Conflict is not what breaks a marriage. The failure to repair afterwards is. This is one page you can put on the fridge: six steps back to each other, and the sentence to say at each one.
Six steps, in order. Pause and regulate, acknowledge the rupture, take ownership, validate your spouse, request reconnection, complete the repair. In order, because a repair attempted out of order usually fails.
The actual words. Not a principle to interpret at eleven at night. The sentence: “We had a rupture. I want to repair.” “I can see why you felt ___ when I ___.” “Can we try again?”
Why you cannot skip step one. Twenty minutes minimum, and not past two hours. You cannot repair from a flooded nervous system, and trying is what turns one rupture into an evening.
Repair is, repair is not. Side by side, so it’s obvious which one last night actually was. Sweeping it under the rug is on the list, and so is waiting for them to apologize first.
Made to be printed. One page, so it can live on the fridge or in a drawer, and be found by whichever of you gets there first.
It’s free. Your name and email, and it opens right here, nothing to wait for in your inbox.
If the card gets you through one repair and you want the long version, the eleven-page guide goes step by step through all six, including what to do when your spouse isn’t ready to talk yet.
Coaching is not therapy, counseling, or crisis intervention, and a one-page card is none of those things either. It gives two people who both want to repair a way to do it. It will not, on its own, fix a marriage where only one person is trying, and it isn’t trying to.
What it can do is take the guesswork out of the ten minutes after a fight, which is usually where the damage compounds. Small repairs add up, and so does skipping them.