Weapons We Use on the People We Love
Every couple has an inner arsenal, even the couples who love each other deeply, even the couples who would never describe themselves as cruel, vindictive, or out to destroy the person they promised to...
Rick & Monique Elgersma, LMFT
Marriage does not need better fighters. Marriage requires something braver: two people safe enough, honest enough, and humble enough to stop preparing for battle with the person they long to trust.
Rick Elgersma, LMFT – Real Connections Counseling & Coaching
The first article in this series named the arsenal many couples bring into conflict. The words. The silence. The look. The old evidence. The threat. The moral verdict. The spiritualized accusation. The practiced defense dressed up as honesty. The point was never shame. The point was the question underneath the whole series: has the way you protect yourself started wounding the person you say you love most?
Now comes the next question.
Where does the arsenal go once you finally see it?
Many couples fear laying the arsenal down because they assume they will have no protection left. That fear deserves respect. Some relationships include serious harm, and safety may require firm boundaries, outside help, separation, legal support, or clinical intervention. Laying down the arsenal never means accepting abuse, betrayal, intimidation, addiction, manipulation, or chronic emotional harm.
A relationship can require boundaries without requiring weapons. Boundaries say, “This cannot continue.” Weapons communicate, “I want you to feel pain because I feel pain.”
Boundaries protect dignity. Weapons attack dignity.
Boundaries seek clarity. Weapons seek leverage.
Boundaries can create a path toward repair. Weapons usually make repair more expensive.
A person can say, “I will continue this conversation once we can both speak with respect.” A person can say, “I need accountability, and I need us to get help.” A person can say, “I am hurt, and I want to talk about this without trying to punish you.” Those sentences refuse both collapse and cruelty. Neither statements beat around the bush. Both statements tell a direct truth, and ask for a positive result at the same time. You can do that too.
We like to feel strong, especially once we feel exposed. The arsenal waits right at arm’s length, and a quick draw can make us feel like we know how to win the duel, gain the advantage, and keep ourselves from being wounded first. Silence can feel strong. Sarcasm can feel strong. A threat can feel strong. Bringing up the old thing at the exact moment of maximum impact can feel strong. But winning the duel may cost you the connection.
Sometimes I just want to reserve the right to be a jerk, and I’m not even sure why. Maybe that sounds immature. Maybe it is. Most of us know the feeling. Something gets touched inside us, and suddenly we want room to say the thing, make the face, shut the door, punish with silence, or pull out the old evidence.
The arsenal tempts us because it gives our worst impulses a badge and calls them justified … gives us something we can defend.
Real strength asks a better question during conflict: “Am I trying to protect connection, or am I trying to protect my power?” Power forces the last word. Connection wants the truest, kindest, most peaceful, self-controlled word. Power wants victory. Connection wants repair. Power uses pain as permission. Connection treats pain as information.
Start there.
Before the sentence comes out, before the silence becomes punishment, before the old file opens, before your face becomes a weapon, ask yourself, “Am I protecting love right now, or am I protecting my pride?” That question can slow the room down. You may still need to speak strongly. You may still need to confront harm. You may still need to draw a line. Strength changes once the goal becomes connection instead of control.
The next move is simple, but not easy: disarm before you damage the person you love. Say it inside yourself first. “I am about to punish with silence.” “I am about to bring up something old because I want leverage.” “I am about to say something cruel because I feel exposed.” “I am about to make myself the judge because I feel powerless.” Disarming gives you a chance to put the old response down before it becomes the next wound.
Then name the fear underneath the weapon. Anger can fill the whole house with noise, but fear often tells the deeper truth. A spouse may sound furious while feeling unwanted. A spouse may sound cold while feeling overwhelmed. A spouse may sound morally certain while feeling ashamed. A spouse may sound controlling while feeling terrified of being abandoned.
The weapon rarely tells the deepest truth. The fear underneath gets you closer.
Speak before you strike. A better sentence usually begins beneath the weapon. Instead of “You never care about me,” try, “I am scared my pain does not matter to you.” Instead of “You’re selfish,” try, “I feel alone in this, and I need you to understand how much I have been absorbing.” Instead of “Maybe we should just divorce,” try, “I feel desperate right now, and I need us to slow down before we damage something we both still value.”
Those sentences do not excuse the other person. They give the conversation a fighting chance.
Repair begins with ownership. Seriously. Own your shit and you’ll find repair much faster.
Performance is like propaganda – designed to persuade, and manipulate. The belief is that you must explain everything away.
Clean ownership does not perform, or grovel. However, clean ownership doesn’t mean you don’t have a point. It’s just that you do not have to use weaponry or tools to explain your partner’s experience away. His or her experience means you participated in some way to create their genuine experience. Own that and you won’t have to soothe a wounded spouse when it’s over. Clean ownership says, “I used my pain against you. I want to understand what happened inside me, and I want to repair what I damaged between us.”
That kind of ownership lightens the air between partners. Old courtroom trials, proofs and battles lose power; no more dragging out the same exhibits, cross-examining the person who is supposed to be your partner, or treating one wound as permanent permission to create another in someone else.
Marriage needs truth … but love loses strength the very moment weapons become proof of it. Love does not flourish because two people, two lovers, two partners strung together by the heart keep weapons within reach; they strengthen because they learn to tell each other truth with grace, to love with honesty, not harm with it.
You will probably reach for the old weapon again. That does not mean you are hopeless. You’ve practiced your “quick draw” techniques for a long time. Grace gives you room to tell the truth faster, own the damage sooner, and practice again with more honesty.
Stop pretending the weapon is wisdom. Notice it. Name it. You can literally ask what feeds the impulse to strike. Fear? Maybe resentment, or revenge feeds it?
Choose to stop yourself Choose a boundary instead of a blade. Speak truth without trying to shrink the person you love. Own damage quickly. Repair with humility. Practice again the next time because the old weapons will probably be waiting.
The arsenal may have helped someone survive old pain, old homes, old shame, old betrayals, and old fear. But the stockpile must be thrown out. Marriage does not need better fighters. Marriage requires something braver: two people safe enough, honest enough, and humble enough to stop preparing for battle with the person they long to trust.
May God grant you humility, courage, and peace as you begin reducing the stockpile.
