Why I do this
I grew up outside Columbus, Ohio. My parents loved each other, and they fought at dinner most nights. Always the same sentences: “You never listen.” “Fine. Whatever.” “Here we go again.” I'd sit on the stairs and notice that every one of them made the gap wider.
In my twenties I caught myself saying “You never listen” to my own partner. A friend handed me a worn copy of Marshall Rosenberg's Nonviolent Communication. It explained what I'd felt on those stairs: under every attack, there's a need nobody said out loud.
I share this so the kid on the stairs somewhere hears a different way.