LDR Problems? Look No Further!

Society, and even some researchers, believe that geographic proximity and frequent face-to-face contact are absolutely necessary for developing a successful, stable, and loving relationship (Ellis & Ledbetter, 2015). bigstock-Young-couple-silhouette-busted-64806478.jpgThis idea has placed a stigma on long distance relationships (LDRs): They are less satisfying and overall, well, crappy. But fear not because, on average, “the relationship stability, satisfaction, and trust reported by long distance (LD) couples are equal to or better than those reported by geographically close (GC) couples” (Jiang & Hancock, 2013, p. 557). This could be because partners in LDRs are much more disclosive during the time they do have to communicate. So, don’t lose hope yet. You and your bae are sure to make it through, especially if you understand where your problems are coming from, and which coping mechanisms are right for you.

(Jiang and Hancock, 2013)


First, let’s look at why long distance relationships are perceived this way. I think we can all admit that they really can be tough. That’s why you’re here, right?

There are four commonly known external and internal stressors on LDRs that are to blame.


  1. Being apart from your partner is a defining quality of LDRs. Separation itself is a major source of stress that can damage or end a relationship, particularly for individuals who are more anxious about their relationship (Ellis & Ledbetter, 2015).
  2. Traveling to see your partner and planning face-to-face visits or communication opportunities can be problematic as well. It can be stressful when schedule don’t match up or communication preferences clash. man-person-people-train
  3. The economic hardship brought on by travel expenses and phone bills is a very real problem for a lot of LDR members. Traveling to see your significant other as often as you want can cost hundreds to thousands of dollars year.
  4. Given the cultural belief in the United States that value face-to-face contact and close proximity as necessary to maintain relationships, your friends and family may not support the relationships, or could become potential rivals or sources of comparison for you. Through this, you can potentially lose faith in your own relationship.

(Maguire & Kinney, 2010)


  1. Some individuals in LDRs experience frustration as a result of communication difficulties. When it isn’t easy to contact your bad, it can take a toll on you.
  2. Interpersonal or relational differences may promote couples to drift apart. After a few weeks of talking less and less, you may feel further away from your bae.14306645759838.jpg
  3. Inequity could be a stressor for LDR partners if there are perceptions that one individual is investing more into the relationship than the other. It becomes exhausting to try in a relationship when the action is not being reciprocated.
  4. Doubts about the relationship, including whether the couple will be together in the future can arise in an LDR. It is also common for there to be a decrease in trust ad an increase in suspicion.

(Maguire & Kinney, 2010)

Now, since we know what makes LDRs so hard and we also know that it is possible to have a successful LDR, lets look at the dos and don’ts (and maybes) of coping with common LDR stressors:


If you are experiencing tension and stress in your LDR, do not use this method to cope with it:

Individual Coping

One type of communication-based coping involves strategies that are enacted independently from one’s partner but may influence the partner. For example, social withdrawal involves partners distancing themselves from others to manage emotional reactions to stress. The use of withdrawal has been associated with higher levels of anxiety, as well as lower levels of relationship adjustment pexels-photoreported that chronic daily stress might lead to more withdrawal, which would then lead to lower levels of relational satisfaction. Thus, we expect that the perceived helpfulness of withdrawal to be inversely associated with relational satisfaction.

(Maguire & Kinney, 2010)


If your relationship is stable enough and there is not a huge amount of stress and tension, these two coping mechanisms are possible options for redemption:

Dyadic Coping

With dyadic coping, relational partners work together to reduce stress. Such problem-focused coping efforts are aimed at managing or altering the problem, and are most frequently enacted when conditions are appraised as amenable to change. Partners who handle stress together tend to have higher levels of relationship satisfaction.

pexels-photo-226166 In an LDR problem-focused, dyadic coping may seem helpful in situations where there is less stress and less threat to the relationship, such as when relational partners know they will be together in the same city in the future and are happy about that possibility. But, because the use of joint problem solving by distressed couples causes frustration because they may never arrive at a solution, it may be that individuals in distressed LDRs will perceive dyadic coping as less helpful than those in relatively stress-free LDRs.
(Maguire & Kinney, 2010)

