Here’s the thing: People don’t marry what they want; they marry a reflection of who they are

“Would you want to go on a date with yourself?”

“Definitely not.”

“So why would a girl want to go on a date with you?”

“I don’t know. She’d have to be crazy.”

IT was my first session with Chaim Feld, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that he was suffering from a severe lack of self-esteem. I heard it from the moment our call connected — his voice dispirited and so low, I often had to strain to make out what he said.

Chaim had been referred to me by his shadchan, who was exasperated by the fact that every girl she set him up with dropped him after just one or two dates. “He’s a nice guy,” she’d told me, “I don’t know why these girls can’t realize it.”

But here’s the thing: People don’t marry what they want; they marry a reflection of who they are. If you’re miserable and self-loathing, you aren’t going to attract the confident, happy spouse you long for. Unless you work on yourself, you’ll marry someone plagued with similar issues. Work on becoming what you desire in a spouse.

There was a fellow I dated, and when I asked him the classic, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” he responded, “Large house, with a stunning foyer, circular staircase, I see a lot of gold, I really like gold, a gorgeous put-together wife, kids all in adorable matching outfits, great six-figure job. Yeah, that’s what I see. How about you?”

I asked him again, “But where do you see yourself?”

“Lexus in the driveway,” he responded — that was the in car then — “two to three vacations a year….” I couldn’t finish the date fast enough. If all he could see was a fantasy of what he wanted to own, how could he possibly connect to another person on a soul level?

AS my conversation with Chaim unfolded, I began to understand what had contributed to his current headspace. He was a quiet kid who had easily fallen through the cracks. His mother had a chronic health condition, and while there had always been supper on the table and clean clothing in the drawers, she had often been too drained to offer the warmth and nurturance Chaim had craved.

His parents were prominent and respected in their community, and there had been a lot of family and societal pressure to toe the line, but between absent parents and some rough school experiences, Chaim never felt welcome in his community. Once he became an adult, he drifted away from the community he grew up in, but some of the norms stayed with him.

This led to some strange conundrums —  Chaim told me he had no problem dating a woman who flouted the halachos of tznius and never davened, but it was essential to him that she only eat chalav Yisrael and the particular shechitah his parents’ community used.

I’d started as I always do — with a list of Chaim’s needs and wants so we could drill down to what he considered important in a spouse. But Chaim’s answers were vague and conflicting.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I told him. “First, you’re to take a complete break from dating. Then, we’re going to spend that time helping you get to know yourself.”

In the rush to find the right one, it’s easy to forget that 50 percent of the relationship is… you. Who are you? Every person is made up of a tapestry of values, strengths, struggles, perspectives, and traits. Knowing what you bring to a relationship is the first important step before finding the other half.

I gave Chaim a lot of homework, exercises to help him peel back the veils and get to know himself. I recommended various books for him to read so he’d familiarize himself with ideas such as different attachment styles and the importance of dating with authenticity, and suggested Don’t Feed the Monkey Mind by Jennifer Shannon, which I hoped would help him start dealing with his ongoing anxiety.

Chaim also suffered from chronic back pain, which I suspected was fueled by difficult emotions. I recommended Healing Back Pain by Dr. John Sarno. He followed the exercises Dr. Sarno recommended and was astonished when his back pain vanished. He was suddenly far more open to exploring his inner world.

In our second session, I had Chaim make a list of his positive qualities. He struggled to come up with positive traits, but slowly, the list grew. Rather than wonder about his future wife, we explored what kind of husband he’d like to be, how he’d want to parent children, the home he dreams of building. What are his core values? What does he stand for?

Chaim wrote out several positive affirmations — “I am kind,” “I am intelligent” — on sticky notes, and stuck them in spots around his apartment where he’d see them frequently. We created a vision board — a collage of items that reminded him what he was hoping for from life.

I also had Chaim set a timer to go off several times each day. Every time the timer pinged, he was to pause and figure out what he was feeling at that moment. While this may sound basic, for some people, this is extremely eye-opening. They’ve shut down their feelings for so many years that when you ask them what they’re feeling, they genuinely have no idea. They need to practice tuning in to their emotional world.

In addition to encouraging an exploration of his inner world, I worked with Chaim on opening up to others.

One week, Chaim’s homework was to smile at five people each day. His coworkers noticed and started warming up to him. The next exercise was for him to share small snippets about himself or his day with others.

I encouraged him to reconnect with old friends and go out at least once a week.

One of the friends he connected with was part of a small kehillah not far from Chaim’s apartment. The rabbi of the shul offered several weekly classes for the many single men in the neighborhood. Chaim began attending, and he was captivated both by the rabbi’s warmth and by his joyous approach to Torah.

Soon, the shul became not only a strong social outlet, but also a place where Chaim slowly began building an authentic, positive connection with Yiddishkeit.

The weeks passed. When I’d open our session with, “So tell me what’s new,” instead of silence over the line, Chaim would launch into a thoughtful description of his previous week.

After six months of hard work, I asked Chaim the question we’d started with: “Would you want to go on a date with yourself?”

“Yeah, I would,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I think it would be interesting.”

I smiled, too. “You’ve found yourself, Chaim. Now you’re ready to find a wife.”

All coaching scenarios in this series are real; the characters are composites.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 926)