The tense undercurrent continued to build when I met and married my husband, Mark, in Toronto (shattering my mom’s dreams of me walking down the staircase in my parents’ Beaconsfield home), had children, raised them according to my own ideas, and juggled my role as a working mom. Our communication difficulties escalated as I raised my sons.
Bottom line: why did we struggle? If fully dissected there were many components but simplified, we were both wanting to be heard and understood. We both perceived the world from different places and with different filters. We were cemented in our own patterns, conscious and subconscious, which were being driven by our egos. Furthermore, our repeated dance of dysfunctional communication bred anger and negativity. I suppose that was and is pretty much typical of the dynamic in many families.
What did we do? Despite our arguments (believe me, some were explosive), we kept the door open to communicating. Even when either of us stepped back for short periods, we never stopped reaching out entirely. BUT, we did stop to breathe and reflect, albeit sometimes worrying at our wounds and seething in anger.