Social Support

A fourth type of communication-based coping is social support. Although seeking social support from friends and family can help to manage your emotional distress, it is inconclusive whether or not it is effectivedog-hugging-cat-video. While the approval and support from your social network may be an important coping strategy for your LDRs a lack of support or an overabundance of support could lead to negative relational outcomes such as decreased romantic involvement. (Maguire & Kinney, 2010)


If you are having problems with your LDR, this coping method is sure to help you out:

Relationship-Focused Coping

A third type of communication-based coping response involves communication enacted to keep the relationship strong. This is sometimes referred to as relationship-focused coping. There is a growing body of communication research that investigates the strategies individuals use to maintain a satisfactory relationship.

Currently, there are five clear strategies:

  1. Openness: This includes direct discussion of the relationship. Never hesitate to talk to your partner about your concerns.
  2. Assurances: This is implications of a future together and commitment to one another. Your relationship will be stronger if you both make your intentions clear.
  3. Positivity: This might be the most obvious strategy. Be sure to present behaviors that make your interactions with bae cheerful and pleasant
  4. Sharing tasks: Going back to balance, both of you should show a willingness to take equal responsibility in the relationshiplong
  5. Use of social networks: Like mentioned before, social support can be a helpful coping mechanism. However, make sure you are getting a reasonable amount of support. Not too much, and not too little. After all, it is your relationship, not theirs.


(Maguire & Kinney, 2010)

So, instead of crying into your pillow and pretending it’s bae’s shoulder, think about how lucky you are. LDRs can be the most rewarding, stable relationships. Don’t let the judgment of society (and maybe a little research) make you think any less of your love life. In the end, distance can and does make the heart grow stronger, you just have to let it. Understand the roots of your problems and choose the right methods to cope with them.

Crystal Jiang, L., & Hancock, J. T. (2013). Absence makes the communication grow fonder: Geographic separation, interpersonal media, and intimacy in dating relationships. Journal Of Communication, 63(3), 556-577. doi:10.1111/jcom.12029
Ellis, N. K., & Ledbetter, A. M. (2015). Why might distance make the heart grow fonder?: A relational turbulence model investigation of the maintenance of long distance and geographically close romantic relationships. Communication Quarterly, 63(5), 568-585. doi:10.1080/01463373.2015.1078390
Maguire, K. C., & Kinney, T. A. (2010). When distance is problematic: Communication, coping, and relational satisfaction in female college students’ long-distance dating relationships. Journal Of Applied Communication Research, 38(1), 27-46. doi:10.1080/00909880903483573

Fizz Out

Jones next door plays the cello. He practices before bed each night, which acted as my lullaby when I first moved to Park Oaks Apartments. I met him the day I moved in. I told him how much I loved music and asked if he knew how to play Bach’s cello suites. He did. But, when his “girlfriend” cheated on him with his sister, Bach’s cello suites turned into songs by that crazy, Russian guy, Shostakovitch. Now, while lying in bed, instead of picturing cute little lambs jumping over the moon, I picture little lambs being sawed in half by cello bows.

I pounded on the wall but he didn’t hear me or he didn’t care. I pet my cat, Igor’s, head and he rubbed his face on my phone as I checked the time. I wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon so I rolled out of bed and squeezed myself into my oxymoronic plus size, skinny jeans.

I didn’t bother putting on a bra or changing out of my hoodie because the only people left at Barney’s were Jack and a bunch of lowlifes. I did, however, decide to put my hair up because I ran out of dry shampoo earlier. It still looked like shit so I put on a baseball hat that someone left on my bedpost. Yankees.

The cello music was louder in the hallway as I passed the 6 other tenants’ doors. The landlord lived at the opposite end of the building near the mailboxes so she was never there to tell him to shut the hell up.

I could see the flickering “Barney’s Pub” sign across the street through the glass doors of my building and it looked relatively quiet. I walked outside and the cold air made me regret not wearing a bra. I crossed my arms and sluggishly jaywalked across the street.

