In my home as a kid, an argument was a usual occurrence. Mom, Dad, Sister, myself–we yelled. I always took pride in our open communication. We would speak our mind. We would forget about it. Our arguments were loud. We said mean things and then calmed down and got more articulate and thoughtful. We knew we cared about each other. We knew the fighting usually meant nothing. It was just noise.
In my husband’s childhood home, arguments happened via a remark and a laugh, even if nothing was funny. They happened in the silence of walking away or pretending the issue didn’t matter. Yelling was not usual. Yelling yielded stomach pain or, for Michael, internal tension so thick it could induce dry heaves.
In our home, the one I share with Michael, yelling is a usual occurrence because I am there. I have been a yeller since I could talk. My yelling is reserved for loved ones and good friends. If I have yelled at you it is most likely because I adore you; I feel comfortable enough to be myself with you. I know Michael doesn’t like yelling–at all. But he also doesn’t respond or notice or seem motivated by my quiet requests to coordinate schedules, help with the kids, or clean up the clutter in the basement.
Raising my voice usually gets those results.
Michael says, when you can speak in a calm manner I will continue discussing this matter. So I try again. It is my usual state in our married life to try on calm. Sometimes it is like trying to walk in roller skates. I am clumsy and unsure how to move next. I was not made to speak quiet as a librarian. I was made to speak out, and as needed, speak loud.
Inspired by the letter U in the A-to-Z Challenge for the month of April. Thanks for stopping by and reading these thoughts. Be sure to share a story below or comment on this post.