You are wronged by people every day — wronged by misleading advertisements, wronged by dinner-hour telemarketers, wronged by lousy diner meals, wronged by rage-filled highway drivers. These wrongs are low intensity and perpetrated by strangers. You forget about them and, perhaps, never even see the person responsible for doing you wrong. The name and condition of the wrongdoer is unknown and irrelevant to you. We are all desensitized to these minor slights; they leave no impression.
Contrast that to the way you feel while in the midst of a break-up. Those same minor slights — a sidelong glance from your ex, a slight irritation offered by the judge, a delay in a telephone call being returned — are even more minor than the slights perpetrated by strangers. Yet you magnify these slights into personal affronts with paralyzing results. This is magnification. Exes, children, lawyers, judges, accountants, psychological professionals, real estate professionals, law firm staff, court staff, court security, extended family, close friends, co-workers, customers, and bosses all become the subject of magnification.
During a break-up, everything is studied in great detail. You proofread routine letters and pleadings transmitted between your lawyer and the opposing lawyer. You contact your lawyer to complain that the opposing lawyer has used poor grammar, misspellings, or improper punctuation in a letter to you. You study body language, facial expressions, and choice of words. Every oral gasp, typographical error, or forgotten detail results in you feeling like your skin has been purposely scorched with highly concentrated sulfuric acid. You turn perceived slights into physical distress for yourself. Ordinarily ignored miscues are closely scrutinized — you break out the magnifying glass for everything that happens in your case. You assume a purposeful, hostile, and aggressive meaning in every communication from the opposing side. For you, the impact of words and deeds are magnified. Here is a classic case study on magnification.
My client was the wife in a very emotional divorce that involved a custody battle. She had been a stay-at-home mother and her husband was the sole breadwinner. Their teenager was angry with her mom because of the divorce, while the father became a “Disney dad” and bribed his daughter with lavish gifts. The husband’s lawyer’s initials were D.A.D. and his secretary’s initials were M.R.
The other lawyer had written me many letters, which had been copied to my client. They all contained the usual identifier in business letters — the author’s initials in uppercase and the typist’s initials in lower case (DAD/mr). My client never made a comment. After her receipt of a letter again addressing the issues of parenting time, my client called in a fury. She asked, “What is this ‘Mister Dad’ stuff?” I was puzzled and pulled out the letter. The initials, which had appeared on every letter, suddenly had taken on a special subliminal message touting the good deeds of dad and belittling mom’s parental efforts.
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