Snuggled under the covers at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, ego was already awake. My girlfriend was in the shower, but I didn't feel like moving. You better get up and make her some coffee. But I just want to stay in bed, I argued. You know she likes taking coffee with her. Get your lazy butt up.

After a minute of debate, I tossed off the comforter and forced my feet onto the ground. I had barely started the coffee when ego chimed in again. But this time it was silent - I just felt resentful.

She kissed me good morning and when she went outside to smoke a cigarette, I sat on the edge of the bed asking myself what was going on. As usual, ego had plenty to say. When was the last time she did the dishes? Or cooked dinner? And here you are getting out of bed to make her coffee?

I thought about what I needed to do and ego offered suggestions. You could just not do the dishes. How passive-aggressive. Why don't you make an off-handed remark like, "So what are you cooking for dinner tonight, baby?" Better, but still not honest.

I've come to understand that while the internal debate is still going on, it is best to remain silent. Allowing words or actions to unfold organically only comes from being in a place of peace and I'm committed to refraining from any behavior that isn't honest. Although I'm not perfect at it, I find that making the commitment at least guarantees I'm able to do it some of the time.

I locked the door behind her and embraced the solitude. She wasn't out of the driveway before the this content  began again. As I listened to the persuasive logic ego presented, I chose not to become engaged. Instead, I remembered that allowing someone else's behavior to dictate how I feel is not necessary.

Two memories popped into my head. First, her cleaning the grill after I'd cooked steaks. Second, her taking out the garbage. Both happened last week without me asking. Without any input from me at all. The difference between then and now is that in the days since she'd been at her place, I'd somehow morphed into June Cleaver 2.0.

It appeared like I was taking care of me. I'd met all my deadlines and kept my appointments. I was taking time to journal and meditate every day. I finally joined the Y after months of praying for the motivation to exercise. But if I looked closely, under the surface, June was humming along - a feather duster in one hand and a bottle of Dr. Pepper in the other.

I was pouring before she asked. Doing dishes out of some ridiculous belief that not doing them would cause her not to love me. Making the bed out of fear that if I didn't, she'd judge me a slob. As I silently prepared my approach to a discussion, it occurred to me that sometimes the best form of communication doesn't require words, merely gently changing behavior.

So there will be no conversation. I haven't made the bed or done the dishes. Not because I wanted to prove a point, but because writing was more important to me. And for the rest of the day, I will be a loving and kind partner who is aligned with Source. Who does what makes her feel good without projecting a reaction. Who allows the woman she loves the space to ask for what she needs instead of anticipating, instead of wearing the mask of "helpful" that shines with a permanent smile disguising the fear hidden behind it. Good-bye June 2.0.