see often: one partner longing for closeness and accountability, the other numbed by avoidance and alcohol. They weren’t coming in to repair together; Linda was trying to stay steady while Joe’s emotional detachment left her carrying the weight of connection alone. Their story reflected care without closeness — affection worn thin by uneven effort, emotional distance, and a growing divide in how each made sense of faith and connection.
The Integrated Approach
My work with couples is intentionally integrated — not manualized or workbook-driven. The frameworks I draw from (Gottman, DBT, family systems, psychodynamic, and Al-Anon) aren’t checklists; they’re languages that help couples understand what’s happening between them. The real work is presence — tracking each partner’s nervous system, noticing when the room shifts, and applying the right tool at the right time.
I don’t follow scripts or rely on workshop certifications to define my approach. These models aren’t CEU trainings I completed — they’re frameworks I live, practice in my own relationships, and have refined through years of sitting with people in pain.
Identifying the Cycle (Gottman Method + Family Systems)
I began by asking what had been going well. They shared they’d made it two weeks without fighting and even planned a date night — a small sign of progress. But as we kept talking, the energy shifted. Linda sighed,
“There’s just no point in talking to him when he’s been drinking.”
We named that boundary early: conversations that matter can’t happen when someone is impaired. Repair can’t happen without safety — and safety includes sobriety. We practiced checking timing before engaging: “Is this a moment where connection is possible, or do I need to wait until later?” Discernment became self-protection, not avoidance.
That opened a doorway to explore emotional withdrawal — what John Gottman calls stonewalling, one of the “Four Horsemen” that predict relationship breakdown.
From a family-systems lens, especially in families impacted by addiction or chronic dysfunction, silence often becomes protection. Families adapt to instability through a set of unsaid rules:
(1) don’t perceive, (2) don’t name, (3) don’t challenge, (4) don’t upset, (5) don’t ask for change;
but instead,
(1) do rationalize, justify, deny, and make excuses, (2) do maintain the status quo without question.
When honesty feels dangerous, quiet feels safe — protection that can outlast the danger.
“You’re not wrong for protecting yourself,” I said. “But sometimes protection outlasts the danger.”
Joe sat quietly, his expression stoic and unreadable, hands resting in his lap. His numbness was part of the same system: numbing as safety, connection as risk. Linda’s anxiety spiked in his silence, which deepened his withdrawal — a closed loop of disconnection.
Connecting Past and Present (Psychodynamic + Family Systems)
Linda had once described growing up in a household shaped by alcoholism and volatility. I brought that history forward:
“In families where alcohol or chaos runs the show, kids learn to stay small and manage everyone else’s emotions. You learn to keep the peace because it feels safer than naming what’s wrong.”
That recognition turned self-criticism into awareness. Her instinct to withdraw wasn’t weakness — it was survival learning that had outlived its usefulness.
We discussed transference — how Joe’s indifference could echo a parent’s inconsistency — and named the quiet grief that comes with change. Letting go of the “small and quiet” role meant mourning the part of her that once survived by disappearing. Recognizing these parallels helped her reduce the emotional intensity of transference — creating just enough distance between past and present to respond differently this time.
When Alcohol Hijacks Connection (Motivational Interviewing + DBT + Al-Anon Influence)
Linda described one evening when she came home exhausted, admitted she was in a funk, and Joe — already a few beers in — said,
“Why don’t you go pray about it then.”
It wasn’t a fight; it was indifference that cut deep. For Linda, faith is her lifeline — so hearing that from her partner felt mocking and cruel, even if unintentional.
Joe later said he didn’t remember the comment. In alcohol-affected relationships, injury rarely comes from shouting — it’s the quiet absence of empathy when it’s needed most.
We unpacked how meaning filters through history. That sentence carried traces of her childhood — where honesty was punished and sharp jabs kept people in line.
I offered a regulation skill drawn from Motivational Interviewing, DBT, and Al-Anon:
“When something stings, start by naming your experience — recognizing it might be shaped by your past — and then ask, ‘Was that your intention?’”
For example:
“When you said that, it felt like you were brushing off my feelings — especially because my faith means so much to me. That’s how it landed for me. Was that what you meant?”
This skill wasn’t about expecting empathy from someone not ready to offer it — it was about helping her stay grounded and clear rather than collapsing into self-blame.