At Barney’s I saw Jack hitting on a pair of tits with blond curls at the end of the bar. He saw me walk in and said, “Hey, gin fizz?”

“Please,” I replied as slumped onto a stool. He used to make fun of me for ordering gin fizzes because “it’s an old lady drink” but then he finally tasted one of mine and realized they’re the most delicious cocktail ever. “Here ya go, hootchie,” he winked and slid the drink over to me.

We had sex one time, like 2 years ago. He was was surprisingly into butt stuff but he wasn’t very good and we agreed to never do it again. Anyway, he of course saw the tattoo on my ass that said “hootchie.” It was barely legible because I got it like eight years ago after Junior prom. My date, the recent winner of a bet, thankfully chose pink ink so you could only read it if you looked really closely. If I won, he was going to have “scrub” tattooed on his chest.

“Thanks,” I said. I took a sip and the bubbles made my eyes water.

“You look like shit,” he said.

“Fuck you.”

“You’re in a mood.”

“No shit.”

“Okie dokie then,” he said, and turned to walk back to Blondie.

“Wait a sec,” I said. “Sorry.”

He turned back to me and smiled. “It’s cool, what’s up?”

He always seemed like he was genuinely listening. He looked into my eyes so I looked back. I definitely had a better view. His eyes were a really nice, honey brown while mine were the actual color of shit.

“Dave called me again. I didn’t answer but he left a lame voicemail.”

Jack was there the day this crap started. I was sitting at the bar in the afternoon on a normal Thursday last year when my mom called to tell me that my little brother was in an accident. I started crying because I thought she meant that he died or something. Jack closed up early and drove me to the E.R. where we found Dave talking to the cops. It was his second DUI in two years.

He recently got out and hadn’t stopped calling me since. I knew he was probably trying to apologize since I hadn’t seen him since he got arrested. Either that or he needed a place to stay and he knew I’d give him one. I always did.

“Are you gonna call him back?” asked Jack.

“Should I?”

“You should call him and tell him what a huge dick he is.”

Jack looked at me and then at my phone. He grabbed it and typed in my password. I couldn’t grab it back before it was calling Dave on cell. I decided to let it ring, even though it was 2 in the morning.

“Hey it’s Dave. I’m busy or something so call me back or leave a message.”


“Hey Dave, it’s Liz. But I guess you knew that…” I paused and looked at Jack. He nodded for me to keep talking.

“I got your voicemail and I miss you too. I agree that we should talk in person… so… do you remember Barney’s? Meet me there tomor-” Jack grabbed my phone and muted our voices with his bar rag. I glanced at his clenched jaw and wished he was better in bed.

“DUI, remember?” he whispered. I stared at him confused. “This is a bar, you idiot.”

“Shit. Fine, give it back.”

I put the phone back to my ear and blurted, “Meet me at my apartment at noon tomorrow,” and hung up.

“Smooth,” he said.


“You’re not just gonna let him use you again, right?” he asked.

“Okay, dad.” I rolled my eyes.

I saw a nice-looking, bearded guy over by the dartboard and walked over.


“Hey, I’m Liz” He looked me up and down, examining my attire.

“Hi, I’m-,”

“Don’t tell me,” I said, putting my hand over his mouth. “Play me.”

I grabbed the darts from his hand and threw one at the board. Bullseye. Complete luck, but I pretended it was intentional.

“Shit,” he said.

I could feel eyes watching me from behind the bar.


The Beard left my apartment around 11 a.m., which barely gave me enough time to take a shower and wash my sheets before Dave got there. I put on a Stravinski record so Dave would think I still listened to classical music. Little did he know, I hated it since Jones went into mourning. I heard a knock on the door at exactly noon and opened it to find an older, dirtier version of my little brother.

“Liard!” he yelled, opening his arms to me.

“When’s the last time you looked in the mirror?” I said.

“You’re not even gonna hug me?” he asked.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and he squeezed me too hard like he did when we were little. He smelled like weed.

