The Argonauts and the Harpies
Sunday, May 18, 2025. This is for the two Marlys and Junta.
A Couples Therapy Allegory About What Interrupts Dinner (and Love)
Once upon a myth, Jason assembled a crew of slightly unhinged heroes, exiles, and professional risk-takers to sail across the world in search of the Golden Fleece—a shimmering, possibly magic sheep’s skin that everyone agreed would solve all their problems.
Because that’s what ancient quests are for: fixing whatever’s not working inside of you with something bright and far away.
So they built a ship, named it The Argo, and rowed toward meaning.
You’ve seen this before. Just replace the boat with a minivan, the fleece with a mortgage, and the crew with your extended family at Thanksgiving.
Phineus: A Man Who Can’t Eat in Peace
Along the way, the Argonauts stop at the home of Phineus, a blind prophet with a very specific problem: every time he sits down to eat, a group of shrieking, winged creatures called Harpies swoop in, steal the food, and ruin everything.
He’s starving in front of a full table.
The food is real. The hunger is real. But something always shows up to interrupt the moment.
Now, in modern clinical terms, this would be called a recurring emotional pattern.
But for the purposes of myth—and therapy—it’s just called marriage during conflict.
The Harpies: More Familiar Than You Think
Harpies aren’t just monsters. They’re messengers.
They show up right when things feel safe enough to soften.
They arrive when you sit down, exhale, and think: maybe this time will be different.
That’s when they screech in with past betrayals, old fears, unfinished arguments, and that thing your partner said three years ago and swears they didn’t mean.
Harpies carry memory in their talons.
They’re not evil. They’re just what hasn’t been dealt with.
How the Argonauts Handle It (Surprisingly Well)
Instead of fighting the Harpies with fire and swords, the Argonauts take a gentler approach. They send Zetes and Calais, two winged brothers, to chase the Harpies away—not destroy them.
That’s key.
They don’t kill the feeling. They move it aside.
They make room for something else to happen.
Like a wonderful meal. Or a real conversation. Like a moment that isn’t dictated by everything that came before it.
Sometimes, in therapy, that’s what we’re doing too.
Just quietly helping people get the Harpies out of the kitchen long enough to finish a thought—or a sentence—without getting hijacked.
The Real Work Begins After the Screaming Stops
After the Harpies are gone, Phineus still has to pick up the fork.
He has to let himself be nourished, without waiting for the interruption.
He has to learn that it’s safe to stay at the table.
That’s the harder part, always.
When the drama settles, when the cycle breaks, couples are often left blinking in the quiet, unsure what to do now that the fight isn’t happening.
And sometimes, that’s when the real questions surface:
Can I trust this quiet?
Can I say what I need without yelling?
Can I stay, even when it’s uncomfortable?
Those are the questions that reshape relationships.
And the Golden Fleece?
They find it, eventually. Jason steals it. The journey continues. The myth rolls on.
But no one remembers that part as clearly as the moment when a man was finally able to eat in peace.
Because sometimes in life—and often in love—the most heroic thing isn’t the quest or the conquest.
It’s learning how to sit at the table
and stay there
with someone who’s learning, too.
Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.