Learning Not to Ghost My Husband
They say life is the best teacher.
I say life is a slightly unhinged professor who forgets her syllabus and gives pop quizzes when you least expect them. Case in point: my first marriage.
Tom and I tied the knot while we were still in college—young, hopeful, and utterly clueless. Within months, he started showing signs of mental health struggles I couldn’t have predicted. And I… I cried in the car a lot. Usually after visiting my family for holidays. I’d sit in the passenger seat, tears quietly leaking out, wondering why my marriage felt more like an emotional boot camp than a partnership.
But I’d made a vow—for better or for worse—so I buckled in and braced for the “worse.”
As time passed, our communication patterns took root. Unfortunately, they were less “let’s grow together” and more “let’s spiral into dysfunction.” My personal specialty? Stonewalling. If you’re not familiar, let me introduce you to my emotional escape hatch.
These days, I’m a little obsessed with relationship guru Dr. John Gottman. He’s like the Gandalf of couples communication, and he’s identified the Four Horsemen of the Relationship Apocalypse: Criticism, Contempt, Defensiveness, and—wait for it—Stonewalling. That last one? Oh honey, I don’t just do it. I nail it.
Stonewalling is what I do when things get heated—I shut down, go silent, and basically morph into a moody statue. My daughter calls it “the cold shoulder.” Craig calls it pouting. Either way, it’s not cute. And spoiler alert: it doesn’t fix anything.
Back when I was married to Tom, I told myself that if I didn’t learn from my relationship issues, I’d just bring them into the next one. That sounded wise… so wise, in fact, that I completely ignored it. Because sure enough, even after the divorce, Stonewalling Lisa packed her bags and moved right into my second marriage.
But here’s the plot twist: I’m not doomed to repeat everything exactly the same way. I’ve got awareness now—and coaching tools. That makes a difference.
I asked my sister recently which of the four negative communication styles I used most. She didn’t even pause. “Stonewalling,” she said with the confidence of someone who’s been on the receiving end. Rude—but fair.
The good news is that there’s an actual antidote to stonewalling. It’s not magic. It’s just self-soothing and intentional breaks. Now, when I feel myself shutting down, I try to notice the signs—tight chest, shallow breathing, the overwhelming urge to pretend I’m deaf.
Instead of freezing Craig out, I’ve learned to say, “I’m getting overwhelmed. I need time to calm down so I can stay present.” Then I walk, breathe, empty the dishwasher, do anything that doesn’t involve rehashing the argument in my head. And here’s the kicker: I come back. That part? Huge.
Learning to stay emotionally engaged doesn’t come naturally to me. I didn’t get it right the first time, and honestly, I still mess it up sometimes. But I’m learning. I’m growing. I’m choosing connection over emotional escape routes.
And that, my friends, is a lesson I had to learn the hard way.
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