Regulating the Threat System After Rupture (DBT + Trauma-Informed Education)
Because Joe wasn’t trying to repair, the focus shifted to Linda’s regulation. I modeled what genuine repair might sound like — not to shame Joe, but to give her a reference point for future discernment:
“If your partner someday says, ‘I see that hurt you, and I understand why,’ that’s the kind of response that rebuilds trust. But you don’t have to wait for that to happen to start healing.”
Then we used DBT mindfulness to anchor her. As she sat with her hands over her face, I asked,
“What are you noticing right now — in your body, in your breath?”
She described tightness in her chest and heat rising in her face. I explained,
“That’s your threat system kicking in. When the body detects rejection or danger, the nervous system shifts from connection to protection.”
That psychoeducation reframed her reaction as physiology, not weakness.
Turning Toward Without Losing Self (Gottman + DBT Mindfulness)
Linda admitted that when she feels hurt, she often goes silent and waits for Joe to notice. I reframed her silence as protective withdrawal — her nervous system shielding her from further rejection. Joe’s lack of response, meanwhile, represented a missed bid for connection.
We explored the Gottman concept of turning toward:
“When one of you says, ‘I had a rough day,’ turning away looks like saying ‘uh huh’ while scrolling your phone. Turning toward sounds like, ‘Tell me about it — what happened?’”
Linda recognized how often she stopped reaching out because she anticipated dismissal. We practiced low-risk bids for connection — grounded in her values rather than his reaction. From a DBT perspective, this strengthened mindfulness and choice instead of automatic shutdown.
Letting Go and Holding On (Al-Anon + Psychodynamic Integration)
At one point Linda said through tears,
“I’m tired of making people feel good about themselves. I did it with my mom, my sisters, my husband. I just want someone to care about me for once.”
That was a turning point — psychodynamic grief work in real time. I introduced dialectical thinking:
“People do the best they can with the skills, insight, and motivation they have in that moment — and they also have the capacity to do better.”
Then we explored an Al-Anon ‘Let Go / Hold On’ inventory:
“You can hold on to your integrity, your faith, your peace. You can let go of managing his moods or choices.”
Letting go wasn’t indifference — it was reclaiming self-respect and releasing responsibility for another person’s recovery. She exhaled — not triumphantly, but with relief. Letting go wasn’t giving up; it was remembering that serenity and control rarely coexist.
Humor, Honesty, and Humanity
Therapy isn’t sterile — humor matters. After a heavy exchange, Linda said softly,
“I know I didn’t handle it right.”
Joe glanced over and smirked,
“Yeah… I can see where sometimes I’m a real butthole.”
The tension broke. I smiled and said,
“That’s probably true for most of us — nearly everyone’s got some mess in their lives.”
I added that even as a therapist, I sometimes fight the urge to fix things before my partner is ready, or know exactly which skill I should use in conflict but still deliver it poorly — because I’m human too, and my own reactivity sometimes shows up when emotions run high.
Grad school cautions against self-disclosure, but in moments like this it can normalize that even therapists don’t get it right all the time. It’s not about shifting focus — it’s about showing that imperfection doesn’t disqualify connection.
They both laughed, and the room relaxed. Humor isn’t avoidance; it’s a pressure valve that lets shame breathe. That moment of shared laughter often does more for regulation than any scripted intervention.
Integration: Turning Insight Into Change
By the end, Linda could name the cycle — his detachment, her withdrawal, the ache beneath both. We practiced language for boundaries and self-protection rather than forced repair. In Gottman terms, this is the antidote to stonewalling — intentional self-soothing that keeps communication from collapsing under stress:
“I’m not ready to talk about that right now.” “I need to step away before I say something reactive.”
I closed by summarizing how the frameworks wove together:
Family Systems & Psychodynamic: How early rules and roles echo into adult connection patterns.
Gottman Method: Identifying stonewalling and using self-soothing as its antidote.
DBT: Mindfulness, emotion regulation, distress tolerance.
Al-Anon: Let Go / Hold On boundaries and detachment with love.
Closing Reflection
Real repair isn’t always mutual — sometimes it starts with one partner learning to self-regulate when empathy isn’t available. The nervous system must feel safe before it can connect.
When couples learn to pause, check how something landed before assuming intent, and notice when their threat system hijacks repair, they begin to move from reactivity to choice.
Love doesn’t vanish; it hides behind old defenses, waiting for safety to bring it back.