“But seriously, you look like shit.”

“What?” he asked.

I was muffled by his shirt so I let go and yelled, “You look like shit, Dave!”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And you smell like shit too.”

He had the same dark blond hair as me, and it was now almost as long as mine. He grew a beard in jail too, but not a good one. It was the kind that boys grew in middle school just to prove that they could grow one.

“You’re 24 and you already look like dad.”

“I just need a haircut.”

“I think you need more than a haircut.”

“So…” He stood awkwardly in the doorway. “So, we were gonna talk.”

“Right!,” I said in an unnaturally peppy voice. I cleared my throat. “Right. Come in.”

He walked over to my living room and I shut the door. I stood there watching him circle around like a dog and he finally decided on a spot on the couch. Igor rubbed against his leg and got white hair all over his dark jeans. “Hey, buddy,” I heard him whisper. I went over to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. “You still drink it black, right? I don’t have cream. I might have milk and sugar but I’m not sure-”

“Black is fine.”

After I handed him the mug, I noticed it was the one that says There’s a good chance this isn’t coffee. I wasn’t sure if he noticed.

“You didn’t visit,” he said before I even sat down.

“Well, I-”

“No!” He stopped me. “11 months. You didn’t visit, Liz. Almost a year and you didn’t even try to talk to me.”

“David. Come on.” I said calmly. “You know why.”

“I’m not dad,” he said, crossing his arms like a 4-year-old.

I sat on the couch next to him and put my hand on his back.

“I’m not mad at you,” I said. “Well actually yeah I am… or was, at least. Well yeah I still am.” I sounded nervous.

He looked at me, surprised I was admitting it.

“David, I thought you were dead,” I started crying. Pathetic. “We just went through that same thing with dad. When mom called…I”

“I know,” he said, staring at a spot on the floor.

“And you promised if I let you stay with me you wouldn’t get into trouble. And the next day I get that fucking phone call!”

“Okay, but I won’t do it again. I’ll try really hard, Lizard. I pwomise,” he said, talking like a baby.


So, we decided that Dave would sleep on my couch… again.

While he was in the shower, I decided to go to Barney’s. I stopped at my mailbox on the way out. There was an envelope in there so I keyed in and took it out. No return address. The piece of paper simply contained a 12-point, Times New Roman Why?

My blood rushed to my head. It was definitely from Jones.

I walked back down the hall, threw the “letter” in the trash and walked across the street.


“Hey,” I said, walking in the door to Barney’s. Three middle-aged men turned to look at me.

“She’s talking to me, guys, sorry,” said Jack

“Hey, guys,” I said, waving to the table of beer guts. I turned back to Jack. “He’s in my shower.”

Jack started making a drink. I went over to the bar and hopped on a stool. He set the glass in front of me. “You look nice,” he said.

“Oh, yeah. I went crazy and wore mascara today,” I said. He laughed.

I slid the drink back toward him.

You don’t want gin?” he asked.

“You drink it, it’s a little early for me.”

“Since when?”

“He looked like my dad, Jack” I said resting my face in my hands.

Jack took a sip and walked around the bar to sit next to me.

“What do you mean?” he asked, knowing exactly what I meant. I leaned over and put my head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You can do what you can do. He’s an adult, Liz. And you’re not his mommy.”

“Yeah okay but my mom’s too tired to help him. Do ya blame her?” I didn’t. He was a complete dick for putting her through all of this for the hundredth time. She went through it for 25 years before dad died and then David took his place.  

“There’s nothin’ wrong with helping your brother but he’s responsible for his own life. Well, irresponsible in his case,” he chuckled at his own, stupid joke and shut up when he saw my face.

“Well I should head home, I just wanted to keep you updated I guess.”

I got up and faced him. “So… thanks,” I said, and hugged his head to my chest.

“Seriously thanks for telling me, Liz. And just shout if you need anything,” he winked.

The bell rang when I pushed the door open and I trudged across the street back to Park Oakes.

