Understanding Personality and Process
We now have several lessons under our belt, and you are beginning to see how personalities are so dramatically important. I am going to try and explain mine to this point, and after I complete the areas from ages 17 to 25, we will do this again and see how our personalities continue to develop. As we move through life, we are constantly being shaped, and understanding that process is critical to understanding each other.
As you read this book, you will begin to see that my personality was formed through hardship from a very young age. I learned how to stand in the gap, how to protect, and how to endure. I instinctively learned that effort could change outcomes. Effort could avoid pain. Effort could create stability. Over time, effort became how I functioned. It became how I processed life, and eventually, it became how I understood emotion.
I do not remember being held as a child, nor do I remember being told that I was loved. The one exception was a short season with my Aunt Gladys. On Sundays during the summer, I would spend several hours with her. It was limited time, but it was enough to show me something different. It created two distinct sets of understanding within me—one of what life was, and one of what it could be. It was not enough time to fully absorb or develop those emotions, but it was enough to know they mattered.
Through my marriage, I realized Cheryl and I were dramatically different in our personalities. I did not fully understand it at the time. I would go to counseling, and I would use this analogy. To me, it was like she wanted to replace the windshield wipers, the tires, and the upholstery on a car sitting out in a pasture field. I wanted to pull the engine out, fix it, understand it, and then drive the car out of the field and take care of it from there. We were both trying to solve the same problem, but we were starting from completely different places.
As I tried to build relationships, I relied on what I knew. I made effort. I worked. I did. That is how I tried to show care. That is how I tried to build something meaningful. Early in life, in my 20s and 30s, I made the mistake of confusing someone’s need for me as them truly caring for me. Even worse, I mistook physical intimacy for love. I did not understand the difference at the time. I only knew how to respond through effort.
To me, it was simple. You listen, you submit to each other, and you do what is required. There were no baby steps. In the Marine Corps, you either follow instructions or you do not. That was my mindset. That was what I knew.
Cheryl, on the other hand, approached life from a completely different perspective. She believed that emotion existed first. That care, connection, and closeness should already be there, and from that, effort would follow. She did not believe effort was required to create those emotions. She believed those emotions were the starting point.
Which brings me to this fundamental truth—both are true, and both are incomplete.
I believe with all my heart that emotions can grow from effort. Cheryl believed that effort should come from emotion. The problem is that if you rely only on emotion, over time, without effort and discipline, complacency begins to set in. Some people have never been taught how to make effort. They rely on emotion because that is all they know, and they may not understand how to build the framework necessary to sustain a relationship. When complacency sets in, thorns begin to grow. And some who are driven only by emotion can begin to treat a relationship like a used car—when the new, gleaming part wears off and maintenance is required, they simply trade it in.
On the other side of that equation, most people have not gone through the hardship I did. Most people do not understand living in a constant state of guarding, protecting, and believing that effort can fix everything. If you rely only on effort without understanding emotion, you can become rigid, demanding, and miss the heart of the relationship.
Two dramatically different personalities, both seeing part of the truth.
What I have come to understand through writing this book is that there are steps—small, simple steps—that can bridge that gap. These are the baby steps. This is a form of civilian boot camp. Not harsh, not rigid, but intentional.
If you choose to go through all 45 lessons, I strongly recommend it. These steps are important. But even if you only choose a few, understand this—effort is required, and emotion is real. Both must work together.
There is no perfect person. There is no one who will satisfy every need you have. There will always be areas that go unmet. Those are the places where strongholds can form. Those are the places where the enemy can plant seeds.
The purpose of this book is not to give you a perfect answer. It is to give you tools—simple, repeatable steps—to protect what you have and to grow it stronger over time.