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Whenever Cheryl and I would disagree about something, she'd insist on talking it out. But when she talked she gave me too much information to process and respond to at one time. I'm an analytical kind of guy. I need time to think over things before I respond with a half-formed thought I may have to take back later, or say something I could have phrased a little more clearly.

With so much information coming at me quickly, I just couldn't get my thoughts together to respond the way I needed and she wanted. As a result, during these discussions, I usually just sat there saying little and feeling stupid because I couldn't answer her back immediately.

Invariably, after I'd had a chance to think about what Cheryl had said, I'd actually have some good responses. But that might not be until the next day. By then, it was too late—as if I were simply "dredging it up again." Besides, even if I did bring up my good responses, Cheryl would only end up throwing more information at me than I could handle, all over again.

After a few years this got to be annoying. It bothered Cheryl that I never said much when we argued. And it annoyed me that by the time I figured out what I wanted to say, it was too late to say it without causing trouble again. Something had to change.

Keith and I rarely had conflict while we were dating. We had so many common interests. We were always doing something fun together—concerts, dancing, church, day trips.

When we married, we weren't prepared for the work involved in hammering out the details of living together. We began to argue, as I said jokingly, "like two rams butting heads." Our arguments were probably similar to those of most newlyweds learning to negotiate housework, sex, time management—and whether or not to reuse the towels after one shower. But what drove us both crazy is that our "discussions" never seemed to resolve anything. We had the same arguments over and over. When an old issue would return, both of us would think, Not the towel thing again! We both had such strong feelings that we weren't able just to let things drop. A sense of futility started to creep in. Were we doomed to butt heads forever?

Our strong feelings were part of the problem. Each of us not only had strong opinions on the topic of towels (and every other subject), we also had intense feelings about how to argue. When Keith would express dissatisfaction with something, I interpreted that as his attacking me, and I rushed to justify myself. When I didn't think he was "getting it," I kept trying to find new ways to explain my reasoning.

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