Back home, Dave was already asleep on the couch. He was probably out all last night getting high. I always prefered him as a pothead over a drunk, but he could have waited more than a week after being let out of jail. I always hoped the pot would keep him away from alcohol.


The first time he got in trouble for it, he was 14. My dad came into my room and said, “Please go talk to your brother.”

“What?” I said.

“Just go look what’s on his bed. Your mother was cleaning his room and found it in his closet. I’m too mad to talk and your mother is a mess” my dad said, and stormed down the stairs.

I tiptoed to my teenage brother’s room to find him sitting next to an old shoe box on his bed. I was hoping it was gay porn ro something of that nature, but instead it was a homemade bong and some marijuana crumbs. I couldn’t think of anything to tell him except that it’s illegal and he could get in a lot of trouble for it. Little did I know, that would be the least of our problems.

I sat on my favorite chair and Igor jumped on my lap.

I turned the TV on and watched a rerun of Full House. I always liked that show except for the cheesy, moral-of-the-story moments where Bob Saget teaches a lesson to his crying daughter. Dave was drooling on my couch cushion and his arm was hanging off.

I dozed off for a while but was woken up by Shostakovitch. It was dark outside and Igor was on the couch in the crater left by my brother. He was gone. I checked my phone and saw it was a little after midnight. I decided to brush my hair instead of looking for Dave.


Walking into Barneys, I saw the Beard over by the darts with some girls and considered going over. Instead, I sat at the bar like usual. He was staring at me, burning a hole through my jeans. I daydreamed about the night before.

“Gin F-”

“Make it a double,” I said, exiting my fantasy.

“Where’s your broth-”

I shushed him. I didn’t want to talk about my stupid brother.

“Fine,” said Jack. “Here ya go, hootchie.”

I took my drink from his hand. “Yeah, fuck you.”

I heard the bell ring when the door shut closed and turned to find David standing there.

“Dave, what are you do-”

“Wha thefuck did you call ‘er?” he mumbled. Fucking drunk.

“What?” Said Jack.

“What. Did you call. My sister?”

He put his fists up like a Rock’em Sock’em Robot, but stumbled over to the wall. Jack went over to help him and I followed. David wound up his arm to punch Jack but his fist landed on my face.

I fell backwards onto the ground and saw my hands covered in blood. I thought my nose was broken and so did Jack. He tackled Dave to the ground and wailed on him until The Beard went and pulled him off. The whole thing was completely idiotic.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I yelled.

All three of the buffoons turned to look at me. Jack ran over to help me and I put my hand up for him to stop. “Liz, come on. You’re bleeding.” He tried grabbing my arm.

“Don’t touch me,” I said. He backed off, looking offended.

I crawled over to a barstool and helped myself up. I rolled my eyes walking past the macho men and went outside.

Jack ran out after me and yelled, “Liz, wait!”

I stopped in the road and turned to face him.

“What do you want?” I asked, walking backwards.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” he said, pointing to my brother.

I turned back around and continued toward my apartment.

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”


I walked into the apartment building and went to my mailbox. There was another letter.

I could forgive you.

Jones’ handwriting this time.

I ran down the hall to his room and knocked on the door. As soon as he opened the door I said, “Jones, you don’t wanna be with me.”

He was standing in the frame of his door in a towel. He was probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had sex with. He had a thick, brown beard and the best hair.

“What happened?” he said, looking at my nose.

“Listen, I know you think you wanna be with me but that’s just because you haven’t really thought about it.” I brushed past him to go into his apartment.

“I’m gonna throw some clothes on,” he said.

I sat down on the worn out, suede couch across from his cello. I wanted to stomp on it. I probably wouldn’t have gone over there if it weren’t for the weeks of sleepless nights because of that damn cello.

“Do you need a towel?” he shouted from his bedroom.

I touched my nose and it was still wet with blood.

“Yeah,” I shouted back.

He came back out in what he knew was my favorite flannel and jeans.

He was too good for me. He was sweet, honest, talented, sober.

“So what are you talking about?” he asked, tossing the towel on my lap.

