My Wife's Worst Girlfriend

Why I stopped trying to be her BFF

Mark Galli

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I came of age during the time when people started saying husbands and wives should be best friends. If they could be best friends, they could have a satisfying and lasting marriage.

It took me years to discover that—at least for me—this didn't actually work.

I started out trying to be the best friend—which meant, among other things, I should be empathetic, caring, attentive, and nurturing. Since I was determined not just to be a "good husband" but the "best friend" my wife, Barbara, ever had, I entered marriage with my usual type A, get-it-done efficiency.

If she asked to chat about whatever over a cup of coffee—I was there. If she wanted to explain the intricacies of her relationships at work—I listened empathetically. If she was obviously in pain or hurt and said she didn't want to talk—I'd draw her out. I was good.

It went well for a few years. But as time passed, talking about whatever over coffee didn't hold my interest. Her intricate explanations of relational complexities at work confused me. I just didn't seem to care as deeply as I should have about the things she cared about—her garden, her shopping trips, her women's Bible study.

I started to worry that our marriage was on the rocks, that I'd lost interest in the love of my life. But that wasn't it. I just wasn't a good best friend.

I just don't get it

It took me a long time to recognize and admit that, yes, there were some things my wife talked about that I'd never care much about, and other things, I'd just never understand. It took me even longer to admit that was okay.

One night she was telling me about some of the women at work—who said what to whom, what they really meant, how so-and-so responded, and what that really meant, and what was Barb to do now, especially since her boss was like this and said that. I listened carefully, and then it occurred to me: I had no idea what she was talking about. I'd lost the train of thought early on, and I couldn't tell who said what to whom, who was upset at whom, and what Barb was actually confused about.

And then it occurred to me: I wasn't ever going to understand. I'm not remotely as relational as my wife; I simply couldn't keep it all straight.

So when there was an appropriate pause, I said, "Honey, this is a mess. I can see that much. I feel badly for you. But I have no idea what you're talking about. You're asking my advice, I think, and I have no idea what you should do. Maybe you need to find another woman to talk to about this. I'm guessing she can understand this whole thing. 'Cause I sure can't."

I realized that in trying to be my wife's best friend, I'd been trying to become her girlfriend. And I didn't see that happening without a sex change operation.

As I became honest with myself, I also realized I'd been frustrated in reverse. I'd share something with Barb that was of deep interest to me—my latest fly fishing trip, how I was enjoying the novel The Godfather, or the details of a carpentry problem I solved. Although she dutifully asked questions about such matters, I could tell she didn't really get it. The "Yes, dear" type responses left me flat. I slowly figured out she was never going to be my best buddy. She's just not designed that way.

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Originally published in: Marriage Partnership, 2008, Fall, Page 23

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