How I stopped being Mr. Nice - success story

Picture this:
 
It’s a beautifully warm sunny day. You drive your brand new BMW into the driveway for the very first time, the sun flashing like lightning off of its stylish carbon black paint job. 
 
It has always been your dream to own a vehicle like this - black exterior and dark interior.  It's a car with a “James Bond meets Batman feel” that you are proud and excited to have. 
 
Your wife comes to the door and stands with her arms crossed, watching you park in front of the garage.
 
“That’s the color you got?!” she yells as soon as you pull your head out from the driver's side and move to come inside.
 
“Why?” you ask, stopping short in your tracks, “You don’t like it?” The excitement begins to drain from the vision you've had of your wife smiling and pleased with your purchase.
 
“Suuure,” your wife replies sarcastically, “That’s EXACTLY the color of the car I want to be in through the dead of summer.  I thought we already had this conversation. You asked me what I wanted and I said the SILVER because it keeps the interior cooler! You obviously don't care if I'm dripping in sweat all summer.”
 
Taking a breath, you don’t reply and reach back into your new car to grab your gym bag.
 
“See!” your wife continues, “You are so selfish!  You never care about what I want.  I might as well not say anything at all to you. You never listen to me!” Your wife huffs and turns back inside, the screen door slamming behind her.
 
A familiar steely clench of anxiety grips your stomach.  As you walk up the steps to your porch, you notice your legs feel like rubber.
 
You pause with your hand on the hot railing and stand a moment in the bright warm sun, reminding yourself to breathe deep. 
 
You calm your mind.
 You breathe into your heart.
You breathe into your balls.
 You get your thinking right...


 Let's rewind time by 5 minutes and pretend you had the scene to do all over again:
 
It's a beautifully warm sunny day. Pulling into your driveway, you park your brand new, badass James Bond Batmobile, in front of the garage.

Opening the driver’s side door, your six-pack flexes (your gym session earlier today is paying off) and your bulging biceps stress the seams of your work shirt menacingly.
 
Hell, you think, with this car, I swear my d*ck is at least 2 inches longer than it was yesterday!
 
Your wife comes to the door and stands with her arms crossed, watching you lean in to grab your gym bag from the back seat.
 
“That’s the color you got?!” she yells as soon as you pull your head out of the car and move to come inside.
 
“F*ck yeah!” you smile broadly, the sun glinting off your pearly whites. “Carbon black - Just like my soul. EXACTLY the color I wanted!”
 
“Suuuure,” your wife replies sarcastically, “That’s exactly the OPPOSITE of what I told you to get. I thought we already had this conversation! You asked me what I wanted and I said the SILVER because it keeps the interior cooler! You obviously don't care if I'm dripping in sweat all summer.”
 
You grin and climb the stairs slowly toward your wife, step by step. Standing two feet in front of her, both feet solidly planted beneath you, you speak to her, your voice low and deep,
 
“You ARE going to be dripping wet driving around WITH ME, and it won’t be because of the color of my car.”
 
Your wife huffs with exasperation. “You’re so selfish!  You never care about what I want.  I might as well not say anything at all to you. You never listen to me!” Turning her back to you, your wife slams the screen door in your face. 
 
Well who pissed in her Wheaties? you think, to yourself, an inner smirk pulling at the corners of your mouth.
 
As you walk into the house taking in the smells of home, dinner on the stove, you observe the rigid back of your wife as she stands at the sink furiously scrubbing a pot.
 
You breathe deep.
You breathe into your heart.
You breathe into your balls.
 
She must be feeling ignored and unheard right now, you think. This is really about her and her experience in our relationship, not about the color of my car. I'm going to address this later this evening.
 

-I’ll invite her to open herself to me.
- I’ll encourage her to share her current feelings of being unheard and ignored. 
- I'll anticipate that something else happened that is making her feel this way. 
 
No More Mr. Nice Guy
 
You are a rock. You are solid. You are no longer a “nice guy,” severing yourself from your inherent worth and value as a man.
 
You know that your wife’s criticisms are a reflection of her and how she feels in this moment right now.  You are clear on your boundaries, values, and wants.
 
You know what you can control and what you can’t.
You only take responsibility for what is yours.
 

Watch this video to find out how to stop second guessing yourself and be the man that random women say, "Who is that guy?! I can tell he's very powerful in himself.":

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