“You don’t want to be with me. We aren’t good together.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” I stood up to walk out.

“Wait a sec,” he said, holding up his finger. I sat back down.

“We were actually great together.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “We only lasted a month!”

“And whose fault is that?” he said.

“Your bangin hot sister,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Okay see that’s your problem.” Apparently he heard me.

“Me wanting to have sex with more than one person is not a problem. And if it is a problem, it’s not my problem. It’s yours. And we weren’t even dating! You imagined that or something.

He was pacing around with his arms crossed.

“I love you, Liz,” he said. He kept pacing around.

“Are you serious?” I said, laughing a little.

“Dead serious,” he looked right at me.

“Okay well maybe I love you back,” I blurted. “But come on.”

“You and I both know I’m the best you’ve ever had,” he said, smirking.

I smiled back because he was right. “But you can’t trust me.”

“If you would just try not to bang my sister again then maybe I could trust you,” he said, raising his voice.

I heard someone knocking on the door of my apartment next door.

“We’ll talk,” I said and got up to walk out. Jones smiled and said, “Okay, we’ll talk.”

I looked down the hall to see who was at my door and it was Dave. He was accompanied by the Beard from the other night. “Thanks, you can just leave him here,” I said unlocking my door. Dave walked in and plopped himself on the couch.

“Uh, can I come in?” asked the Beard. I considered it for a second but said, “No, but thank you,” and shut the door.

Igor jumped up on Dave’s chest and they both slept like that while Jones played a cello suite. I fell asleep in my chair, picturing little lambs.


I woke up around noon and Dave and Igor were still sleeping. I hid his shoes in the freezer and put his coat on. I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote: don’t you dare leave again. I taped it to the inside of my door and walked over to Barney’s.

The bell rang and Jack looked relieved to see me.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to come over there so I just had that scruffy guy bring Dave over to-”

“Gin Fizz,” I said.



by Sarah Pasquarelli (249 words)

Seven years ago he sat in his home with his wife and his sister. They were all playing a board game, the television on in the background. His sister always hated games because she wasn’t any good.

He decided to let her win that night.

His wife winked in agreement.


Two years ago he ran down the street toward his home with his wife and his sister. The town over was being attacked by a monster, a creature so powerful it could burn a city to the ground.

But their home was still their safe place.


One year ago he ran barefoot down the street away from his home. It had burned to the ground along with the rest of the street. So he ran toward his family. His sister and his wife.

His family was still his safe place.


Six months ago he ran. He was ran like mad with no direction, no idea where to go. His entire city had burned to the ground. Along with his sister. Along with his wife.

He had no safe place.

So he ran to a place where people didn’t believe in monsters. He knew that this place was safe. Far enough away from the creature that had destroyed his home. His family. His safe place.

He wanted to meet his new neighbor who had never seen a monster before. Maybe play a board game with him. He reached out his hand, but the neighbor said, “Go home.”

Pencil it In

“Pencil it In” (245 words)

By Sarah Pasquarelli

Her blue feet dangled four feet above the ground. Neither of my brothers could shift their eyes any higher than that. For Tommy, four feet above the ground was about eye-level so he just had to keep his face forward like we were all trained to in school. But Luke had to keep his head tilted down like when you pray in church. It was too bad she never took us to church; maybe he’d seem less uncomfortable.

For some reason, I looked at her face first. She bothered to put on her mascara, so she must have had a big day planned for herself. Mascara was usually a sure sign that she was at least going to go grocery shopping, but there was no milk in the fridge and no bread in the box. She must not have been hungry. Or maybe she lost her coupons.

She was also wearing her favorite dress that she normally saved for dates with handsome men. Maybe that’s what the mascara was for, too. But, if she had planned to go on a date then she would have put on her red lipstick. I scanned back up to her face to find pale, pink lips. Maybe she just decided not to go. Maybe the man wasn’t handsome enough.

My last clue was waiting on the coffee table. An envelope with “For My Kids” written on the back.

They say a letter means that she planned it all along.