Fight or Write

A while back, a friend sent me a series of e-mail exchanges he had had with his wife detailing their disagreements over marital duties, child rearing, even pet care. While it was odd that he would volunteer a transcript of his domestic difficulties, what I found more troubling was the medium itself. It seemed to me the carefully composed, spell-checked point and counterpoint had all the ardor of two lawyers debating the codicil to a trust agreement. Where were the passion, the raised voices, the spontaneity of a good fight? I was brought up to a soundtrack of yelling and slammed doors. If it was good enough for my parents, it was good enough for me.

Yet, as my experience with e-mail and instant messaging has grown, I have become a born-again advocate of the Internet as an important marital aid. My conversion began accidentally. I was faced with making the dreaded, all-too-common call home to tell my wife that I was being sent out of town on assignment. But the phone was busy; she was online. So I sent an instant message laying out the usual: Breaking news. Big story. All beyond my control. Then I steeled myself for the response.

Had it been a telephone exchange, I could – at best – have expected a frosty reaction. I would hear the anger and frustration in her voice, along with a historic listing of my continual absences and other failings. All this would set my endocrine system into hyperdrive, flooding me with fight-or-flight juice on my way home. By the time I hit the door, I’d be ready for battle, armed with my own list of complaints.

But a funny thing happened. The action line in the IM box informing me that Manray888 is typing a message! went blank for a time before resuming the warning: Manray888 is typing a message! Then another pause. The cycle repeated at least four times. Finally came the reply.

Manray888: “Sigh.”

It was a revelation. In the pre-Internet era, we were all advised to hold off on mailing an angry letter until we had had time to sleep on it. My wife had applied the same principle to her IM. This was an invaluable lesson for a spontaneous babbler like myself. When cornered in person, I find that my words come spilling out without any self-editing: “Yeah, sure, I forgot to call the accountant, and the lawn hasn’t been mowed in weeks, but didn’t you, last month, pick up the dry cleaning late?” Such inanities are non-retrievable once they leave your mouth. But if you can see such an embarrassment spread out on the computer screen before you hit the send button, you have an extra chance to save yourself from the stupidity you are about to commit.

Over time, my wife and I have refined this form of communication. We’ve learned to defer volatile subjects like finances and in-laws. One of us will suggest that we go to our virtual neutral corners to consider and compose. “Let me think on it for a while” is the usual response. Then that thinking is processed and refined with the written word.

Taking the time to frame your thoughts can help you see the issue from your mate’s perspective. It challenges you to look more deeply at your own feelings. Also, IMs and e-mails are mostly toneless, so you are spared the feral response to a perceived message in your partner’s voice. (Another important safety note: We ban the emotive smiley and frowny faces.)

Not all our e-communications are contentious. We exchange occasional mash notes that recall an earlier time when love letters were a pleasure to write and receive.

This is not to say we have replaced talking with typing. Our relationship remains overwhelmingly verbal; we continue to have our face-to-face disagreements. Still, there are times when we’re standing in the kitchen, surrounded by literal and figurative knives of domesticity, and I get the urge to run to my keyboard and type out a considered answer to such tough questions as: “How could you forget to get the milk again?”

Fred Bayles teaches journalism at Boston University. E-mail comments to coupling@globe.com.