Rage and the Records

Years ago, I had a divorce case. There was not anything particularly unique about it. Marriage was about 10 years. No kids. But there was definitely infidelity. Infidelity is one of those odd things in divorce law.

Washington is what is called a "no fault" divorce state. What this means is that, for the vast majority of the time, whether or not someone is unfaithful has no legal relevance whatsoever. It does not have anything to do with property division, and rarely ever has anything to do with child custody (unless you can prove that somehow it impacted your ability to parent).

The parties were going through one of the very ordinary but deeply awkward parts of uncoupling-- dividing their household property. In many instances, that is self explanatory. Everyone keeps their clothes and the stuff they regularly use. Commonly owned and used items don't become battle grounds that often. The reason is utterly practical - with lawyers running $400/hr or more, it is vastly cheaper to simply acquire a new item than it is to fight about it.

But not always.

In this instance, I was explaining to my client those very economics and how they dictate compromise. The discussion was getting a bit heated, but that is typical in divorce cases.

Anyone in the biz understands that their clients are going to have "big feelings," but as I spoke with him, I read his body language. I coldly realized that he wasn't just mad... he was on the verge of actual, physical violence. The fact that we were in my office, and not in the face of the person who did the infidelity, made it all the more surprising.

Luckily, my training kicked in. Not my martial arts training, My divorce training.

"Tell me about this record collection," I told him, "Help me understand why this is a big deal."

He went on a lot about how much it was worth. He talked about the rare albums. He talked about how he and his soon-to-be ex-wife had collected them. And after quite a lot of talking, he finally mentioned - almost as an afterthought - that his wife's paramour was a record-guy, too. That was how they first connected.

That was it.

My client had to be angry. Because the alternative was that he admitted that very same thing that connected him to his partner had also lost him his partner. That collection of records was the symbol of the relationship, and she now wanted to take it and share it with someone else.

The rage was like a suit of armor. If it went away, the only thing that would remain would be the bone-deep hurt that she'd chosen to pursue her passion with someone else-- with all the inevitable questions that raised. Why would she do that? Why then? Was it something he did? Was he not good enough? What would everyone think? Would the people in his life quietly consider him less of a man? Would she?

Painful, gnawing questions.

He clung to his anger life a life-raft. I think I understood why.

"You know what I think I'm picking up here?"

"What?" he asked, irritably.

I said as gently as I could.

"Grief.

Let's put this away and work on it a different day. Now isn't the time. Not the season for it."

The time he spent talking to me, and my comment, seemed to have de-escalated him a bit. I promised I'd get a court order to keep the collection from going anywhere until later on in the divorce.

When he left my office that day, I felt a lot of things. I felt compassion. I felt relief. I felt gratitude that I recognized what I saw for what it was. As a younger lawyer, I might have told him he was being irrational or wasting money. I might have been offended at the tone he took with me. Hell, if I thought it was about to get physical, I might have put him on the ground before it happened.

But my training taught me to understand first.

I share this story with lawyers and laypeople for the same reason.

When you experience that rage, in yourself or others, one of the best things you can do is get curious.

Most of the time it is a mask.

If you don't see it for what it is, regret typically follows.