The Weekend Conflict

Have you ever looked forward to the weekend all week—only to have one small conflict derail the whole thing?

Sadly, for several years of our marriage, Amy and I had what I now call “The Weekend Conflict.”

It usually started over something trivial like one of the following. One of us thought the other should be doing something differently. Someone made a comment that felt critical. A tone was misinterpreted. An expectation went unmet.

The one who felt hurt would get upset and communicate their pain in a not so helpful way. Then the other would react, and before we knew it, we were in a conflict.

The worst part was we let it ruin the rest of the weekend.

We might sulk, withdraw, become cold, or keep our distance. What started as a minor thing on Saturday morning could still be hanging over us on Sunday night—or beyond.

At the time, we thought we were arguing about whatever had just happened. We didn’t realize that our love styles were playing a significant role in how we reacted to each other.

We were just repeating the ways we’d learned to manage pain in our families growing up.

John Bowlby, a British psychiatrist and psychoanalyst was the first person to identify attachment patterns when he was trying to understand the intense distress experienced by infants and young children who had been separated from their parents because of war or hospitalization. At that time, parents were often not allowed to stay with or regularly visit their hospitalized children.

Bowlby observed that children who were separated from their parents often went through three predictable phases: protest, despair, and detachment.

At first, they would protest. They might cry, call for their parents, refuse to eat or play, while they anxiously waited for their return.

When their parent didn’t come, protest could eventually turn to despair as the child became increasingly hopeless that the connection they desperately wanted was going to be restored.

Finally, some children moved toward detachment. They shut down, withdrew, and appeared to stop reaching for the connection they had originally wanted so badly.

Protest. Despair. Detachment.

Amy and I both came out of our childhoods with a Vacillator Love Style, which develops when connection with a caregiver is suddenly gone or inconsistent, and the child protests to be seen or understood. As adults, when connection with each other felt threatened, we followed that same familiar path.

First, we protested.

Our protest might sound like criticism, frustration, blame, or a complaint about what the other person was or wasn’t doing. Underneath it, though, was a much deeper longing: Do I matter to you? Do you care about what I need? Will you be there for me?

When our protest didn’t get us the response we hoped for, we moved toward despair. We felt deeply disappointed, misunderstood, or hopeless that the other person would ever really “get it.”

Then we detached.

We sulked. We withdrew. We stopped talking. We emotionally distanced ourselves from each other.

And there went the weekend!

There’s a saying I love:

“Fire has two elements: that of burning and that of shedding light.”

For years, we allowed the fire of our conflicts to burn us. But as we began understanding about our attachment styles, we learned that we could also use the fire to shed light.

Instead of only focusing on what the other person had done wrong, we began looking at what the conflict was revealing in us.

Why did that comment affect me so strongly?

Why did that disappointment feel so big?

Why am I protesting?

What am I really wanting from the other right now?

What old wound has been touched?

The conflict hadn’t created all those feelings. It had simply exposed something that was already there.

Only once we could see what was happening underneath our reactions, could we begin taking responsibility for our own triggers instead of blaming each other for them. The Comfort Circle helped us communicate our hurt in healthier ways and to learn to give each other the emotionally responsive connection that had often been missing in our childhoods.

In other words, the conflict that once caused more hurt could actually become an opportunity for healing.

Secure attachment doesn’t mean you stop getting triggered. It means you learn what to do when you are.

Amy and I still have our annoyances with one another, but today, we are much better at recognizing what is happening before the spark becomes a fire. We can more quickly own our reactions, soften our words, identify the childhood wound, and repair sooner—most of the time within a few minutes.

Proverbs 15:1 puts it beautifully:

“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

Sometimes the difference between a ten-minute disagreement and a ruined weekend isn’t whether conflict happens. It’s what we do next.

So, I wonder how many of you have your own version of The Weekend Conflict?

Maybe it isn’t always on the weekend, but there’s a predictable disagreement cycle that gets ignited over something small and ends up stealing hours—or even days—of connection.

The next time you feel that familiar spark, rather than only asking, “What did my spouse do wrong?” try asking another question:

“What is this conflict shedding light on in me?”

Because when we understand the wound underneath our reaction, conflict doesn’t have to burn down the weekend.

It can help us see the places where we still need to grow, heal, and learn to love each other better.