Partnering in Crisis

This is an excerpt from the weekly News-Loveletter. If you would like it sent to your inbox directly (with all the other juicy bits, including a mini joy practice), you can add yourself to my mailing list here.

*Trigger warning: There’s tension in this story, but no actual violence. It’s been a couple weeks now since this took place.

“Jeez, Kristin, our kid is only twenty-three.”

As Seda speaks, my throat tightens. I don’t want to hear this right now. It doesn’t match up with all I’m believing into being.

Our son Sam just got off the phone with us. He’s hiding out in the Guadalajara airport with people running and screaming, the Mexican National Guard surrounding all sides. People are climbing behind the flaps of the baggage carousel. It’s real.

“Twenty-three?” I ask. “I’m not seeing him that way.” I wish I had it in me to say this lightly. But it comes out a little gruff. Right now, Seda's fear threatens to rock my boat, and I am determined not to let it.

Seda groks my jaw-clenching immediately. She knows that when adversity strikes, I will envision myself and my loved ones on the other side of that trouble. Or at the very least, hold a sense of peace in whatever way I can about the event’s unfolding.

Seda treasures this about me. My faith supports her, too. She turns to look at me. “You’re right,” she says. “It’s not helpful for me to think that.”

I smile tentatively, then take a breath, exhale, and close my eyes. “I’m envisioning our son as calmly empowered, ready to meet whatever challenges lie ahead of him. He has the life experience and inner strength to do this. And as he does, he will find his way to safety with his team.” I exhale deeply, softening.

Sam and two of his employees are on their way to Monterey, for a rock-climbing and team-building retreat.

No one knew that on this day, the leader of one of the largest drug cartels in the world would be killed by the Mexican government, setting off a chain reaction of violence that would lead to a “shelter in place” order for the Jalisco region and Puerto Vallarta.

We are now on the other side of this event. Sam and his employees flew out safely about 36 hours later. They were grueling hours, with all flights canceled and uncertainty about when the airport would operate again. Food and water were scarce, and not an inch of carpet cushioned their rest. We felt grateful that at least he could call us.

Here’s what I learned about partnership with my Beloved, as I played my part in the crisis:

First, my number one job is to regulate my emotions. I could have snapped at Seda or tried to force her into my plan for Zen-like alignment (tee hee). Instead, I shared what I was doing, which supported her sense of choice.

Secondly, I’m grateful for the bubble of respect and goodwill we’ve already grown in our relationship.

Seda and I have centered personal growth as a shared value for years. She understood my tension and regulated herself, so we could co-regulate as a team.


We know how the other likes to be supported, and we stretch to do it. You can’t just decide to turn that on in a crisis. It has to start earlier. On the humdrum days. We talk about our learning and growing, our dreams, while we walk and while we eat every afternoon. That structure is built into our relationship.

Finally, Seda and I have an agreement we’ve kept for 35 years—to speak to each other with kindness.

So even when I'd wanted to snap, I refrained. That’s a practice. I also practice focusing on the positive, so I didn’t carry a grudge about our misalignment. I trusted we were in the process of finding our way.

And we did. Over the next 36 hours, we both grew as individuals and as a couple while supporting our son with empathy and encouragement, reflecting the best of him back to himself.

A strong relationship is not just made of love and good communication. It’s built from a practice of self-discovery and mutual support, a practice of joy and well-being. From this place, we bring light into darkness.