Ready to split? Try a relationship boot camp

Charming, charismatic, painfully frank and clearly not out to win any popularity contest, Real spends three days calling men boneheads to their face, accusing women of being controlling nags and finishing sentences for members of both sexes indiscriminately (“You never help around the house … jackass”). The group welcomes his candor because he genuinely seems to care and, more important, he doesn’t appear to have any hidden agenda.

“Belinda and I had this fight the other day,” Real says, referring to his wife of 24 years. He goes on to explain precisely which losing strategy they each used and how the techniques we’re learning helped them turn it around. Again. In the exercise to follow, Rick, a 27-year veteran of a shaky marriage, is choked with emotion. “I felt so relieved when Terry talked about his fight with Belinda,” he says. “I grew up in an abusive household. I usually do anything to avoid confrontation. I didn’t realize you could argue and still be OK.”

The message of this work isn’t merely learning how to speak up, back down and fight fair; the primary goal is to learn to assess and then implement the option that has the best odds for a successful outcome. Can’t come to a resolution? “Take a time-out,” Real says. “And go make a sandwich.” (Real regales us with a story of a client who called to complain that he’d gained 30 pounds since following his advice. “I’m making seven sandwiches a day!” he bemoaned.) The key to an effective time-out is to announce calmly that you need one, explain why and clearly state when you’ll be ready to resume the conversation. “I’m too flustered to talk now,” you might say. “I need a break, but I’d like to reconvene in an hour.” (Or 20.)

“Many people think their relationship would improve if they could resolve differences such as conflicting views about money or sex,” Real says. “But it’s the other way around. You’ll be able to overcome tough issues only after your relationship improves.” When couples come to a standoff — I’m right! No, I’m right! — Real plays the same card every time: “The only answer to ‘Who’s right?’ is ‘Who cares?’ Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy? Would you rather be right or would you rather stay together?”

To be honest, there’s nothing cutting-edge about the skills he’s teaching. Indeed, a participant named Krista says Real’s tips are both obvious and brilliant: “Be open, treat your partner with respect, don’t let things fester and strain your bond, listen and appreciate your partner’s efforts…it’s all crazy enough to work!”

Archival video Top talk mistakes for couples Jan. 2, 2008: Sex therapist Ian Kerner and relationship expert Dennie Hughes discuss on TODAY simple solutions to help you two communicate better. Today Relationship

Real wraps the workshop as he began, with an invitation to look around at the faces in the room. The change is remarkable; not only with individual couples (many hold hands, most sit closer together, all are smiling), but in the group as a whole. We see one another differently because we realize we’re all the same. Each of us may have unique strengths and weaknesses, but we all have the same fights and we all want the same thing from a relationship.

A week after the seminar’s close, Joe and I are home, in the midst of one of our typical (stupid) spats. This one is about which swimsuits our daughters are going to wear into the pool. Joe thinks they should be able to choose; I want them to wear the ones that are already hanging outside. Joe lapses into the familiar routine of muttering “control freak” under his breath. My impulse is to retaliate with insults of my own. Because — and I don’t need to say it, but I will — I’m right. I’m the primary caregiver. I’m the one reading the child-psychology books belaboring the consequences of offering too many choices. I get to make these decisions, damn it. But at that moment it’s as if Real is whispering “Who cares?” into my ear, and I can see the bottom line with total clarity: I want to be happy, and I want to be married.

I walk outside. “I don’t need to be right,” I say with as much sincerity as I can muster, “and I’m sorry.”

Joe looks stunned. This is unfamiliar territory, after all. Then he smiles a grin of surprise and relief and says, “Thank you.”

That I just apologized even though I wasn’t wrong doesn’t eat at me the way I thought it might. In fact, I feel fantastic. I think I’ll go make a sandwich — for us to share.

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