Nowadays, most reality shows that deal in romance are packaged in increasingly contrived setups—impossibly hot Person A meets fellow impossibly hot Person B, and if the two of them hit it off within an arbitrary time frame, they both get to stay on whatever exotic island the network shipped them to. They're easy to hate-watch or put on as background noise because there are no real stakes. There’s another 4,000 other physical trainers lining up, ready to date them. That's why Showtime's new reality show Couples Therapy, which follows four couples as they receive roughly twelve sessions of couples therapy with Dr. Orna Guralnik, a clinical psychologist and psychoanalyst based in New York, seemed so revelatory to me. A relationship show about people who actually have a real relationship? Count me in.
The couples are a diverse bunch, with varying sexual orientations and lengths of marriage. Each couple comes in with A Problem, but also many problems. Sometimes they come in with a specific issue that is not really the issue. For example, Lauren and Sarah think the timeline for having children is the problem, but of course, that’s tangled up in other complex emotions about labor division, caretaking roles, defensiveness, sex and who initiates, and past trauma. Like anyone in a marriage or a long-term relationship, these couples have history. While it's intriguing, it's almost uncomfortable to see couples working through such raw, intimate problems on TV. On the other hand, it's hard to not be a little judgmental. Unlike when I watch the Sixers or Olympic partners figure skating, though, I ardently believe I actually could do better than these people are doing.
Perhaps that’s why Mau and Annie were—for me—the most frustrating couple to watch. I couldn’t help but hold my breath every time he came on screen; what callously dismissive thing was he going to spew next? What would she overlook? I kept whispering to my screen, “Run, Annie! Get out now! Leave his ass.” In fact, while it feels painful to watch, this is what makes the show simultaneously so fun: You get to pick sides in an argument and feel superior to other people.
The show gifts you the ability to sit smugly on your own couch and decide who is right and wrong in a relationship in which you have no stakes. It’s completely antithetical to the ethos of couples therapy: that everyone has work to do and you both have to take responsibility. As a viewer, you are absolved the responsibility of being reasonable. You can sit on your couch, eat a wheel of brie and decide, “Wow, he’s soooo dismissive, I would divorce him.” Or, “She’s so delusional, this isn’t going to ever get resolved if she refuses to get it.”
During one episode, my boyfriend walked in and started watching with me. Within seconds, Lauren and Sarah began describing a problem that my boyfriend and I have. Not even a problem that we have: the problem that we have. (It is one of the most central conflicts to our entire relationship.) The two of them had not brought up The Problem in any of the previous episodes, and yet here it was, playing out as the very first thing my boyfriend saw. He looked at me with raised eyebrows. “I swear I didn’t put this on at this point specifically!” I said, which was true, but as we watched, I couldn’t help but hope that hearing my side from someone else would reinforce how obviously right I am.
Even though it was uncanny to watch another Lauren and Sarah work through the same particular issue that’s plagued my boyfriend and me for years, I recognized shades of our relationship in all the couples—some things that I was proud to think we handle well, and other things we still need to improve. Couples Therapy, by letting you in on these sessions, reminds us that these kinds of relationship issues are fairly universal.
By watching these couples at a low point, baring their worst selves and most destructive patterns for the world to see, it’s easy to feel better about yourself and your relationship by comparison. Watching other people air their shit out for all to see is like a salve for any anxiety you feel about your own problems. It’s an opportunity to feel superior, in a way. “Jeez, my girlfriend is a pushover when it comes to her family too, but she would never lend them $5K without asking me,” or “I never would use that tone with my partner.”
Sometimes it’s relaxing just watching someone (and a licensed professional at that!) treat your perspective with empathy. After all, love and partnership are difficult and vulnerable, and it’s hard to be confident you’re doing the right thing all the time. Should I have gotten as mad as I did about that? Was I wrong to set this standard? Am I getting as much as I’m giving? It’s nice to remember that no one has it all figured out.
Lauren and Sarah don’t leave therapy “fixed.” Annie and Mau certainly don’t. And while the other two couples make quite a lot of progress, they are, like all couples in therapy (and not in therapy), ultimately in a fight against their most innate patterns, their most pathetic, emotional selves. The show is a good reminder that we’re all capable of being better to our partners. Watching it, however, did not fix The Aforementioned Problem my boyfriend and I have. Maybe one day we’ll go to therapy, too—just probably not on TV.
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