It was late at night, and my husband and I were having an argument about the same subject we’d been arguing about for two decades—cooking and cleaning.
The argument appeared to be a spontaneous one. The kids were sleeping, and we were watching a film while chatting. We were having a nice evening together, the kids were asleep, we were watching a movie and chatting.
We were both standing in the middle of an unbridgeable ravine, hurling anger, pain, and disappointment towards each other. We tried to convince one another of our rightness.
For the whole of our marriage, the patterns have been that I cook and organize the kids, he cleans and takes instructions about the kids—which, on paper, might seem reasonable, but we were both holding deep amounts of resentment, bitterness, and anger about this arrangement.
The arrangement was not discussed. The arrangement was something that developed spontaneously, and it caused us to both explode in anger.
After these arguments we would withdraw into our emotions, like injured animals caring for the wounds.