I have been coerced into learning new skills and trying new hobbies for as long as I’ve been with my husband. When we were in college, he pressured me into skiing. Throwing oneself down a steep mountain, in freezing temperatures, strapped to skinny planks, is not something that my immigrant family ever thought I’d need to learn. I survived, even had fun, but from then on, I knew better than to automatically agree to whatever “fun idea” he had up his sleeve.

Here are some things my hobbyist husband has proposed we try that I’ve firmly said no to: ice climbing, a rafting trip, a bike tour, surfing, marathon running, ballroom dancing, a greenhouse, a pizza oven. Things I’ve grudgingly said yes to: fly fishing, snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, curling, paddle-boarding, rock climbing, a Dead & Co. concert, a dog. I don’t regret any of my decisions, but aside from our pup (who is now my favorite child), I haven’t truly taken to any of his obsessions. They’re his fixations, not mine.

Recently, though, after much lobbying on his part, I agreed to have a sauna built in our small yard—and now I’m almost as obsessed as he is. Maybe that’s because sauna bathing doesn’t involve special gear or physical training, and the only skill you really need to have is to be able to sit still. But I think there’s more to it. Here’s how I learned to love sweating in a claustrophobic space.

1. Use it as stealth therapy.

Our sauna is very small, but my husband and I can comfortably use it at the same time without the threat of mingling sweat. It also helps that the bench faces a wall with a glass door and window, both of which nicely frame a corner of our garden. The tight confines happen to be conducive to having all sorts of discussions with your partner. There’s something about sitting next to each other, but not facing each other, that takes the sting out of touchy subjects and the annoyance out of mundane ones. Plus, in such a hushed, tight space, raised voices are simply not an option.